The '51 Rocks
Page 9
Sportswriter Grantland Rice once wrote, “It's not whether you win or lose. It's how you play the game.”
For the 1951 Rocks it was not whether we won or lost. It was whether we got to play the game at all.
There were lots of times we could have quit. But, the '51 Rocks kept playing, for one simple reason. We loved baseball. We flat out loved the game.
And when you think about it, that is probably why those Negro League players signed on with us.
Because when you really, really love something…
You just have to share it.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Postlogue – The End
Robert McRainey and Principal Browning stepped out of Ms. Funderburk's class and closed the weighty door behind them. And, as they walked down the shiny tile covered floor, Browning spoke.
“So, none of those African American players every played professional baseball again?”
“No,” answered McRainey. “After the season, Boney Fleming moved to Morganton, where he spent 30 years driving a cab. Gene Abernathy married a teacher in Hickory. Gene moved there and eventually became the Director of the Ridgeview Community Center. Russell Shuford went to work for the City of Hickory, where he was a little league Umpire for decades.”
“Last time I heard of Christopher Rankin, he was in Washington, DC. He may still be there for all we know.”
“And, finally, Bill ‘Big Bubba' Smith disappeared after the mill closed back in 1986. He may also be alive somewhere but, there are a lot of William Smiths around and a multitude of Bubbas in the South. Who knows?”
As the two gentlemen reached the large gray double doors at the end of the hallway, Principal Browning hit the metal bar and forced one open.
“Well Bob, I can't tell you how much I appreciate your filling in on such short notice. I know the kids enjoyed your talk. “
“It was my pleasure, Tyler,” the old man laughed. “Next time you need to take advantage of an old friend, just give me a call.”
Smiling in the sunshine of a beautiful spring day, the two men shook hands thoughtfully. Then, Robert McRainey began to walk off down the sidewalk.
At the last second he hesitated, turning back to his old friend he posed a question.
“Oh. I almost forgot to ask ...“
”What did you have for breakfast this morning, Shine?”
The question caught Tyler Browning by surprise. The principal paused, and then he grimaced.
“Ugh. Dry wheat toast, egg whites, decaf coffee, and half a grapefruit without sugar. “
“Oh my Goodness!” exclaimed McRainey. “You can finally have any breakfast you want, and that is what you are eating?”
Tyler Browning shook his head.
“Laverna believes my cholesterol is too high. I think she wants me to live forever.”
“If you call a breakfast like that living,” joshed his old teammate.
“I tell you what,” McRainey suggested. “It's still early in the day. Why don't we hop down to the Main Street Diner for grits and gravy, bacon and eggs, and some real coffee?”
Tyler Browning hesitated for a minute, but then a smile broke across his face, announcing his decision.
“Why not,” he replied thoughtfully. “What Laverna doesn't know won't hurt her.”
Tyler Browning threw his arm around his oldest friend's shoulder. As the two youngest members of the 1951 Granite Falls Granite Rocks headed off for the parking lot, he spoke one last time.
“Besides,” said the principal, “according to my stomach, it's about time for Hygomia anyway.”
Then, arm in arm, two best friends - a batboy and shoe shiner - walked off into the sunlight of a bright Carolina morning.
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About the Author:
Matt Musson was born in Austin, TX and grew up in San Antonio. He earned two degrees at the University of Texas and moved east to work for Ross Perot as a Systems Analyst. He has developed systems for Planters Peanuts, LifeSavers Candies, Sara Lee, and Bank of America.
Matt is currently in North Carolina developing banking software and working part-time for the Charlotte Bobcats. He has four incredible children: Skye, McClain, Granath, and Chandler. Matt collects vintage rodeo belt buckles and Indian jewelry when he is not prospecting for Carolina gold and emeralds.
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Secret Alternative Chapter 18!!!
Author’s Note:
Below you will find the original Chapter 18. At the request of my editor at Baker Tritten Press, I rewrote the Chapter excluding the word “FART.” Because Baker Tritten Press catered to the Home School market he was afraid the word would offend, “some of our Dear Mothers.”
However, if you are not offended by that word, feel free to read the original Chapter below.
Matt Musson
Alternate Chapter Nineteen – The King of Farts
Peanut Fart Wilson quit coming to our games in August of 1951. I guess he just got tired of watching us lose.
I am sure the fellas sitting in the press box were happy that he gave up on the Rocks. They could certainly breathe easier with Mr. Wilson only a memory, fragrant as it might be.
You see whenever he came to the ball park; Mr. Wilson would stop by the concession stand and pick up three bags of roasted peanuts. Then he would wander up to his seat in the press box and attack those salty legumes like a black bear devours the first salmon of springtime, appeasing the gnawing hunger of a winter long fast.
No beaver alive could crunch through aspen faster than Mr. Wilson could grind through those light brown peanut coverings. Nor could that beaver hope to amass a pile of shavings to rival the shell litter that accumulated at Mr. Wilson's feet.
He usually finished all three bags before the first pitch of the game. So, if you timed things just right, you could arrive before the game started but after the peanut carnage was complete. Peanut Fart's overloaded digestive system was a ticking time bomb. No human body could ever contain that level of pressured peanut methane for long.
Now, in baseball, we have a tradition called the seventh inning stretch. It's when fans rise to stretch the muscles that may have stiffened while they sat watching the game.
Unfortunately, when Mr. Wilson rose up, it was not just the muscles in his legs that got stretched!
The baseball reporters said that when Peanut Fart stood up it was like a ‘smelly symphony in the press box'. They claimed that when the fans sang ‘Take Me Out to the Ball Game', Mr. Wilson accompanied them on the Butt Trumpet!
But, Peanut Fart Wilson did serve a purpose for the Granite Falls Rocks. He was the official record scorer for the team. Because he quit coming to the stadium, the statistics for last sixteen games of our season were never compiled or forwarded to the Howe News Bureau in Atlanta, Ga. So the Western Carolina League will forever have a blind spot covering those final Rocks games. The Official Baseball Guide and Record Book says:
“Note – Sixteen games missing from averages due to failure of Granite Falls’ scorer to send box scores, but standing is complete.”
Because of Peanut Fart Wilson, the Western Carolina League has no detailed written records of the five black men that played for the 1951 Granite Falls Rocks. Some years later a fire at the Chrysler Dealership destroyed the contracts and agreements and paperwork for the entire team.
Aside from a few columns in the Hickory Daily Record, there is no written history of those amazing events of August and September 1951.
So, when it came to the last game of the 1951 Granite Falls Granite Rocks – you just had to be there!
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