There was an outburst of shouted questions. Photographers fought for position and television cameras rolled into place. Newspapermen, hands cupped to their ears, straining to hear, struggled for position. Stengel, blinking in the glare of the television lights, raised a hand, signaling for silence. Belatedly, the club owners and other baseball officials who had been napping in an adjoining banquet room rushed out and joined in the melee. It was not until Branch Rickey shouldered his way through the crowd, cracking heads with his cane as he came, that some semblance of order was achieved.
"What say you, Charles Stengel?" cried Rickey.
For reply, Stengel reached into his pocket and drew out a scrap of paper which looked like it might have been torn from one of the souvenir menus.
"I got a statement here to read," said Stengel. "It says, 'To Whosoever This May Concern. I hereby quit my job as baseball commissioner. Signed, Fels J. Naptha.' "
"Napier, man, Napier!" roared Rickey.
Stengel peered at his scrap of paper again. "Oh, yes," he said, "Napier is the name."
As newspaper men raced for the telephones and television cameras trained on Stengel, a voice sang out:
"Where is he, where did the guy go, Case!"
Stengel lifted up his chin and called back, "Mr. Naptha said he was leaving through the kitchen entrance."
"Why did he quit, Casey!" a reporter cried.