Congratulations to Elly De La Cruz and Andrew Abbott, who are representing Cincinnati in tonight’s MLB All-Star Game. Neither will be starting, alas. In fact, not a single Reds player even made it into the group of finalists chosen by voters to be starters. Cincinnati fans just didn’t make a dent in this year’s All-Star voting, it appears.
It wasn’t always so.
The old bartender at the Z-Bar in Clifton had a rule: No beer until you vote. He slid a Cincinnati Times‑Star ballot across the mahogany, nodded toward the eight pre‑printed Redlegs names, and watched patrons scratch their signatures on anything with blank space—bank slips, envelopes, napkins, even wooden swizzle sticks. By closing time, the Z‑Bar had shipped 12,000 “ballots” to the newspaper office downtown, a flood strong enough to change baseball history.
That harmless‑looking barroom ritual ignited the 1957 All‑Star Game controversy, a civic prank so successful that MLB Commissioner Ford Frick revoked the public’s voting rights for the following 13 years. In those days, fan balloting was run through newspaper chains that printed, collected, and mailed results to the commissioner. Safeguards? None. No signature checks, no serial numbers, no “one fan, one vote.” If you scribbled “Bailey” on a cocktail napkin, it counted.
Most cities treated the exercise casually. Cincinnati did not. All through June 1957, The Times‑Star published a ballot under a banner that screamed “LET’S BACK THE REDLEGS!” Radio giant WLW joined in, with play‑by‑play man Waite Hoyt urging listeners to act “in the best interests of the National League.” Daytime TV pioneer Ruth Lyons flashed ballots between recipes on her show. Burger Brewing, sponsor of Reds broadcasts, printed 350,000 extras for taverns, instructing bartenders to collect a card with every round.
Early league voting updates looked normal: Stan Musial, Willie Mays, and Hank Aaron held narrow leads. But those tallies hadn’t yet absorbed nearly half a million ballots en route from southern Ohio. When they finally landed on Frick’s desk the night of June 28, Redlegs were leading at all eight positions. Cincinnati’s total dwarfed ballots from the rest of the country combined.
Frick, a former sportswriter, may have loved the grassroots passion but clearly feared embarrassment. Eight Reds in the National League starting lineup might cheapen what was billed as a showcase of the sport’s finest. After consulting NL President Warren Giles, he made a Solomon‑style cut. Musial stayed at first base, bumping Cincinnati’s George Crowe, and Mays and Aaron replaced Gus Bell and Wally Post in the outfield. The remaining five Reds (catcher Ed Bailey, second baseman Johnny Temple, shortstop Roy McMillan, third baseman Don Hoak, and left fielder Frank Robinson) kept their starting spots.
The commissioner framed it as fairness rather than punishment: “In an effort to be entirely fair to all fans, and with no reflection on the honesty or sincerity of the Cincinnati poll, a restudy of the ballots has been made on the percentage of ballots cast in all cities.” Cincinnati disagreed. Loudly.
Times‑Star columnist Lou Smith conceded the lineup might “lose its appeal as a true test,” but the Z‑Bar crew burned an effigy of Frick. Reds GM Gabe Paul wired the commissioner demanding Bell, Post, and Crowe be named reserves. High‑school coach Harry Washer threatened a federal lawsuit, hiring a young attorney named Charles Keating Jr. (yes, that Charlie Keating). Washer later dropped the case to avoid distracting from a pennant race. The Reds would finish fourth that season.
The players, on the other hand, reacted with Midwest restraint. “How can you complain when Willie Mays replaces you?” Bell said. Post, stuck in a slump, admitted he didn’t deserve selection. Robinson and Bailey—who certainly did—stayed silent.
Here’s where I demonstrate that I’m a complete homer, but I have to ask the question: Were the Reds really unfit for All-Star honors? History remembers Cincinnati as ballot‑stuffers, but the reality is more nuanced.
- Frank Robinson was coming off Rookie of the Year honors and tracking toward third in MVP voting. He was an easy pick.
- Among catchers, Ed Bailey out‑slugged a fading Roy Campanella (he was 35 and declining) and the still‑raw Del Crandall.
- Roy McMillan was widely hailed as the league’s premier defensive shortstop.
- Johnny Temple was part of the best-known double play combination in the National League and had started in the 1956 classic. He also faced limited competition beyond Red Schoendienst.
- Don Hoak ranked second only to Eddie Mathews in most offensive categories at third base.
Gus Bell and Wally Post were sentimental choices, and it’s probably true that they didn’t deserve selection. Bell, in particular, was the least qualified of the Reds who ultimately made the team, but NL skipper Walter Alston chose him over his own center fielder, Duke Snider. “There is little to choose between the two defensively, so it had to be Bell,” the skipper said.
George Crowe, well, I can’t make any argument for Ted Kluszewski’s injury replacement. Only Cincinnati partisans at a local bar could argue on his behalf.
The actual game took place July 9 at Busch Stadium in St. Louis. Detroit’s Jim Bunning—pride of Southgate, Kentucky, and Xavier University—twirled three perfect innings as the American League built a 3‑0 lead. In the seventh, with two on, Alston pinch‑hit Bell for Robinson. Bell’s two‑run double sliced the deficit to 3‑2, salvaging Cincinnati pride. Yet the AL held on, 6‑5, thanks to Minnie Miñoso’s bat and glove.
The six Reds who played went 3‑for‑10 with two RBIs, which justified the voting results in some ways. But the raw numbers underlined how complete the Cincinnati takeover had been: Robinson drew 745,689 votes, nearly triple Ted Williams’ American‑League‑best total. Robinson became an all-time legend of the sport, but it’s hard to argue that he was three times better than The Splendid Splinter.
Fans were punished in the aftermath. Frick had options to deal with Cincinnati’s onslaught: cap the number of ballots per market, add serial numbers, extend the voting window so rival fans could respond. Instead he abolished fan participation outright. From 1958 through 1969, players, coaches, and managers selected the starters, voting only for opponents. Fans didn’t get the ballot back until 1970, when Commissioner Bowie Kuhn introduced 26 million punch cards and a review panel to sniff out shenanigans.
Each summer, fans revisit the same question Ford Frick faced: Is the All‑Star Game a merit badge or a popularity contest? The answer, then and now, is “both.” Modern online voting, updated in real time, lets other cities counterpunch, something Cincinnati’s rivals couldn’t do in 1957. But the question from that year endures: If half a million people (or more) want to see their guys start, is it really the commissioner’s job to say no?
Next year, I say we should resolve to stuff that ballot box again. I want to see TJ Friedl and Spencer Steer starting in the All-Star Game in Philadelphia. Let’s do this!
Chad Dotson helms Reds coverage at Cincinnati Magazine and is co-author of “The Big 50: The Men and Moments That Made the Cincinnati Reds,” revised, updated, and available in bookstores now. His newsletter about Cincinnati sports can be found at chaddotson.com. Hear him guesting on the We Love Our Team podcast.
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