CHAPTER 14
ME AND MY SHADOW
It has been mentioned before that, although very comprehensive mapsexist of Oz, there are areas that are totally uncharted and about whichvery little is known. One such area is the Land of Lost Shadows. In factthis may be the very first time that this mysterious land has ever beenmentioned by any living human being. That is because no one has everknown where a person's shadow goes when he dies. It has always beenassumed that when someone's physical form is no more, his shadowautomatically disappears along with it. That is quite true, of course.But does anyone ever stop to think where it disappears _to_!
Now, it is very true that if you are separated from your shadow when youare alive, it can be sewn back on again. Any child who has ever read thestory of Peter Pan knows that this is so. But when a person's body dies,the shadow has no desire to be buried in the ground or to be burned up.None of these things bother the body because it is not aware ofanything. But the shadow is totally aware and is anxious to remainactive and useful. Sometimes these shadows are helpful and good. Othertimes, the opposite is true. Scholars of Oz are already well aware ofthe time when the shadow of the Wicked Witch of the East made a ploy forrevenge against the magical country. But no shadow can continue toremain alive outside of the enchanted lands. After all, it is but ashadow of its former self (if you'll pardon the pun). So it just zipsoff to Oz to reside in the Land of Lost Shadows. Now, the word 'lost' isa misnomer here. The shadow itself is anything but lost. In fact it isquite at home in its new abode. However, it is lost as far as the restof the world is concerned. Well, enough of these explanations. Let usget back to our story. No created beings other than shadows had evercrossed the borders of Shadowland (which is the name used by theinhabitants). That is, no one had until Elephant, Ozma, Tweaty, Hootsey,Lisa, Nibbles and the Forest Monster happened to stumble on it byaccident. And the way that happened was as follows: Each member of thelittle band was so preoccupied with his own thoughts--especiallyElephant. He was still thinking how close he had come to being eaten bythe Land Sharks and the miraculous change of heart on the part of theForest Monster. As for the Monster himself, he was feeling bad about allthe evil things he had done, and was contemplating what he would say inapology to all of the animals he had wronged. Since it was getting darkby this time, he failed to notice the thick, dark area looming up infront of him, when CRASH! He went straight into it. And since it wasreally dark now, the shadowy occupants were quite invisible. Hootseysuggested that there was no point in stumbling around in the dark, andthat the best thing to do would be for everyone to lie down and go tosleep.
This seemed like a fine idea to Elephant, who promptly flopped down onthe grass--almost squashing Nibbles, who was already snoozing under him.The Forest Monster also took a position of repose, but far enough awayfrom his smaller charges that he knew he would not roll over and squishany of them. In the twinkling of an eye, he was fast asleep. But it washardly a restful sleep that he experienced. It was a deeply troubledsleep. In his dreams, he saw the tortured faces of the many that he hadmistreated in his angry power play. The wispy night visions experiencedby his companions were hardly any more enjoyable, except those ofPrincess Ozma, who rated enough respect from the Sleep Fays that theywould not allow any negative influences to disturb her sleep. Instead,she saw visions of the beautiful Love Fairy, and the lilting,music-like laughter of the Laughing Fay. These served to make her smileinwardly as she slept.
Ozma was the first to awaken. She felt refreshed and envigorated. Thesound of birds chirping and the warm sun on her face brought her out ofher deep restful slumber.
The first thing that her eyes focused upon was a two-dimensional shadowyshape moving toward her along the ground in much the same manner as theshadow of an airplane would. She instinctively looked up at the sky tosee what flying object might be casting its shadow on the ground. Butthere was nothing to account for it. Then she became apprehensive, forit occurred to her that perhaps one of the land sharks had escaped hersnailifying spell and followed them and that was what she was seeing.But no; it was definitely just a shadow, for it had stopped right infront of her. Then the shadow stood up as it became a three-dimensionalhuman being.
"Good morning," said the shadow, who had now taken the form of a veryordinary man. This awoke the others, who were surprised to see a man ina baseball uniform.
"Forgive me for startling you all," said the man. "But you see, when thesun comes up high enough in the sky, we shadows resume the forms of ourprevious selves. In fact, we are identical to our previous selves exceptthat our bodies are composed of high-frequency molecules as opposed tothe low frequency molecules of our earthly bodies." Seeing the quizzicallook on everyone's face, he quickly continued: "It's quite simple,really. We are composed of the same material you are. After all, none ofus could reside in Oz if we weren't."
"It makes sense, when you think about it," said Ozma. "But I am verycurious as to why you are wearing baseball clothes. Have you just comefrom a game?"
"Yes, I have," answered the man. "Baseball is pretty big in Shadowland.You see, we have a large population here of old baseball players andbaseball fans. It's the biggest thing we all have in common, so we tendto congregate together. As a matter of fact, we not only have gamesbetween ourselves, but we invite teams in the United States to visitwhen the players are in restitude. We have a wonderful time together. Ofcourse, the visiting players don't usually bring back the memory of thegames when they awaken in the morning--Well, maybe some fragmenteddreams--but that doesn't detract from the game or the great fun we have.Those young whippersnappers think they'll show us old timers a thing ortwo, but boy, do they get a run for their money!"
"Might I inquire as to your name?" questioned Tweaty, rather timidly.
"Why yes," came the simple reply. "My name is Richard Marquard. Please,just call me _Rube_."
"Sounds like a backwoodsy hillbilly name to me," said Elephant,intending his words to sound like friendly teasing.
"Ha ha!" laughed Rube, equally friendly. "My nickname being what it is,you probably automatically assume that I must have been a country boy.That's what most people figure. But it's not so. Fact is, my father wasthe Chief Engineer of the City of Cleveland, and that is where I wasborn and reared."
"Okay," said Elephant. "So then, why is it that you are called _Rube_?"
"Well, it's a long story," answered the ball player's shadow.
"Then we had better not take the time to hear it all now," said Hootsey."We have a very important mission to fulfill."
"Yes," agreed Lisa. "But perhaps Mr. Rube could help us. I think weshould bring him along."
"A grand idea!" exclaimed Ozma. "Mr. Marquard, would you be so kind asto join us on our mission? I would like to hear your story, and thenwill be happy to tell you ours."
"_My name is Richard Marquard. Please just call meRube."_]
"If I had been asked to join an undefined questing party by any otherthan the Queen of all Oz, I might have hesitated," came the reply. "Butas it is from you, I will come along."
"Splendid!" said Elephant. "Then let us be off!"
Rube was lifted atop the Forest Monster, as were Elephant and theothers, and from this high podium Rube began his unique tale. "It allstarted with my father," he explained. "Like I say, he was the ChiefEngineer of the city of Cleveland. As far as he was concerned, the onlyimportant thing was for me to get a good education. But as far back as Ican remember, all I could think of, morning, noon and night, wasbaseball.
"'Now listen,' Dad would say. 'I want you to cut this out and payattention to your studies. I want you to go to college when you'rethrough high school, and I don't want any foolishness about it. Withoutan education, you won't be able to get a good job, and then you'll_never_ amount to anything.'
"'I already have a job,' I'd say.
"'You've got a job? What are you talking about?'
"I'm going to be a ballplayer,' I'd explain. But Dad was not veryreceptive.
"'A ballplaye
r?' he'd say, throwing his hands up in the air. 'What doyou mean? How can you make a living as a ballplayer? I don't understandwhy a grown man would wear those funny-looking suits in the firstplace.'
"'Well,' I'd answer. 'You see policemen with uniforms on, and otherpeople like that. They change after they're through working. It's thesame way with ballplayers.'"
"That sounds reasonable to me," said Tweaty.
"Me, too," said Queen Ozma. "I certainly don't wear the same clothes toa meeting with a foreign dignitary as I would wear while playing marbleswith Jellia Jamb."
"Certainly not!" agreed Nibbles.
"If only my father had thought that way," sighed Rube's shadow. "But hejust scoffed. 'Do ballplayers get paid?' he'd ask.
"'Yes,' I told him. 'They get paid.'
"'I don't believe it!' he would rant.
"And 'round and 'round we would go. We'd actually have that sameargument, almost always word-for-word, at least once a week. Twice aweek in the summer. Sometimes my grandfather--my father's father--wouldget involved in it. My grandfather was a nice man who liked baseball,and he would usually take my side.
"'Listen,' he'd say to my father, 'when you were a youngster, I wantedyou to be something, too. I wanted you to be a stonecutter, same as Iwas when I came over from the old country.' Oh, did I mention beforethat my grandfather was a stonecutter?"
"No," replied Elephant. "You just said that he was a nice man who likedbaseball."
"Okay," said Rube's shadow. "Well, my grandfather had been astonecutter, and had tried to persuade Dad to become one, too. 'But no!'he would say loudly into my father's ear, 'You wouldn't listen. Youwanted to be an engineer. So you _became_ an engineer. And a darned goodone, too. Had I forced you into masonry, you would never have excelledin the craft for which you had no love. And you would have been veryunhappy. Now Richard wants to be a baseball player. He's so determinedthat nothing is going to stop him. Let's give him a chance and see whathe can do. Don't force the boy to give up on his dreams.'"
"Your grandfather sounds like a wise man to me," said Ozma.
"He was," said the shadow. "But Dad would never listen. 'Ballplayers areno good,' he'd insist. 'Ballplayers are no good, and they never will beany good.' It was very frustrating. He would usually end the argument byslamming the door and going outside to sit on the porch. And he wouldstop speaking to my grandfather or me for hours at a time."
"That's too bad," said Tweaty. "If you were good at baseball, you shouldhave stuck with it."
"But I did stick with it," replied the shadow. "I told you, I just camefrom a game."
"Oh, yeah," said Tweaty. "So you mean you brought your Dad around?"
"Well," the shadow said slowly. "The thing is, I was always very tallfor my age. I had three brothers and a sister, and my sister was theshortest of the five of us. She grew to be six feet two. So you see, Iwas constantly hanging around the older kids and playing ball with theminstead of hanging with kids my own age. When I was about thirteen orso, I used to carry bats for some of the Cleveland Indians, such asElmer Flick, Napoleon Lajoie and Terry Turner. Of course, they were notcalled the Cleveland Indians then. They were called the ClevelandBronchos in those days. Then the Cleveland Naps--after Napoleon Lajoie.Anyway, after the regular season was over, a lot of them would barnstormaround the Cleveland area, and sometimes I'd be their bat boy.
"Later on, I even pitched a few games for Bill Bradley's Boo Gang," theshadow added proudly.
"Boo Gang?" said Lisa with a little shudder.
"Boo like a Ghost?" added Hootsey.
"No, no," laughed Rube's image. "Bill Bradley was the third baseman forthe Cleveland Indians--and one of the greatest who ever lived--and healso barnstormed with his 'Boo Gang' after the season was over. So bythe time I was fifteen or so, I knew a lot of ballplayers. And I had myheart set on being a Big Leaguer myself.
"Well, one of my best friends was a catcher named Howard Wakefield. Hewas about five years older than I was. In 1906 he was playing for theWaterloo Club in the Iowa State League, and ..."
"1906?" echoed Lisa. "But ... But ..."
"What's wrong?" asked the ballplayer's shadow.
"You have to be mistaken," said Elephant, recognizing the reason for hisfriend's perplexity. "It isn't 1906 yet. It's only 1902!"
"I think he's from the future," said Lisa. "Rube Marquard is from a yearthat hasn't happened yet."
"But how is that possible?" asked Hootsey.
"Have you ever noticed," explained the shadow, "how you can stand in themiddle of two or more different sources of light, and cast severalshadows in various directions?"
"Of course," said Hootsey. "And sometimes I have a long skinny shadowthat is faint and grayish, while I also have a short fat shadow rightunder me which is almost completely black. And when I'm flying, I canmake lots of different shadows that don't even touch me anywhere."
"Yes," said Rube. "And these are all your shadow. If you go on a stagewith many footlights, you will cast various images of various shades ofgray. These are all your shadow. You see, your shadow can go in anydirection, backward or forward. It can reach to a distant area or staysituated close by. And it can do all at one time without ever letting goof you--even if, as you say, it isn't actually touching you. You arealways attached at some place. As the shadow of Rube Marquard, I touchhim always, even while he is far away in repose. I can be his past, hisfuture, or his mirror image. That is why I can remember experiences hehasn't even had yet. Sometimes we shadows accidentally create a feelingof deja vu in our live counterparts, which can lead to a false sense ofpsychic ability."
"I don't know much about American sports figures," said Elephant. "Butit sounds like you are someone who is or will be important to Baseball.But how did you convince your dad to let you play?"
"Yes," agreed Hootsey. "You still haven't told us."
"Of course," replied the shadow. "As I was saying, I had a friend by thename of Howard Wakefield. He was playing for the Waterloo Club in theIowa State League. That summer--when I was only sixteen--I got a letterfrom him.
"'_We can use a good left-handed pitcher_,' the letter said. '_And ifyou want to come to Waterloo, I'll recommend you to the manager._' Ithink Howard thought that I was at least eighteen or nineteen, as I wasso big for my age.
"I wrote Howard and told him that my dad did not want me to play ball,so I didn't think he'd give me the money to go. If I asked him, he'dprobably hit the ceiling and rap me over the head with something. Asidefrom that, I was ready to go."
"Well," said Lisa indignantly, "a good father would have encouraged youto go. He should have been able to see that you were good at what youdid, and that you deserved this chance to make good."
"Absolutely," agreed Hootsey. "But I don't expect that your father gaveyou the money. Did you ever get to Waterloo?"
"Well," answered the shadow, "pretty soon I got a telegram from theWaterloo manager. He said that I had been recommended very highly byHoward Wakefield, and asked if I would like to come and try out for theteam. The Waterloo manager offered to reimburse the cost oftransportation if I was given a contract."
"But you still couldn't get the money from your father," said Ozma.
"No," sighed the ballplayer. "It was hardly an improvement over Howard'sletter. So I just went upstairs to my room and closed the door. Then Iwrote back a long letter to the Waterloo manager, explaining that Ididn't have any money for transportation. But I told him that, if hesent me an advance right now for transportation, I'd be on the very nexttrain to Waterloo and he could take it out of my salary later on."
"That's assuming you were hired, of course," said Lisa.
"Yes," agreed Rube. "But I didn't have the slightest doubt that I wouldmake good. And, of course, I didn't mention that I was only sixteenyears old. I thought it best to leave that out.
"I mailed the letter to Iowa, and then I waited on pins and needles foran answer. Every day I had to be the first one to get at the mail,because if anyone else saw a letter to me
from the Waterloo BallClub--well, that would have been enough to alert Dad to what was goingon and I'd have been sunk. So every day I waited for the first sign ofthe mailman and tried to get to him before he reached the house. As itturned out, I could have saved myself a lot of worrying."
"No letter ever came?" guessed Lisa.
"Nope. Three weeks passed and still no answer." The shadow sighed again."I couldn't understand what had gone wrong. Maybe it was against therules to send transportation money to somebody not yet under contract?Maybe they didn't know how good I really was? Maybe this and maybe that.It was another frustrating period of my life. Finally, I just couldn'tstand it any longer. I gave my folks a story about camping with the BoyScouts and hitch-hiked to Waterloo."
"You lied to your parents?" said Ozma, startled by the very idea.
"Yes, I did. It was a hard thing for me to do, going against Dad likethat. But I was well punished for the deed. Believe me! Have you everhad to hitch-hike, sleep in open fields, or hop a freight train? It tookme five days and five nights. The longest five days of my life, and Iwas only sixteen at the time. But I did get there. Tired, anxious andhalf-starved, I blew into the Illinois Central Station at Waterloo, Iowaon a freight train early in the evening. Just before it stopped, Ijumped off and went head over heels right in front of the passengerhouse. I hardly had time to pick myself up off the ground before thestationmaster grabbed me and shouted, 'What do you think you're doing?Come on, get out of here before I run you in!'
"'No,' I said. 'I'm reporting to the Waterloo Ball Club.'
"'You're what?' he says. 'My God! Did you ever wash your face?'
"'Yes I did,' I said. 'But I've been travelling for five days and fivenights, and I am anxious to get to the Ball Park. Where do theballplayers hang around?'
"'At the Smoke Shop,' he says. 'Down the street about a half of a mile.If you walk down there, probably whoever you're looking for will bethere.'
"So I thanked him and said I'd see to it that he got a free pass to theball game as soon as I got settled, and started off for the Smoke Shop.It turned out that two brothers owned the Smoke Shop, and they alsoowned the Ball Club. One of them was behind the counter when I walkedinto the place. He took one look at me and let out a roar like a lion's.
"'What are you doing in here?' he yelled. This is a respectable place!Get out of here!'
"'Wait a minute,' I says. 'I've got a telegram from the manager of theBall Club to report here, and if I make good I'll get a contract.'
"'Are you kidding?' he says. 'Who in the world ever recommended you?'
"'Howard Wakefield did,' I said.
"'Well,' says the guy behind the counter, 'Wakefield is in back shootingbilliards. We'll soon settle this!'
"I'd like to go back and see him,' I said.
"'Don't you go back there,' he shouted. 'Don't even think about goingback there! You'll drive everybody out. Did you ever take a bath?'
"'Of course I did,' says I. 'But I've bummed my way here and I haven'thad a chance to clean up yet.'
"So he goes into the back and in a minute Howard comes out 'Cripes!' hesays. 'What happened to you?'
"I was explaining it to him when in came Mr. Frisbee, the manager, and Iwas introduced to him. 'I received your telegram,' I said. 'I didn'thave enough money to come first class or anything like that, but here Iam.'
"'Keokuk is here tomorrow,' says the manager, 'and we'll pitch you.'"
"'We'll pitch you?'" echoed Hootsey. "What a mean thing for him to say!Imagine, just pitching you out after all your effort to get there!"
"No, no," explained the shadow. "He meant that he wanted me to pitch thenext day. But I was all tuckered out and hardly ready to do that. Ireally wanted to have a bath and get some sleep.
"'Tomorrow or never, Young Fellow,' he says to me. Tomorrow or not atall.'
"'All right,' I said. 'But could I have five dollars in advance so I canget a clean shirt or something?'
"'After the game tomorrow,' he said. Then he just walked away from melike I was nothing."
"How rude," said Elephant.
"The least he could have done would have been to let you take a showerin the locker-room," said Lisa.
"Well, I got to clean up," admitted Rube. "Howard took me to his roominghouse and gave me something to eat. They let me sleep on an extra cotthey had. And the next day we went to the Ball Park and I was introducedto the players and given a uniform that was too small for me. The Keokukteam was shagging balls while I warmed up, and they kept making commentsabout green rookies and bushers and nitchies and such; and how they'dknock me out of the box in the first inning; and how I should havestayed home with my Mommy. Ooh, I felt terrible. I had an awful headacheand I was exhausted! Still, I was determined to show them that I couldmake good, and I went out there and won that game six against one!
"With that," continued the shadow, "I felt sure I'd be offered acontract. So after the game, I went to Mr. Frisbee and said, 'Welp, Ishowed you I could deliver the goods. Can we talk about a contractnow?'
"'Oh,' he says to me. 'Keokuk is in last place. Wait until Oskaloosacomes in this weekend. They are in second place. They are a rough team,and if you can beat them, then we'll talk.'
"'Can't I get any money--any advance money--on my contract?' I askedhim.
"'You haven't got a contract,' he said.
"'All right,' says I, and I didn't say another word. I knew that he wasright. I'd have to prove myself before I could expect any handouts fromthis man. So I stayed quiet. I didn't say anything to anybody thatevening. But when it got dark, I went down to the railway station, andthe same stationmaster was there. He remembered me.
"'Hey!' he says. 'You pitched a fine game today! I was there, and youdid a great job! What are you doing back here? Did you come to give methat free ticket you promised me?'
"'No,' I said to him sadly. I'm sorry. I'm going back home to Cleveland,and I want to know what time a freight comes by.' Then I explained tohim about everything that had happened. Oh, he was very nice to me. Hecompletely understood where I was coming from. After we had talked forawhile, he said, 'Look, the train comes in at one o'clock in the morningand the engine unhooks and goes down to the water tower. When it does,you sneak into the baggage compartment. Meanwhile, I'll talk to thebaggage man before the engine gets hooked up again. So when the trainpulls out and is about five miles out of town, he'll open the baggagedoor and let you out.'
"And that is pretty much what happened," continued Rube. "When we werefive miles out of town, the door opened and the baggage man appeared. Italked with him all the way to Chicago, and as we got close to the yardshe says to me, 'Okay, you'd better get ready to jump now. There are alot of detectives around here and if you're not careful, they'll jumpon you and throw you in jail. So once you get to the ground, do nothesitate! Beat it away from here as fast as you can!'
"The baggage man must have told the engineer about me, as we slowed downto a crawl just before we approached the Chicago yards, and off Ijumped. I got out of there quick and took off down the street. I don'tknow what street it was, and I'm not sure where I was headed, but I doremember that I was awfully tired. It was the middle of the morning andI had hardly slept a wink the night before. I had staggered about threeor four blocks when I passed by a fire engine house. Evidently all ofthe firemen were out at a fire, because the place was deserted. I wastired, very tired, so I went in and sat down. Well, they had a bigbellied iron stove in there, and it was warm. I guess I must have fallenasleep, as the next thing I knew, a couple of firemen were shaking meand doing everything they could do to wake me up. They called me a bumand a lot of other bad names, and told me to get out of there or they'dhave me thrown in jail.
"'I'm no bum,' I said. 'I'm a ballplayer.'
"'What?' the firemen laughed. 'You, a ballplayer? Where did you everplay?'
"'In Cleveland, around the sandlots,' I told them proudly. 'And inWaterloo, Iowa, too! I beat the Keokuk team six to one!'
"'Yeah?' said one of the
firemen. 'And last week I had dinner with SantaClaus and the Pope. So I suppose you're going to tell me that you areclose buddies with Three-Fingered Brown, Chance, Tinker and Evans--Imean, Evers--and all of those fellows?'
"'No,' I said. 'I don't know them. But some day I'll be playing withthem, or against them, because I'm going to get in the Big Leagues.'
"'Where are you going now?' asked the firemen.
"'Back home to Cleveland,' I told them.
"'Have you got any money?' they asked me.
"'No,' I answered. I had to be honest, after all.
"So they got up a little pool of about five dollars and said, 'Well, onyour way. And use this to get something to eat.'
"I thanked them, and as I left I told them that some day I would be backagain. 'When I get to the Big Leagues,' I said, I'm coming out to visityou when we get to Chicago.'
"And home I went. I played around home all the rest of the summer, andthen the next summer--that would have been 1907, if I recall correctly,even though I'm remembering things that have yet to happen and I'mremembering them backwards--I took a job with an ice cream company inCleveland. I made twenty-five dollars a week: Fifteen for checking thecans on the truck that would take the ice cream away, and ten dollars aSunday, when I pitched for the company team. It was a good team. Weplayed the best semipro clubs in the Cleveland area, and I beat themall. I was only seventeen, but I hardly lost a game.
"Then one day I got a postal card from the Cleveland Ball Club, askingme to come in and talk to them. Mr. Kilfoyl and Mr. Somers, the ownersof the club, wanted to see me."
"Hurray!" said Hootsey. "So then, your father must have come around bythen?"
"Hardly!" said the shadow. "My Dad saw the postal card and became veryupset. 'So,' he said to me. 'I see that you still want to be aballplayer.'
"'Yes,' I admitted. 'I do. And I'm going to be a great one, too! Justyou wait and see! Some day you're going to be proud of me!'
"'Yeah,' he shrugged. 'Proud of nothing.'
"But I went to the Cleveland club's office all the same, and Mr. Kilfoyland Mr. Somers were both there. I told them that I had received theircard. 'You know,' I added, 'You got me into a little jam. My dad doesn'twant me to be a ballplayer.'
"'Don't you worry,' said Mr. Kilfoyl 'After you sign with us and getinto the Big Leagues, he'll think differently about it.'
"'Well,' I said, 'I'm not signing with you or anybody else until I hearwhat you're offering. I've been taken advantage of before, and it's notgoing to happen again. I know a lot of ballplayers and they always tellme not to sign with anybody unless I get a good salary. They all tell meyou better get it when you're young, 'cause you sure won't get it whenyou're old.'
"'That's a lot of nonsense,' Mr. Kilfoyl said. 'Don't you worry. We'lltreat you right. We'll give you a hundred dollars a month. That's awonderful offer.'
"'I think he'll be overpaid,' Mr. Somers says.
"'I don't think that is so wonderful,' I said. 'And as for beingoverpaid, I get that much right now from the ice cream company, and inaddition I get to eat all the ice cream I want.'"
"So it really wasn't an honorable offer," tsked Ozma. "Did they raisetheir offer?"
"No," replied the shadow with a sad expression. "They wouldn't increasetheir price. And I wouldn't reduce mine. So I left and went home. On myway home, though, I stopped in this sporting-goods store at 724 ProspectAvenue. It was owned by Bill Bradley and Ryan ... Phylli ... --I mean,Charlie Carr. Charlie managed and played first base for Indianapolis inthe American Association. Bill, as I think I may have mentioned before,played third base for Cleveland.
"Anyway, when I walked in the door, Bill Bradley said, 'Hello, BigLeaguer. I understand that the boss wants to sign you up.'
"'Not me,' I said. 'He wouldn't pay me as much as I already make withthe ice cream company.'
"'You know,' said Charlie Carr, 'I manage the Indianapolis Club.'
"'I know that,' I said. After all, everybody knew that!
"'How would you like to sign with me?' Charlie said with a smile.
"'You're in the minor leagues,' I replied. 'If a major league club won'tpay me what I want, how could you do it?'
"'How much do you want?' he wanted to know.
"I took a deep breath and then answered, 'Two hundred a month.'
"'Wow!' he said. 'You want all the money, don't you?'
"'No,' I told him. 'But you want a good pitcher, don't you?'
"'Yes,' he answered simply.
"'Well, I said, I'm one.'"
The five Ozites laughed at this, and the shadow smiled. He was actuallybeginning to fear that he was giving them too many details and that hisstory may be becoming long-winded and dull. But seeing that he was notboring his listeners, he continued:
"He agreed to my terms, of course. So right then I signed my firstprofessional contract, with Indianapolis of the American Association.
"When I got home that night I had to tell my dad about it, because I wasto leave for Indianapolis the very next day. Oh, that was a terriblenight! Finally, Dad said, 'Now listen, I've told you time and time againthat I don't want you to be a professional ballplayer. But you've gotyour mind made up. Now I'm going to tell you something: when you crossthat threshold, don't come back. I don't ever want to see you again.'"
"No!" said Ozma with a start. "No way! No father would say such a thingto his own son!"
"That was just what my father said to me," said Rube sadly. "He didn'twant me to come home again. I was excommunicated from the family."
"That's awful!" said Lisa. "Parents do have a certain responsibilitytoward any children that they brought into the world! He was a skinflintand a creep!"
"Yes," agreed Rube. "His actions that day were like those of a regularskunk!"
"I've known some very nice skunks in my day," said Hootsey.
"In any case," said the shadow, not wanting to get into a debate abouthis use of the word _skunk_, "I was as shocked as you all seem to be.
"'You don't mean that, Dad!" I said.
"'Yes, I do.'
"'Well,' I replied. 'I'm going. And some day you'll be proud of me.'
"'Proud!' he said. 'You're breaking my heart, and I don't ever want tosee you again.'
"'I will not break your heart,' I said. 'I'll add more years to yourlife. You wait and see.'
"And so it was that I went to Indianapolis. They optioned me out toCanton in the Central League for the rest of the 1907 season, and I wontwenty-three games with them, which was one-third of all the games theCanton Club won that year."
"Good for you, Rube!" said Elephant, genuinely proud of his new friend.
"The next year--that would have been 1908--I went to Spring Trainingwith the Indianapolis Club. We went to French Lick Springs, Indiana.After three weeks there we went back to Indianapolis and played a fewexhibition games before the season opened. Well, believe it or not, thefirst club to come in for an exhibition game was the Cleveland team:Napoleon Lajoie, Terry Turner, Elmer Flick, George Stovall and the wholebunch that I used to carry bats for. When they came on the field I wasalready warming up.
"'Hey!' a couple of them yelled at me. 'What are you doing here? Are youthe bat boy here?'
"'No,' I smugly replied. 'I am the pitcher.'
"'You, a pitcher?' they jeered. 'Who do you think you're kidding?'
"'Just ask Bill Bradley,' I told them. 'He was there when I signed myfirst contract. You'll see. I'm going to pitch against you guys today,and I'm going to beat you, too.'
"'Beat us? Busher, you couldn't beat a drum!'
"So then Bill Bradley came over and said hello. As he was leaving hesaid, 'Richard, you're a nice boy, so I want to give you some advicebefore today's game. Be careful of the Frenchman.' He meant NapoleonLajoie. He said, The Frenchman is very sharp and he's been hittingterrific line drives this past week. He's almost killed three of our ownpitchers in practice, so there's no telling what he'll do in a realgame, even if it is just an exhibition game.'
"
I thanked him, of course, and went back to warming up. Well, I pitchedthe whole nine innings and beat them, two to zero. Lajoie got two hitsoff me, and I think George Stovall got a couple, but I shut themout--and I wasn't killed, either.
"That night Charlie Carr called me over. 'You know,' he said, 'a funnything just happened. Mr. Somers, the owner of the Cleveland club, justcame over to my hotel room and wanted to buy you. He offered me threethousand five hundred dollars for your contract with the understandingthat you'd stay here all season, to get more experience, and then youwould join the Cleveland club next year.'
"'Charlie,' I said, 'if you sell me to Somers, I'm going right back tothe ice cream company. He had first chance to get me, and he wouldn'tgive me what I deserved. So long as Somers is involved, I won't play forCleveland, no matter what.'
"'Okay,' he said. 'Don't worry. I won't sell you. Later on I'll be ableto sell you for a lot more, anyway.'
"On opening day, Kansas City was at Indianapolis, and I pitched theopening game. I won two to one, and that evening the story in theIndianapolis _Star_ read like this: 'The American Association seasonopened up today, and it was a beautiful game between two fine teams.Each had great pitching, with an eighteen year old right-handerpitching for Kansas City and an eighteen year old left-hander for thehome team. The right-hander with Kansas City looks like he's going todevelop into a great pitcher. They call him Smoky Joe Wood. But we havea left-hander with Indianapolis who is going places, too. He resemblesone of the great left-handed pitchers of all time: Rube Waddell.'
"And from that day on, they nicknamed me 'Rube.'
"I had a wonderful season that year with Indianapolis. I pitchedforty-seven complete games, won twenty-eight of them, led the league inmost strikeouts, least hits, most innings pitched, and everything.Occasionally what I'd do would be reported in the Cleveland papers, andfriends of mine would tell me that they'd pass by the house and see Dadsitting on the porch.
"'Well, Fred,' they'd say--that was Dad's name, by the way, Fred--'Didyou see what your son Rube did yesterday?'
"'Who are you talking about?' he'd say. 'Rube who?'
"'Your son--Richard,' they would answer.
"'I told him that baseball was no good,' my dad would reply. 'Nowthey've even gone and changed his name!'
"Anyway, I had a terrific year with Indianapolis, like I said. Late inthe season we went into Columbus, Ohio, and Charlie Carr came up to mebefore the game.
"'Rube,' he said, 'there are going to be an awful lot of celebritieshere at the game today. The American and National Leagues both have anoff-day, and they're all coming to see you pitch. If you pitch a goodgame I may be able to sell you before the night is out.'
"'For how much?' I wanted to know.
"'I don't know,' he said. 'But a lot. It depends on what kind of gameyou pitch.'
"'Will you cut me in?' I asked.
"'No, I won't,' he said with certainty. 'You're getting a good salaryand you know it.'
"'Okay,' I said. I was only kidding anyway.
"'I don't want you to get nervous today,' he said.
"'Nervous?' I repeated. 'Have I ever been nervous all season?'
"'No,' he admitted, 'I've been in baseball a long time and I never sawanything like it. I never saw a kid like you, who can beat anybody andis so successful.'
"'Well,' I said, 'the reason I'm so successful is because I can beatanybody.'"
"Now aren't you getting a little carried away with your bragging?" askedNibbles. "I mean, I'm very much enjoying your story, even though I knowlittle about baseball except that you play it on a bass drum. Butreally, I think you're carrying your pride a little too far into thenegative."
"Yeah," admitted Rube, "I am sorry about that. Sometimes that happens tome when I get too worked up. Anyway, I went out there that day and Ipitched one of those unusual games: no hits, no runs, no errors.Twenty-seven men faced me and not one of them got to first base. Andthat evening in Columbus they put me up for sale, with all the BigLeague clubs bidding on me, like a horse being auctioned off. TheCleveland club went as high as ten thousand five hundred dollars for mycontract, but the Giants went to eleven grand, and I was sold to them.At that time, that was the highest price ever paid for a baseballplayer.
"I reported to the New York Giants in September of 1908, as soon as theAmerican Association season was over. I was eigh ..."
"It still feels a little odd to have you 'remembering' things from yearsthat have not yet been," interrupted Hootsey.
"Let him finish the story," admonished Elephant.
"I am sorry," said Rube. "But it is a memory to me, and a prediction toyou. I will try to be more careful about naming years if I can rememberto be. But in any event, I was eighteen years old at the time, andalready the most valuable player in the Big Leagues! Excuse me if Iseem to boast, but I feel that I am justified this time. I was the heroof the hour.
"Still, I came up too late in the season to make a trip to Chicago withthe Giants that year, but the next season we made our first trip toChicago the second week in June. And the first thing I did, as soon as Igot there, was to make a beeline for that firehouse.
"The only one there when I first got there was the Lieutenant. I walkedup to him and said, 'Lieutenant, do you remember me?'
"'Never saw you before in my life,' he said.
"'Well, remember about three years ago you caught me sleeping back ofthat stove there?'
"'Oh, are you that kid from Cleveland that said he's a ballplayer?'
"'Yes!' I told him. 'Remember me? My name is Marquard. RichardMarquard.'
"'Of course,' he said, not really interested. 'What are you doing here?'
"'I am in the Big Leagues,' I explained. 'I told you when I got to theBig Leagues I was coming out to visit you.'
"'Well I'll be ...' he began, then, 'Who are you with?'
"'Why, I'm with the New York Giants,' I said with pride.
"And boy, for years after that, whenever the Giants would come toChicago, I'd go out to that firehouse. I'd sit out front and talk forhours. The firemen would have all the kids in the neighborhood there ...and all the families that lived around would stop by ... and it wasreally wonderful. Everybody was so nice and friendly. Gee, I used toenjoy that. It was a great thrill for me.
"Actually, every single day of all the years I spent in the Big Leagueswas a thrill for me. It was like a dream come true. I was in the BigLeagues for eighteen years, you know, from 1908 through 192 ... Oh,yeah. Sorry about that. I was with the Giants for seven glorious years,with the Dodgers for five years after that, with Cincinnati for oneyear, and then with the Boston Braves for four. And I loved every singleminute of it!
"The best years of all were those with the Giants. I don't mean becausethose were my best pitching years, although they were. In 1911 I wontwenty-four games and lost only seven. And in 1912 I won twenty-six.That's the year I won nineteen straight! I didn't lose a single game in1912 until July eighth!
"Actually, at the risk of sounding boastful again, I won twentystraight, not nineteen. But because of the way they scored then, Ididn't get credit for one of them. I relieved Jeff Tesreau in the eighthinning of a game one day, with the Giants behind, three to two. In theninth inning, Heinie Groh singled and Art Wilson homered, and we won,four to three. But they gave Tesreau credit for the victory instead ofme. Except for that it would have been twenty straight wins, notnineteen."
"It's still a pretty magnificent record," harumphed Elephant "I don'tsee any reason for all the sour grapes."
"Oh, no," said Rube's shadow. "No sour grapes. It was the grandest yearof my life. Of course, I had other great years with the Giants, too. In1914--er, sorry. I've just told this story this way for so long, it ishard to change it now--I beat Babe Adams and the Pirates in atwenty-one inning game, three to one. Both of us went the entiredistance that day, all twenty-one innings. And the following year, Ipitched a no-hitter against Brooklyn and beat Nap Rucker, two tonothing."
"No wonder you remember your
years with the Giants best," said Hootseyunderstandingly.
"Oh, no," said Rube. "But that's not the reason. The real reason is ...Well, maybe it's because that was my first club. I don't know. Whateverthe reason, though, it was wonderful to be a Giant back then.
"Take Mr. McGraw, for example. What a great man he was! The finest andgrandest man I ever met! He loved his players and his players loved him.Of course, he wouldn't stand for any nonsense. You had to live up to therules and regulations of the New York Giants, and when he laid down thelaw you'd better abide by it!
"I'll never forget one day we were playing Pittsburgh, and it was RedMurray's turn to bat, with the score tied in the ninth inning. There wasa man on second with none out. Murray came over to McGraw--I was sittingnext to McGraw on the bench--and he said, 'What do you want me to do,Mac?'
"'What do I want you to do?' McGraw said. 'What are you doing in theNational League? There's the winning run on second base and no one out.What would you do if you were the manager?'
"'I'd sacrifice the man to third,' Murray said.
"'Well,' McGraw said, 'that's exactly what I want you to do.'
"So Murray went up to the plate to bunt. After he got to the batter'sbox, though, he backed out and looked over at McGraw again.
"McGraw poked his elbow in my ribs. 'Look at that so-and-so,' he said.'He told me what he should do, and I told him what he should do, and nowhe's undecided. I'll bet he forgot from the bench to the plate.'
"Now, in those days--and I guess it's the same now--when a man was upthere to bunt, the pitcher would try to keep the ball high and tight.Well, it so happened that Red was a high-ball hitter. Howie Camnitz waspitching for Pittsburgh. He wound up and in came the ball, shoulderhigh. Murray took a terrific cut at it and the ball went over theleft-field fence. It was a home run and the game was over.
"Back in the clubhouse, Murray was as happy as a lark. He was first intothe showers, and out boomed his wonderful Irish tenor, singing _My WildIrish Rose_. When he came out of the shower, still singing, McGrawwalked over and tapped him on the shoulder. All of us were watching outof the corner of our eyes, because we knew The Little Round Man--that'swhat we used to call McGraw--wouldn't let this one go by without saying_something_.
"'Murray,' McGraw said. 'What did I tell you to do?'
"'You told me to bunt,' Murray said, not looking quite so happy anymore.'But you know what happened, Mac. Camnitz put one right in my gut, so Icow-tailed it.'
"'Where did you say he put it?' asked McGraw.
"'Right in my gut,' Murray says again.
"'Well,' said McGraw, I'm fining you a hundred dollars, and you can tryputting that right in your gut, too!' And off he went.
"Oh, God! I never laughed so much in my life! Murray never did live thatdown. Years later something would happen and we'd yell to Murray, 'HeyRed, is that right in your gut?'
"There were a lot of grand guys on that club: Christy Mathewson andChief Meyers, Larry Doyle and Fred Snodgrass, Al Bridwell and BugsRaymond. Bugs Raymond! Ah, yes! What a terrific spitball pitcher he was.Bugs drank a lot, you know, and sometimes it seemed like the more hedrank the better he pitched. They used to say that he didn't spit on theball: he blew his breath on it, and the ball would come up drunk.
"Actually, there was very little drinking in baseball in those days.It's a shame that drinking will become more and more commonplace inAmerican sports with the passage of time. I have seen it, and it is sad.Myself, I've never smoked or took a drink in my life. I always said youcan't burn the candle at both ends. You want to be a ballplayer, be aballplayer. If you want to go out and carouse and chase around, do that.But you can't do them both at once.
"Of course," continued Rube Marquard's shadow, 'when we were on theroad, we had a nightly eleven o'clock bed check. At eleven o'clock weall had to be in our rooms and the trainer would come around and checkus off. We'd usually have a whole floor in a hotel and we'd be two to aroom. I always roomed with Matty all the while I was on the Giants. Whata grand guy he was! The door would be wide open at eleven o'clock andthe trainer would come by with a board with all the names on it. He'dpoke his head in: Mathewson, Marquard, check. And lock the door. Nextroom, check, lock the door.
"As far as I was concerned, I never drank a drop even when I was in showbusiness. In 1912 I made a movie with Alice Joyce and Maurice Costello,and then I was in vaudeville for three years, Blossom Seeley and I.That's when she was my wife. It didn't work out, though. I asked her toquit the stage. I told her I could give her everything she wanted.
"'No,' she told me. 'Show business is show business.'
"'Well,' I said, 'baseball is mine.' So we parted."
"You mentioned that you were with the Giants for seven years, and thenthe Dodgers for five, did you not? How did it feel when you were tradedfrom the Giants to the Dodgers?" asked Elephant.
"Well," said the shadow, "not too bad. See, I traded myself. I didn'tseem to be able to get going in 1915 after I pitched that no-hitterearly in April, and late in the season McGraw started riding me. Thatwas a very bad year for the Giants, you know. We were favored to win thepennant, and instead we wound up last. So McGraw wasn't very happy.After I had taken about as much riding as I could stand, I asked him totrade me if he thought I was so bad.
"'Who would take you?' he said to me.
"'What do you mean?' I asked. 'I can still lick any club in the league.'And I could, too! Heck, I wasn't even twenty-six years old then.
"'Lick any club in the league?' scoffed McGraw. 'You couldn't lick apostage stamp!'
"'Give me a chance to trade myself, then,' I suggested. 'What would yousell me for?'
"'Seven thousand five hundred bills,' he answered.
"'Okay,' I said. 'Can I use your phone?'
"'Sure,' he said.
"We were both pretty mad at that point, so I got 'hold of the operatorand asked her to get me Wilbert Robinson, manager of the Brooklyn club.You see, Robbie--that's what we called him--had been a coach with us foryears before he became the Dodger manager in 1914. After a while, shegot Robbie on the phone.
"'Hello?' he says.
"'How are you, Robbie?' I asked.
"Fine,' he said. 'Who is this?'
"Now, I had to handle this conversation very carefully. My whole worlddepended on it. 'How would you like to have a good left-handed pitcher?'I said in a jovial tone.
"I'd love it,' he said. 'Who is this? Who's the man? Who are you goingto recommend?'
"I then dropped the clincher. 'I'm going to recommend myself,' I toldhim.
"'Who are you?' he repeated.
"'Rube Marquard,' I said, trying to sound impressive.
"'Oh,' Robbie said. 'What are you kidding around for, Rube? I have to goout on the field and I don't have time to fool around.'
"'No,' I told him, 'I'm serious! McGraw is right here and he says he'llsell me for seven thousand five hundred buckaroos! Do you want to talkto him?'
"'Of course I do,' Robbie said. And right then and there I was tradedfrom the Giants to the Dodgers.
"And, of course, we--the Dodgers, that is--won the pennant the nextyear, and I had one of the best years I ever had. I think I had anearned run average of about one and a half in 1916. And then we won thepennant again in 1920. So everything worked out pretty well.
"One day when I was pitching for Brooklyn, I pitched the first game of adouble-header against Boston and beat them, one to zip! I was in theclubhouse during the second game, taking off my uniform, when theclubhouse boy came in. 'Rube,' he said to me, 'there's an elderlygentleman outside who wants to see you. He says he's your father fromCleveland.
"'He is not my father,' I said. 'My father wouldn't go across the streetto see me. But you go out and get his autograph book and bring it in,and I'll autograph it for him.'
"But instead of bringing in the book, he brought in my Dad. And we wereboth delighted to see one another.
"'Boy,' said my father to me, 'you sure are a hardhead. You know Ididn't mean what I sai
d ten years ago.'
"'What about you, Dad?' I said. 'You're as stubborn as I am. I thoughtyou never wanted to see me again. I thought you meant it.'
"'Of course I didn't,' he said.
"After we talked a while, I said, 'Did you see the game today?'
"'Yes,' he said, 'I did.'
"'Where were you sitting?' I asked him.
"'Well, you know the man who wears that funny thing on his face?'
"'You mean the mask? The catcher?' I said.
"'I guess so,' my father said with a smile. 'Well, anyway, I was halfwaybetween him and the number one--you know, where they run right afterthey hit the ball?'
"'You mean first base?' I asked.
"'I don't know,' he said. 'I don't know what they call it. I was sittingin the middle there.'
"'How many ball games have you seen since I became a ballplayer, Dad?' Iwanted to know.
"'This is the first one,' he said.
"Well, he stayed in New York with me for a few weeks, and we had agreat time. Finally, he had to go back to Cleveland. After he'd left,the newspapers heard about my Dad and they wanted to know his addressback home. So I gave it to them, and doggone if they didn't sendreporters and photographers to Cleveland to interview him.
"They took his picture and asked him a lot of questions. One of thethings they asked him was whether he had ever played very much baseballhimself.
"'Oh,' he told them, 'of course I did, when I was younger. I used tolove to play baseball. I used to be a pitcher, just like my sonRichard--I mean, like my son Rube.'
"'Are you proud of your son?' they asked him.
"'I certainly am,' Dad said. 'Why shouldn't I be? He's a great baseballplayer, isn't he?'"
The group of Ozites was silent for a few moments as the Forest Monstercarried them along toward Yoraitia. The large pachyderm could feel atear welling up in his left eye, and he brushed it away with his trunk.
The Forest Monster of Oz Page 14
