Terrier Town: Summer of ’49

Connie Creedon

361 Connie Creedon C ONNIE CREEDON HAD LIVED WITH THE MORTON FAMILY ON Stanley Street that spring and summer of 1949. One day young Herb Morton came home and sat down to eat supper, but Creedon wasn’t there. “Where’s Connie?” asked Herb. His father looked up at him and said, “Don’t ever ask about him again. He’s not welcome in this house any more.” Herb, then a teenager, didn’t ask any questions, though he was able to put two and two together and figure out that it was Creedon’s penchant for keeping company with young boys that got him into trouble. Creedon had wowed the fans at Dickson Park all summer long, but by the end of the season Murray was glad to get rid of him. By then it was Murray’s belief that Creedon was a pedophile. The big barrel-chested ballplayer who always had a wad of chewing tobacco in his jaw, it seemed, liked young boys. Indeed, Murray could remember the way he left town. The police had ordered him to leave after an incident with a youngster. They didn’t press charges on the condition that he leave town immediately. A generation later it wouldn’t have mattered that he was one of the most popular Terriers; he would have been hauled immediately off to jail. But in 1949 such incidents were generally kept quiet. So Creedon, outwardly a man’s man, the guy who had wrestled on a card in Hespeler and wound up winning instead of losing like he was scripted to do, left town in disgrace. Nothing was heard of him for years. Cornelius Stephen Creedon, who was born to John Creedon and Ella Crosley in Danvers, Massachusetts, on July 21, 1915, changed his name to Lee Burton shortly after leaving Galt—he had been in trouble with the law before—and he quit ball soon afterward, deciding instead to become a full-time musician, something he had done part-time for several years. I remembered the way he would play the piano at the Y. Other times he would venture into Central Presbyterian Church, where he had an agreement with the organist, and play the big Cassavante pipe organ. On February 1, 1972, his wife, Joanne, wrote a letter to a Mr. Simenic, a baseball researcher, in answer to Simenic’s letter asking for information about her late husband. I have filled out the questionnaire as best I could, but there are several things I just don’t know or can’t remember. Lee was very proud of having played in the majors, but he didn’t keep records or anything to which I could refer. It seems to me that he had mentioned also playing with Atlanta in a southern league, but I have no idea when that would have been. I have left blank the dates of his pro ball. Perhaps there are record books somewhere and you could fill in this information. If it isn’t too much trouble, could you tell me how I could get Lee’s records. I know our son would really enjoy knowing about his dad’s career as he is quite a sports fan. Lee would have been thrilled to know that his name is somewhere in the Hall of Fame and I am very proud of it. Yours Truly, Mrs. Lee Burton As for the name change, even his wife didn’t know what prompted him to change it. In another letter Joanne Burton explained: Dear Mr. Kachline, I’m afraid I can’t give you a very sensible reason why Lee changed his name. I know that he never liked the name Cornelius, and I would guess that “Connie” sounded too sissy to suit him. He changed his name when he began working steadily as a professional musician. I’m sure he felt that “Lee Burton” would be simpler and easier for people to remember. Sorry I can’t be of more help. Yours Truly, Joanne Burton 362 Terrier Town—Summer of ’49 Maybe Lee Burton was simpler and easier to remember. But his real name, Connie Creedon, had a ring to it, one that Galt fans who saw him play that summer of ’49 never forgot. Brantford sportswriter Ted Beare was still, forty-six years after the fact, talking about the shot Creedon put over the left-field fence at Agricultural...