Player #133B: David S. "Dave" Harris. "Sheriff". Outfielder with the Washington Senators in 1930-1934. 406 hits and 32 home runs in 7 MLB seasons. He debuted with the Boston Braves in 1925. His best season was 1931 for Washington as he posted a .434 OBP with 50 RBIs in 284 plate appearances.
David Stanley "Sheriff" Harris was a fifth important contributor to Walter Johnson's outfield in 1932, and he was at the center of a couple of truly unusual occurrences involving the Senators in this year. Not related to and not to be confused with Stanley "Bucky" Harris or Joe "Moon" Harris, heroes of earlier days, the Sheriff was one of those original baseball types common back in the thirties, but extinct today. He was essentially an uneducated hillbilly from North Carolina who had explained in his best drawl upon joining the club that he really was no sheriff at all. Harris had the demeanor of a sheriff, but insisted that the real story was that he'd been deputized once only, so that he could help chase mule thieves down in the Carolinas.
All Dave Harris had done since coming to Washington in 1930 as a journeyman 30-year-old, with less than two years of mediocrity in the big leagues behind him, was hit well over .300. In 1932, he came off the bench to pinch hit a league-high 43 times and bat(ted) .326 in that role. His status on the club, however, was limited by his erratic fielding. But, as Sheriff Harris liked to say, he could drive in more runs than smarter guys could think across. While this opinion was not shared by all, and in fairness to him this Senators outfield was stacked with talent, Harris hit .327 for the season and drove in 29 runs in only 156 official chances (a rate good for 90-100 RBIs over a full season).
At spring training 1932, held in Biloxi, Miss., Sheriff Harris, an easygoing country bumpkin if ever there was one, had drawn as a roommate the man who was likely the brightest ever to play professional baseball. Catcher Moe Berg, a New Yorker, had been kicking around the majors since 1923 with little success. Known as an able handler of pitchers with an exceptional throwing arm, he had hit only .240 over that span. In 1929, Berg had played more and hit .288 for the White Sox. The Senators would not get much offence from the catching position in '32 -- Berg would hit .236, and Roy Spencer, who played twice as much, only .246. . . .
. . . What a pair Moe Berg and Sheriff Harris made! Berg respected the coarse Harris for what he could do -- come up to the plate in any situation and perform with confidence. Berg reasoned that Harris owed this skill to what actually boiled down to a lack of mental acuity. Harris' brain was totally devoid of outside encumbrances, and with nothing else on his mind, he was better able to focus on the pitcher and the task at hand. The Sheriff, who thought Berg was the smartest man ever to grace the planet, would respond that, with runners on base, what the Senators needed was "a genius like me."
It was in such a situation that Dave Harris made the most memorable hit of the season for the Senators, albeit in a woefully pitiful cause. On August 5, with the score 13-0 in favor of Detroit, Tommy Bridges was just one out away from a perfect game. Due up was pitcher Bobby Burke, but Walter Johnson, tough competitor that he was, was going to do everything in his power to prevent Bridges from attaining immortality at the expense of his boys. Johnson summoned Harris, who for years had been saying that Tommy Bridges was one of the main reasons why he had managed to survive as a big-league hitter. Sure enough, Harris, a remarkably good curveball hitter, rapped a clean single to center, sparing the Senators the embarrassment of being victimized by a perfect game. (The Washington Senators by Tom Deveaux.)
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