"Wee" Dickie Kerr: From World Series Folk Hero to South Bend Sensation

After refusing to throw the 1919 Series, White Sox hurler found a brief second act as a star pitcher in South Bend.

BY AARON HELMAN // POSTED JUNE 5, 2025

Charles Comiskey was a cheapskate. The league knew, the sportswriters knew it, and most of all, his players felt it. They felt it when they clinched the 1919 pennant and were left to celebrate with warm, flat champagne. They felt it when Comiskey cancelled the team's laundry service and sent players home with their dirty uniforms and orders to wash the filthy jerseys themselves.

There was Eddie Cicotte — probably the best pitcher in the league — tethered to a $6,000 contract with a kicker than would have paid him another $10,000 if he won 30 games in 1919. Comiskey benched his star for the final week of the campaign, leaving him stuck at 29 wins and unable to claim his bonus.

Given all of that, it's no surprise that eight members of the 1919 White Sox conspired to throw the World Series — still the most notorious scandal the sport has ever known. After all, the gamblers paid a lot better than the team.

But not everyone on the roster sold out, and in the midst of the disgrace and the shame, a most unlikely folk hero emerged from the ashes:

“Wee” Dickey Kerr.

Barely five-and-a-half feet tall, Kerr took the mound twice during the 1919 World Series. He pitched two complete games. One was a shutout. And despite the men behind him trying to throw the series, the Sox won them both.

There wasn't much to root for on the southside of Chicago after news of the Black Sox Scandal broke and eight of the team's players were suspended for life. But there was still “Wee” Dickey Kerr, and the diminutive pitcher became something of a folk hero around Chicago. Kerr had resisted the temptation of the immoral cash grab, and during the 1919 World Series, he'd given the home fans something to cheer for — even if he'd had to overcome his own teammates to do it. By the end of the 1921 season, Kerr was in line for a raise. His performance warranted it, and there probably should have been some reward for his loyalty too.

But there wasn't.

Comiskey hadn't learned his lesson. He refused to budge on the issue of Kerr's salary, and there wasn't much Kerr could do. In those days, teams held the rights to players in perpetuity. Either Kerr would play for what Comiskey offered, or he wouldn't play Major League Baseball.

Kerr chose the second option, choosing instead to carve out a career in semipro and independent leagues across the Midwest. He was sure there were lower-level teams out there who would pay him more than what Comiskey was offering, and he was right. The job offers came in from cities across the Midwest — places like Toledo and Grand Rapids and Lexington...

...and South Bend, Indiana.

Earl Redden knew an opportunity when he saw one, and if he didn't see an opportunity, he certainly knew how to manufacture one. But “Wee” Dickey Kerr just kind of fell into his lap, and it couldn't have come at a better time.

At the same time Redden was trying to establish something special and incredible at the newly christened Playland Park, the South Bend Independents announced the signing of “Wee” Dickey Kerr, diminutive lefthander, hero of the 1919 World Series, and outlaw from the American League. A few weeks before Redden opened the grand Playland Park Dance Hall, he started to run ads in the paper announcing that the big leaguer would be pitching in South Bend, and that tickets would be just fifty cents.

Kerr wouldn't be the only former or future big leaguer to star at Playland Park in the summer of 1925, and by the time the summer was over at least three future Hall of Famers would take the same field and make even bigger names for themselves along the way. But “Wee” Dickey Kerr was the first, and he was the star who inaugurated the new era of Earl Redden's South Bend entertainment empire.

As for the pitcher's big-league career, it was officially and conditionally ended by American League Commissioner Kennesaw Landis. For the sin of accepting money to play in another league, Dick Kerr's name was stamped onto the ineligible list right alongside the eight men who'd conspired to throw the 1919 World Seres.

Kerr's first start in South Bend was spoiled in part by poor weather and in part by a four-run fifth inning rally courtesy of the Kalamazoo Elks — known to the newspaper as the “lads from celery country.” Other than the fifth frame, Kerr was all zeroes, pitching ten innings and striking out six. The contest ended in a tie when rain and wind halted play in extra innings.

And despite the poor conditions, there were more than 3,500 fans in the stands, all excited to catch a glimpse of the former big leaguer, still in his prime at just 31-years-old. “Wee” Dickey Kerr was a hit and so was baseball at the newly christened Playland Park. Kerr pitched a complete game shutout a week later, and another one a week after that — this time a 12-inning marathon contest. In his first 31 innings of baseball, he'd held opponents scoreless in 30 of them.

But the people of South Bend weren't the only ones who took notice of Kerr's prowess on the mound. Playland Park wasn't too far from Chicago, after all. The news had gotten back to the White Sox, and the White Sox decided they wanted their pitcher back — three years after they'd cut off negotiations. For his part, Kerr was willing to talk turkey, and the two sides came to a financial arrangement that would put “Wee” Dickey Kerr back on the hill for the White Sox. They would bring him back to the team on August 1, on the condition that he not play organized ball for the six weeks leading up to that date.

That meant that Kerr's time in South Bend was about to end.

But not quite yet.

“Wee” Dickey Kerr gave South Bend his literal two-week's notice on June 1. He could pitch two or three more times for the Independents before spending six weeks in baseball purgatory ahead of his return to the White Sox. Local fans would have just a few more opportunities to appreciate Kerr up close before they would be forced to appreciate him from a distance.

Unfortunately for South Bend's baseball fans, and more unfortunately for the diminutive hurler, “Wee” Dickey Kerr would never win another baseball game for the rest of his career.

Kerr's stint in South Bend ended with a thud. The Negro League Chicago Union Giants scored 18 during an exhibition at Playland Park. When the National League's Pittsburgh Pirates came to town a few days later, they scored 23. During his final appearance with the South Bend Independents, Kerr dropped a 6-4 tilt against a group of firefighters from Gary, Indiana.

Things didn't get better when “Wee” Dickey rejoined the White Sox.

Kerr pitched to a 5.15 ERA across 12 appearances through the end of the campaign, mostly in relief. He did not record a win. The White Sox didn't know it — and maybe Kerr didn't know it either — but the hurler had blown his arm out attempting to pitch in back-to-back days during a long weekend in South Bend. Kerr's career ended at the end of the 1925 season. The last good pitches he ever threw came from the mound at Playland Park.

There's a bit of a coda to this story that's worth telling.

After his playing career ended, “Wee” Dickey Kerr became a minor league manager. At Daytona Beach, he watched as a promising 19-year-old pitcher destroyed his own shoulder. When the youngster considered that his own career might be ended before it even got started, Kerr redirected him, telling the kid that he could make the big leagues as a hitter even if he never pitched again.

The kid's name was Stan Musial.