Weren't You... Ike Bierwagen?

Bill Moor remembers a gruff friend who might have been the greatest fast-pitch softball pitcher of all time

BY BILL MOOR // POSTED March 17, 2025

Maybe the most intimidating person I've ever known — and with the perfect name to go along with his stature and stare — was Ike Bierwagen.

He was built like a vault door and the only time I ever saw him smile was through gritted teeth. And he had a booming voice that could stop you in mid-stride.

When I first showed up at the South Bend Tribune in early 1973, Ike was the head of security after spending several years in the engraving department there. The rumor was that he once held a co-worker out a second-floor window for some small transgression. After meeting Ike, I never doubted the story.

He was huge and gruff and for whatever reason, he hated Notre Dame. That put me in a bit of a quandary because as a young sports writer, I was covering — and often praising — the Fighting Irish.

“Hey, Moor (never Bill),” he would roar, “you think that headline was big enough on your story about those guys who had their fun beating up on the Little Sisters of the Poor?”

I would give him a smile and move on. I never asked him why he had it in for Notre Dame. In my opinion, he could have been one heck of a defensive tackle, but football had apparently not been his sport.

Instead, he had been a fast-pitch softball pitcher — just maybe the best there ever was when he led the Bendix Brakes to the 1941 World Championship.

Ike's statistics were legendary that season and during his career:

— He went 30-1 in 1941 while throwing 10 no-hitters and only allowing eight earned runs in 252 innings.

— He struck out 20 of 21 batters against a Goshen team that year and 21 of 22 Buchanan hitters. He also fanned 51 batters in a 27-inning marathon.

— After completing a stretch of 56 scoreless innings in 1941, the Chicago Cubs wanted to see what he could do with a baseball but he was drafted in 1942 and never got the chance for a try-out.

— In a softball career that saw him pitch for the Brakes, the Army Air Corps, the South Bend Tommies and the Tribune, he threw 93 no-hitters.

— Over the years, five of his catchers suffered broken fingers from his blazing fast ball and he once had to strike out seven batters in the first inning of a game when his catcher couldn't hold on to third strikes.

Of course, there are stories to go along with those stats:

— During one game in Fort Wayne, Ike wanted a different ball but the home plate umpire refused. So he threw the one he didn't like over the stands and into a river. All the ump could do was give him another ball since most of the 18,000 fans had come to see Ike pitch.

— While traveling to one game, a flat tire and a malfunctioning jack led to Ike emitting a growl, picking up the side of the car and holding it while teammates scurried to change the tire.

— When he was out in the parking lot after a game, some young punks threw a few insults Ike's way as they drove by and Ike sprinted like a buffalo after them — almost catching the car before it made it out to the road.

Ike, who was a 1938 Central High graduate, once mentioned that as a kid, he would bale hay from sunup to sundown for 50 cents a day. If he did have some free time, he would throw a softball into a pole that held up his dad's chicken wire fence.

It's a wonder that the pole never fell over. Enough batters certainly bit the dust during his softball career, especially during that 1941 championship season. When I asked him about that special year — for him, for the Brakes and for South Bend — all he could “remember” were some great defensive plays made behind him by teammates Mugsy McGrath and his brother John.

As the years went by, I found that Ike had a softer side. When I was the early-morning man in the sports department and would park in front of the Tribune, he would come by my desk and tell me that the meter maid was getting close to my car. “Hey Moor, get your running legs moving if you don't want a ticket on your windshield,” he would bark.

He had his own secret recipe for potato chip cookies that he would occasionally make.

And up until he was 50 years of age, he lived and cared for his mother — putting off his own marriage to his girlfriend Jane until after his mom passed away.

Ike died in 1991, 50 years after he helped the Bendix Brakes win the world title. He remained a legendary figure for that half century later.

And after I was able to quit shaking in his presence, he became a treasured friend.