Vada Corbus, Almost a Trailblazer

When it comes to women in baseball, many are likely familiar with the hit movie, A League of Their Own, which focused on the brief life of the All American Girl’s Professional Baseball League from the Second World War into the early 1950’s.   Few, however, may know about Vada Corbus.
In the spring of 1931, Vada Corbus lived with her widowed mother, brother Luke (or Lewis), and two sisters.   The family was supported by Luke’s work at a lead smelter and Vada’s two sisters employment at a pasta factory.   Luke was a catcher for the Joplin Miners, and in April, 1931, was moved to play right field.   This opened up competition for the catcher position and Vada Corbus tried out for the position.

Not much is known about Vada, the newspapers were surprisingly reticent on the subject of a girl playing for the city’s minor league team.   There were a few articles, a photo of Vada in uniform, but little else about her.  Prior to an exhibition game against the nearby Pierce City team, Vada served as a warm-up catcher.   Word was that Vada was going to be signed or was signed with the team to vie for the catcher position and was expected to play in the Miners’ season opener against Springfield.

The game was held on the evening of April 30, 1931.   The bright electric lights of Childress Field illuminated the Joplin skyline.   The bleachers were full with fans filled with hope for a winning start to the season.  Vendors walked the aisles hawking refreshments.  Yet when the time came for the home team to take the field for the first inning, Vada was not among them.  Her absence was explained by an article that appeared in the New York Times.

On April 18th, the New York Times picked up the story and the news of Vada’s hopeful experiment in the Western Association League.   This in turn alerted league officials who stubbornly insisted that there was no place for women in men’s minor league ball.   It seems that Vada Corbus fell from the attention of the newspapers and was forced to bid farewell to a dream of playing ball.   Her brother never made it out of Joplin.  Instead of playing in the big leagues, he remained in his hometown where he worked as welder for Eagle-Picher, before he died in 1952 at the age of 48 from kidney failure.

Vada Corbus, female baseball player.

Vada Corbus in her Joplin Miners uniform.

If anything can be said of Vada, it is that she was courageous for attempting to break into minor league baseball, following in the footsteps of the Bloomer baseball girls that barnstormed the country.   She had certainly proven she could play at their level, if unfortunately denied the chance to do it before a grandstand full of cheering fans, men, women, and little girls.   While the Joplin Miners may be best remembered for fielding a young Mickey Mantle on his way to the Yankees, Vada Corbus deserves a spot in the limelight of the club’s and city’s history as a pioneer of women’s baseball.

If you have any information on Vada, let us know.  We’d love to hear from you.

Sources: The Joplin Globe, Missouri Digital History, 1930 Federal Census, “Baseball: The People’s Game” by Harold Seymour, “Women Players in Organized Baseball” by Society for American Baseball Research.

Proof that Joplin needs a Police Matron

While the Joplin city council had by 1904 agreed to the necessity of a police matron due to popular demand, a year later, no matron had yet been appointed.  As a response, the Joplin Globe ran an article offering proof to the need of the city to hire a matron.  The headline read, “PROOF THAT JOPLIN NEEDS A POLICE MATRON,” and the paper argued the following:

“The police records show the arrest of eighty women during the month of May.  Eighty women are supposed to have been locked up in the Joplin city jail in the last month without the care of counsel of a police matron.  There was none but the regular police force to listen to the appeals of, or to advise these erring women charges of the city.  True, most of them were doubtless hardened and seemingly deserving of little better than they got, but who can say?

Who can say to what depths each separate individual has fallen to what extent any one was irreclaimable?  The charges as a result were in the cat-purse of blanket charges, if the term may be so used.  Twenty-nine of these eighty women were charged with prostitution, twenty-one with lewd conduct, thirteen with street walking, thirteen with disturbing the peace, and one each with drunkenness, petty larceny, interfering with an officer, and being suspected of robbery.  Hard charges, those, yet many cried when locked up.  Some were not really bad.  Surely one or two, at least, might be prevailed upon to repent and change her ways.  Certainly enough soul remained to cry out through the tears of those eighty bad women to justify the attention of a good and worthy police matron.

The records prove that one, anyhow, might have been saved from death, if not also from deeper depths of sin, for one of these eighty was Lucy Scott, the young, fair, but wayward girl who took her own life as she confessed, because nobody would come and talk to her about going to a reform school.  A police matron could have saved one life last month.  Who knows, how many wrecks could have been averted?”

A year later, the position was finally assumed by Ellen Ayers.  See our earlier post on Mrs. Ayers concerning her appointment and reaction to the job.

Sources: The Joplin Globe

Joplin’s Hello Girls

In 1905, Joplin residents who picked up the phone to place a call would have heard a cheerful “Hello Central!” Joplin’s “Hello Girls” were said to be a “combination of encyclopedia, dictionary, city directory, blue book, weather vane, atlas, human alarm clock, and bureau of information in general.” Altogether there were thirty-five young women who were responsible for directing calls in the city of Joplin. Twenty-two of the telephone operators were assigned to the main line and answered an estimated 16,000 calls per day.

The Bell Telephone Company of Joplin, Missouri

Some of Joplin's Hello Girls likely worked at the Bell Telephone Company's building.

One night operator on the Bell line of the Missouri & Kansas Telephone Company spoke with a Joplin Globe reporter regarding an average work night. “Oh, they just ask everything,” the operator replied when asked what people asked when making a call. “So many people ring up to ask when the next street car goes to Carthage, or to Galena, and whether the East Joplin dinky is running today. Then there’s the trains. It would be folly for a central operator not to know the exact time of departure from and arrival of every train in Joplin, and if we don’t want to get our heads taken off by an information craving public, we’d better known just how late that Frisco from the west is tonight, and whether the Katy carries passengers on its local freight.”

It was also not uncommon for folks to pick up the phone to find out the time of day. The operator slyly remarked that she believed some folks did so just to save on the price of an office clock. Joplin residents also picked up the phone to find out where a fire was, often ringing up the operator to gasp, “Where’s the fire, Central?”

Although an operator might receive a dozens of calls on a night when the fire alarms rang incessantly, at least one operator did not mind the inquisitive phone calls, telling the Globe reporter, “We all sort of have a mutual interest in fires, and it’s a sort of human weakness, I’ll admit, to realize that we are very important for once in our little lives. It makes us sort of proud, you see, and we just answer away with might and main telling them all where the fire alarm came from.”

Other common questions the operators received were regarding the dates and times of church services, the location of specific mines, the meaning of words, the authors of books, and even “what the sign is when you dream you saw your fellow.”

Operators displayed patience with their customers, especially in the case of the elderly who were often hesitant to speak into a phone and would forget who they wanted to speak to, including one older lady who would call up and say, “Oh, I want to talk to a woman, she lives out on, oh, I forgot the street and I can’t think of her name. She’s a milliner.”

A telephone operator circa 1911.

This unnamed telephone operator from 1911 is representative of telephone operators of the time.

Besides patience, an encyclopedic knowledge of train schedules, businesses, and people, the other essential quality needed in a “Hello Girl” was youth. Acting Secretary H.E. Scovern of the Home Telephone Company told the reporter that, “It’s not altogether an easy thing to secure the desirable sort of operators. We have them here from fifteen years up, but the girl of seventeen makes the very best. She’s quick and alert and readily learns the run of the business and the professional men the line caters to. She must know them all, and there are something like 1,300 phones to keep in mind.” Scovern said a “Hello Girl” had the instinct of Sherlock Holmes and the cunning of an expert in the dead letter department at the Post Office. He praised one operator who, through her extensive memory and ability to analyze voices, could detect “fraudulent use of the toll board exchange” and despite the many “rag chewings and some unpleasantness” proved a “valuable guardian of the company’s interests.”


Sources: Library of Congress and the Joplin Globe.