by Matt Musson
His voice trailed off and he was gone for a few more seconds.
Then Chopper reached down and picked up another towel and he looked back at me.
“So, you see Bobby, baseball is bigger than owners and stadiums and leagues. It’s bigger than any one group of people, no matter what color they are or how much money they have in the bank.”
“Baseball belongs to everyone.”
He stood looking at the floor for a moment. Then he looked up, and I saw he had a tear in his eye.
“I would grow a mustache. I would change my name. Hell, I'd paint my face purple and wear a tutu, if I could just get just one more at bat.”
He paused. Then he shook his head and shrugged.
“So, if Shoofly Brown wants to be Jimenez Cuervo to play baseball, I say more power to him.”
Chopper walked away and went back to picking up towels and straightening the club house.
So, I finished up my chores, and I headed home.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter Fifteen – A Promise Kept
I remember walking home from the baseball stadium and feeling pretty sorry for myself. My best baseball friend was not talking to me and the Rocks whole season was in the toilet, and I did not anticipate either one of those situations improving anytime soon.
What else could possibly go wrong? I wondered.
I should have realized that whenever you are feeling sorry for yourself, you are just asking for trouble. Life can't wait to give you something to be really sorry about.
When I walked up the steps and through the front door to my house, I knew immediately there was a something wrong.
I don't know how I knew it. I walked in to the front room and everything was just the way it was when I left that morning. There was no one in there. There was nothing out of place. There was no sign of foul play.
But, I knew in the pit of my stomach that something was terribly wrong.
“Mom?” I called out loudly enough to be heard throughout the house.
“We're in the kitchen, Honey,” she replied with an unsteady voice. “Come on in and join us.”
Us?
That uneasy feeling got a lot stronger. Who was here with Mom this time of day?
I made my way through the front room and through the pair of half sized swinging doors that Mom had put up to ‘formally divide the eating and living area.'
As I pushed through, I saw Momma sitting at our little chrome dinette set with the pink Formica top. Grandpa and Grandma Tooley were also at the table. They were leaning over and comforting her.
There was a blue cardboard box of Kleenex on the table. I could tell it had just been opened, since the cardboard cover strip lay on the table beside it. A stack of used Kleenex littered the Formica surface, like crumpled white carnations on the pink background.
Beside the Kleenex box there was an opened telegram.
I could see from the smeared makeup that Mom had been crying. Anxiety and fear crept into my voice.
“Mom? What's going on? What's wrong?”
Mom looked up at me and smiled. It was a forced smile. She was quiet for a minute. When she finally spoke, she was working to control the emotion in her voice.
Mom reached over and pulled a fresh Kleenex out of the box. At first I thought she was just going to dab her eyes, but when she brought the soft white tissue to her face, she dissolved in tears.
“It's Captain Ricky,” she struggled. “He's coming home.”
****************
I don't really remember much of the next couple of days. It was odd. It was like pieces from a movie all spliced together. I remember short scenes and snatches of color and noise.
I remember the military hearse bringing the flag draped coffin up to the Church house.
I remember everyone sweating in the pews and flapping those free cardboard fans the funeral home gives out.
I remember people bringing food.
There were pans and dishes of casseroles and cakes and salads. I remember food was stacked all across the kitchen table and perched on every counter surface. I may just be crazy, but it seems like at one time, we had seven colors of congealed Jell-O salads lined up beside the sink.
And, I remember the graveside gun salute, followed by a mournful trumpet crying Taps.
Clickity, clack. Boom!
Clickity, clack. Boom!
Clickity, clack. Boom!
Somehow that last volley was like a cold washcloth to the face. Suddenly, I was waking up from a three day nap or, someone hit the switch and my brain snapped back on.
I don't know where I had gone but I was back.
Grandpa and Grandma were practically carrying Mom home from the graveyard. I was walking behind them and having a real thought for the first time in days.
I was thinking that I was never going to have a Father.
Now, I really had not had a Father for a long time. I was two when Captain Ricky shipped off overseas, and the truth is I did not remember him as a real person. He was only the pictures that Mom put out and the stories she liked to tell.
I always felt that someday I would have a real Dad. He would come home from The War, and we would ride bikes and go fishing and play baseball. I would show him off to all my friends, while he sat at the kitchen table reading the newspaper out loud and complaining like somebody's Father.
But, now I knew that was never going to happen because Captain Ricky flew his B-25 into the side of a cloud covered mountain, when he disappeared six years ago.
So, when we went back to the house and all these people dressed in black came by to pinch my cheek and cry and laugh and tell stories about Captain Ricky, I could not take it. My Sunday suit and dress shirt felt like a boy choking straitjacket.
I snuck out the backdoor and high tailed it for the baseball stadium as fast as I could.
Since, it was an off day; none of the players were around. That was okay, since I really just wanted some quiet. I walked up the old concrete grandstand to the very top row. I took a seat and pulled off my black clip-on tie and unbuttoned my top button.
In the distance I could see Bubba using clippers to trim the grass along the left field fence. Luckily he did not see me.
I just sat there alone.
As I said before, whenever you are feeling sorry for yourself life will give you something to be sorry for.
So, now I was up here feeling sorry for real.
I had my head in my hands, and I did not see anyone approaching but suddenly someone was there.
I looked up.
Shine was standing above, looking down.
I did not know what to say. So, I did not say anything.
“I am sorry about your Father,” Shine finally said.
“Thanks,” I said. “So am I.”
“I was going to bring you some Jell-O,” Shine said. “But, I did not know your favorite flavor. Plus we were out of ice. So, I couldn't make it anyway.“
“That's okay, Shine. We've got enough Jell-O at my house to make a wiggly snowman.”
He smiled. “That would be something to see, a Jell-O snowman.”
I smiled back at him and nodded.
That's when he reached into his pocket. He had to put his hand in way down deep in those loose fitting hand-me-down pants but, eventually he pulled an out an old weathered hard ball and he offered it to me.
“I got this for you,” he said.
“Thanks,” I replied. “But you didn't have to. I have plenty of baseballs.”
Shine grinned as if he knew a secret.
“But, this is that immortal homerun ball that you are always talking about. This is the baseball that Wally Carpenter hit on opening day.”
“Holy cow!” I jumped to my feet. I took it in my hands as if it was made of glass. “You found it?”
“Yep,” he said. “It was way out there. I found five others while I was looking for this one, but this immortal ball was
way far out. It was way beyond all the others, half buried in red clay and covered in weeds.”
“Wow!” was all I could say.
And, for the next hour we sat there in the bleachers admiring that immortal baseball and being friends.
After a while, we got up and left the ballpark. We went on back to my house, where we ate seven different colors of Jell-O and they all tasted the same. Finally, Grandma Tooley made us go outside after she caught us playing baseball in the kitchen with those wiggly little squares
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter Sixteen – Crises Time
Mr. Finley German, majority owner of the Granite Falls Rocks, had to be the richest man I knew. He owned the local Chrysler dealership, and I am pretty sure he had more money than anyone else in Granite Falls. He might well have been the wealthiest person in the entire Catawba Valley.
You could tell he was rich because he drove a brand new Chrysler Imperial Convertible with Auto Fluid Drive Transmission - that shifted all by itself!
They called it ‘America's Smartest Car', and you did not even have to hit the clutch. As a matter of fact, it did not even have a clutch!
Gosh! What will they think of next?
I just loved to stand close to that shiny black convertible and listen to the big V8 purr. I would pretend I was sitting in the front seat driving it down to Hickory, to the brand new outside movie theatre.
Boy, it must be nice to be rich!
Even though Mr. German had money, he behaved like a regular Joe. He talked to everyone. He loved to tell the worst stories and jokes that you have ever heard in your life.
Whenever he would come into the clubhouse, he would seek me out to share his latest groaner.
“Hey, Bobby,” he would say. “What's the Mexican Food weather report?”
“I don't know, Mr. German.”
“Chili today – Hot tamale!”
Or,
“Hey, Bobby, did you hear about the two silkworms that decided to race?”
“No, Sir.”
“They ended up in a tie!”
And, one joke hit a little close to home.
“Hey, Bobby, how do you make a small fortune in baseball?”
“I don't know, Mr. German.”
“You start with a large fortune!”
Now we all knew that Mr. German was losing a lot of money on our team, and even though he was rich I was not sure how long he could keep watching his fortune dwindle.
In spite of his loses, Mr. German was always positive and upbeat and he always seemed so determined to keep the team going and finish out the season.
Once he stopped by the clubhouse, and it was just him and me. So, I asked Mr. German why he kept the ball club going even though he was losing money.
“Bobby,” he said. “I made promises to the players and the fans and the community. Just because I am losing money, I still have to live up to my promises. They don't just go away. Besides, if it was always easy to keep your promises then what good would a promise be?”
I began to wonder if I should be writing this stuff down. Mr. German just kept on making sense.
“It does not take much of a business man to shut down a place and fire people. Anyone can do that but, it takes a real man to live up to his obligations.”
“Don't worry, Bobby,” said Mr. German as he slapped me on the back. “We are doing something special here. We will finish this season, no matter what it takes!”
But, in spite of Mr. German's optimism, things were clearly touch and go. Players kept leaving and eventually the team’s core shrank down to mostly local Mill League veterans. Most of them had good day jobs, and they did not want to leave the area to join other teams. So, we could count on the Mill Leaguers to stay to the end of the season.
At least that's what we thought.
Then, in late August the Catawba Valley contingent of the National Guard was called up for the Korean War. When those boys went off to fight, we lost more of our core players. That left us with just eight players for a nine man game!
For three days, Coach Pugh was on the phone, begging and pleading for someone to come to Granite Falls to help us finish off the season but no one wanted to sign on for a small town and a losing team.
It looked like the dream of professional baseball in Granite Falls was coming to an end.
On August 27th, we were supposed to play double header on the road against the Newton-Conover twins. Coach Pugh was in his little clubhouse office bright and early calling anyone he could think of trying to pick up just one more player. But, when Mr. German came in around 10:30, Coach Pugh stepped out of his office. He was shaking his head and looking down at his feet.
“I am sorry, Sir,” Bob said dejectedly. “I have called everybody I know of, everybody I can think of, and everybody I ever heard of, just trying to get one more player for today's games. If there's a ballplayer to be had in all the Carolinas, I don't know where he's hiding.”
Mr. German walked over and put a comforting arm on Coach Pugh's shoulder.
“Bob,” he said. “You have done a great job for this team and for this town. You have kept us going and you've kept us competitive in one of the toughest baseball leagues in America. Son, you hold your head up high. You don't have anything to feel sorry about. You should be proud of the job you have done here against some mighty long odds.”
Mr. German slapped Coach Pugh on the back and then turned to address the room. Of course, Shine and Chopper and I were the only ones in the room besides the Coach but, Mr. German acted as if he was addressing a crowd.
“Gentlemen,” he announced. “We have reached a crisis point. We have four more games to play but we cannot play with an eight man roster. We cannot field a team for this afternoon's games against the Twins, and it would seem that our season is over. Bob has tried everything in his power, and he assures me there are no players available. I believe that he is absolutely right. So, it appears that we have no option but to give up and fold the team.”
“But…” He paused. Then his eyes twinkled, and he began to smile!
“Maybe this crisis is just an opportunity in disguise.”
Huh?
“Maybe, this is our chance to do something that is going to wake up our sleepy little town.”
What is he talking about?
“Maybe this is our opportunity to shake up Carolina Baseball – and do something that nobody's ever done before.”
Now I was completely confused. Was he talking about forfeiting the game? Or, folding the club? That was not real original. Lots of other teams were going bust. I doubted if anyone would notice if we disappeared.
“Boys,” he said. “There is something I have been thinking about doing for the last two months. Now the time has come. When there is nothing to lose, you might as well do the right thing.”
Mr. German turned and started heading for the door. There was a smile on his face and a purpose in his stride. As he reached to exit, he yelled over his shoulder.
“I am going to get us some ballplayers. I'll be back as soon as I can. If I'm not here in time, you take the bus on over. I'll catch up with you along the way!”
Mr. German tore off like a bat out of you know where. We had no idea what he had up his sleeve but we did what he told us and kept hoping for a miracle. I finished cleaning and packing the equipment and Shine scraped and polished the shoes. Then, we helped Chopper and Big Bubba load up the bus.
When all seven players assembled around 11:30, Coach Pugh (who was the eighth) had everyone board up. After a couple of tries he started up the stubborn old bus engine, closed the door, and we drove off down the highway.
We had no idea what lay ahead.
**************
About 45 minutes later we passed through Hickory and turned on to Highway 70 going east. That's when we found our answer in the backseat of a 1951 Chrysler Imperial.
The big Convertible came flying u
p behind us with the top down, and the horn was honking and honking. Everyone but our driver, rushed down the aisle to the rear of the bus, and what we saw amazed us all.
Mr. German was behind the wheel, smiling and laughing. Beside him in the passenger seat was one of the Rock's co-owners, John Warwick and in the Chrysler's big back seat were three ball players in uniform.
And, all three of them were black!
******************
So, we were going to play baseball that day after all. And, we were going to do something no Southern professional sports team had ever done. We were integrating an all white league.
If I live to be a hundred, I'll never forget the pep talk Mr. German gave us before we took the field.
“Gentlemen,” he said. “It's time for the baseball community to realize that God only put one race on this green Earth: the human race. I believe the Good Lord put us here to do the right thing. So, that is exactly what we are going to do no matter what.”
Mr. German went on to explain, "It’s the right thing for the Rocks, and it's the right thing for baseball.”
Then, in his mellow baritone voice he began singing quietly.
“Jesus loves the little children. “
“All the children of the world.”
Then, the whole team joined in and the music swelled.
“Red and yellow, black and white. “
“They are precious in his sight. “
“Jesus loves the little children of the world.”
It was game time.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter Seventeen – The Final Stretch
We found out later that when Mr. German left us that morning, he drove over to the Falls Cotton Mill run by Rock's co-owner John Warlick. Mr. German knew that Falls Mill sponsored a baseball team for the colored employees. In the fewest words possible, Mr. German explained the situation and proposed a radical solution. In no time the two conspirators were hurrying downstairs, where they pulled two players out of the spinning room and one from the weaving room.
