by Gary Moore
“Frank, I owe you everything. I won’t let you down. I’m grateful for your concern. I know you’re right … I know Skip’s right.”
“I’ll be up in the bleachers. Let’s see what you can do.” He turned to leave.
“Frank.”
“Yes?” The scout turned around and looked at Gene.
“Thank you for coming back to Sesser to get me.”
Frank lifted his head proudly and offered his favorite player a deep, warm smile. “You were worth the trip.” The scout turned and opened the door.
“Frank, wait.”
When Frank turned back around a second time, he saw Gene standing next to Skip’s desk. He had pulled the top drawer open. “Here, catch,” Gene ordered as he reached inside and tossed something at the scout. Frank reached up and caught one of Skip’s cigars. He smiled as he ran it under his nose, inhaled deeply, and tucked it inside his pocket.
“See you after the game, Achilles.”
Ray was already warming up when Gene arrived on the field. He thought about the giant strides Ray had made this season. There was not another pitcher in the Major Leagues throwing any better than Ray Laws. The chatter was dead on. Ray was bound to be called up very soon.
The game began and Gene was hot from the start. Batting cleanup, he stepped up in the bottom of the first inning and hit the second pitch into the stands. Two players stepped on the plate before he did. Just like that the Pirates were up 3-0.
In the top of the second, the lead-off hitter for the Memphis team hit a single. Gene threw him out trying to steal second. Knowing Frank was watching was a great motivator, just as it had been when he was 15 playing in The Lumberyard in Sesser a lifetime ago. In the top of the fourth inning, Gene hit another deep shot into left centerfield. The ball cleared the wall by twenty feet. The Pirates were now up 6-0.
The bottom of the seventh was coming up. Gene was putting his gear back on when Ray walked up. “Let’s pitch this next guy inside,” Gene began. “He can’t hit anything tight …”
Ray cut him off with a laugh and a light shove. “Show off! What are you gonna do next, pitch a few innings?”
“I’m feeling good tonight,” Gene admitted. His ankle was sore, but not overly so.
“Feeling good?”
“I’m feeling better than good,” chuckled the catcher.
“Everything go okay with Frank?” Ray asked.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “It’s good seeing him again.” Gene paused, buckled his left shin guard, and looked up at his friend. “I guess I didn’t realize I wasn’t doing my best, Ray.”
“I don’t want to go to Pittsburgh without you, boss. I won’t go unless you’re with me. Skip, Steve, Frank, we just want you to believe you can do it, because we know you can.”
“You guys want to play ball, or shall we call it a night?” growled the umpire. The Memphis batter was glaring at them. He was already standing next to the plate.
“Let’s put this guy away,” Ray said. “I’m hungry.”
Gene was walking to the plate when he noticed some commotion a few rows behind the Pirates’ dugout. “What’s going on up there, ump?”
Both men could see people running to and from the area. “Look’s like a fight to me,” he replied. “Let’s play ball!”
The game continued and the Pirates won 7-0. Gene turned in another stellar performance. Ray pitched a three-hit shut out.
After the game, Gene and Ray were standing in front of their lockers dissecting the game when Coach Burgner walked up. His face was red, and he did not look well. “Gene, can I see you in Skip’s office?”
Gene looked the third base coach over. “Sure,” he replied. “You look flushed, Steve. You feel okay?”
“No, I don’t, now that you ask. Ray, it might be better if you joined us,” suggested Steve as he led the way into the manager’s office.
Gene and Ray swapped glances, shrugged, and followed him into Skip’s office. Skip was sitting at his desk, his head resting in one of his hands. “Shut the door, Steve,” he said without looking up. “Gene, Ray, have a seat.”
“What’s going on, Skip?” asked Ray. Both players looked at Steve, but he refused to catch their eye. Gene and Ray exchanged confused glances.
Skip used his free hand to rub the side of his face before straightening up and facing them. “There is no way to tell you boys this easy, so I will just tell it to you straight up. I got some bad news.”
Gene knew what was coming, and leaned over and whispered, “Congratulations, Ray. You’re going to Pittsburgh. I’m heading back to Sesser.” Ray grimaced and shook his head.
The manager heard Gene’s guess and sighed. “Frank Boudreau had a heart attack tonight up in the bleachers during the game.”
Gene felt as though someone had just punched him in the gut. He leaped to his feet. “Where is he, Skip?”
“He didn’t make it.”
“What do you mean, he didn’t make it?” Gene asked, even though he knew what those four terrible words meant.
“Frank’s dead, Gene.”
Ray gasped, hung his head, and covered his eyes with one hand. Steve chewed on his lower lip and looked away. Gene just stood there, frozen and unable to fully comprehend the news he was being told. “He’s what?”
“I’m sorry, Gene. Frank’s dead.”
“Oh my God, no … Oh dear God, no,” he whispered, turning around to lean his forehead against the concrete block wall. He didn’t want anyone to see the tears. “Frank would not have been here if I hadn’t been screwing up.”
At that, the old Skip surfaced for a breath. “Well, that has nothing to do with nothing!” he said firmly. “Frank had a heart attack. It had nothing to do with you, and it had nothing to do with him being here. You weren’t screwing up. It’s a damn shame what happened tonight, but Frank died doing what he loved to do. We should all be so damn lucky. When it’s my time, I want to die in that dugout over there,” he pointed, this time without a cigar in his hands. “Or the one in Pittsburgh, come to think about it. So get that thought out of your head. This has nothing to do with you, Gene.”
Gene nodded and turned back around. “I loved Frank as much as my own father,” he said softly, wiping tears from his cheeks. “More in some ways. He was the most important person in my life. That wasn’t totally clear to me before tonight. He was always there for me. He cared about me, not just as a player…” Unable to continue speaking, Gene stopped and sat back down next to Ray, whose own tears were also flowing. Frank had found him, too, pulled him up from a dead end town and pointed him toward the big leagues. He had given them both life.
“That cigar-stealing SOB told me just today you two were the best players he ever scouted. No offense, Ray,” continued Skip as he nodded toward his pitcher, “but he told me over and over these past few weeks that Gene was ‘the best damn overall ballplayer’ he ever laid eyes on—so you’re in good company.” Skip rubbed his eyes and sat quietly for a few moments before quietly adding, “We all owe a great deal to that man.”
The room fell silent. Gene closed his eyes and pictured the scout’s face on that hot day so long ago when the tall stranger paid a visit to Sesser. He remembered the first words he ever heard come out of his mouth: “You catch one heck of a game, son.” The words echoed over and over in his mind.
“I need to see him, Skip,” Gene informed the manager. “How do I do that? Where is he?”
Skip looked at Steve. “Well, I don’t know if you can. And if you can, are you sure you want to?” he asked. “I don’t know what good it’s gonna do.”
Gene stood again. “I need to tell him something. I told him that after the game tonight I would tell him something. I need to do that.”
Skip, Steve, and Ray accompanied Gene to the Greenville hospital to view Frank’s remains. The facility was holding his body pending the arrangements necessary to send him home to his family in Circleville, Ohio. It took some doing to get in because none of the men were next of kin. Luck
ily, the fellow who ran the hospital morgue was a fan of the local Pirates and authorized the visitation.
Gene went in to see Frank alone, and spent a full twenty minutes with him. No one ever knew what it was Gene said to Frank, and no one ever asked.
Chapter 39
Sacrifice Play
“Gene!”
The catcher rolled over in bed and tried to open his eyes. By the look of things, it was barely dawn. Someone was knocking loudly on the door. “What is it?” Gene replied as he pulled back the covers and sat up. “Ray, is that you?”
“Gene! We’re being called up!”
The catcher leaped to his feet and threw open the door. Ray was standing outside hopping up and down, excited and out of breath. Once he made the team, Gene took a small room in a boarding house. Now Ray was standing in the hall, looking like he was going to bust wide open.
“What? What did you say?” He could not believe his ears.
“Coach Burgner … he told me … in confidence, of course,” gasped the pitcher. “We got the call! We’re headed for Pittsburgh! Did you hear me? I said ‘we’ are going, boss!”
Wide awake now, Gene was unsure how to respond because he didn’t believe it. “Are you pulling my leg, Ray? I don’t think this is very funny.”
“Gene!” Ray screamed, grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving his face in next to Gene’s. “Coach Steve told me. He heard Skip on the phone. Boss … we got the call!”
The friends hugged one another for several seconds, separated, and then hugged again. Gene broke away and turned to look for his clothes. “Where are my pants?” he asked. “I can’t find my pants!” He turned back to face Ray. “Damn it, are you sure?” He found his pants and started putting them on.
“Steve overheard Skip on the phone last night,” continued a breathless Ray. “He was talking to Pittsburgh. He heard them say I was starting this weekend against the Cardinals. Gene, we are moving up!”
Gene froze, with one leg buried deep into his pants. He could feel the blood pounding in his temples. “Ray, that doesn’t mean I am moving up with you.”
“Of course it does!” he exclaimed. “We are a team. We are a battery. Hell, we are THE battery! Steve heard Skip ask for a new pitcher and catcher to be sent to Greenville from Mobile. Why would they need a new catcher if you weren’t going up? Huh? Answer me that one!” When Gene had no response, Ray continued. “They both should arrive tomorrow. Today is our last start in the minors, Gene.”
Gene finally exhaled and broke a slow, tentative smile. He had been waiting for more than ten years to hear this news—something he wanted more than anything in his whole life. “I guess that must be right then,” he said slowly. “Well, let’s give them a game today they’ll never forget.”
“Gene, the coach told me this in confidence. You can’t let anyone know that you know, or I’ll be in hot water.”
“Got it,” Gene responded.
“I have to get back,” said Ray. “Remember, act surprised!”
Ray ran back to his apartment, which was only three blocks away, gathered his gear, and headed for the field. He was starting today against Tuscaloosa—his last day in the minors. He could barely stop himself from screaming as the energy and excitement built within him. He was equally as excited for Gene. He knew he had played a big part in pulling Gene’s baseball career back together, but he also knew and appreciated that no minor league catcher could handle his forkball. They were a team. They were equally indebted to each other. And today, it had all paid off. They were going to be playing with the Pittsburgh Pirates!
When Ray arrived at the field Gene was already there, blocking the door to the locker room. They exchanged glances, and knowing smiles, but somehow kept from yelling like wild men at their good fortune.
It was like any other August day in Greenville, hot and humid with a clear blue sky. Something else was in the air that day: excitement. Every player on the team could feel it. By the time batting practice began, everyone knew something was up, and that Gene and Ray were somehow involved.
Gene was first in line, and sent the first pitch over the leftfield fence. On the second pitch he slammed the ball against the centerfield wall. The third went screaming above the same wall into the scoreboard—450 feet away. Gene took a few more practice swings before heading for the dugout. His ankle was barely aching today. He was ready to play ball.
“Gene!” Skip called out to the catcher as he walked back to the dugout. “I need to see you for a minute.”
“Sure, Skip. Right now?”
“Yeah, in my office.”
Gene followed the manager into his small office. Steve stepped in behind them. “You want me to stay, Skip?” he asked.
“I’d appreciate it, yes,” Skip answered quietly. “Close the door.”
“What’s going on?” Gene asked as he sat down and glanced from Skip to Steve, and then back at the manager. Skip leaned forward on his elbows. He looked as though he had not shaved or slept in three days. His eyes, large and bloodshot, had puffy bags beneath them. “Skip, if you keep showing up juiced, I might see you catch a train home tonight,” joked Gene. “Bob’s got an onion outside you can chew on.” When neither coach said a word or cracked a smile, Gene realized something was seriously wrong. “You don’t look too happy.”
“We’re not happy, Gene,” admitted Skip. “Not too damn happy at all. That’s because we have bad news.” On his desk was a cigar. It hadn’t been touched.
Gene knew what was coming. “I’m being released. That’s why you called for a new catcher.”
Skip leaned back and shot a look at Steve. “What the hell did you tell him?” he barked.
“Nothing!” replied the coach. “Not a thing.”
“How’d you know about that?” Skip asked, turning back to Gene.
Gene shrugged. “Just a hunch.” He remembered his promise to Ray and there was no way he was going to break it.
Skip stood and began pacing behind his small desk. “I don’t know what to say, Gene. The Pirates, they know that with a good ankle—.”
“Forget it, Skip. I already know this story … and how it ends,” replied Gene. He was trying hard not to show any emotion, but his voice was quivering and his hands were shaking. His eyes began filling with tears. He took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and then exhaled. “Should I pack up my things now?”
“I’d sure like to see you play one more game, son. And I need to ask you for a favor I know I have no right to ask.”
Gene wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “Ask anything you like, Skip.”
“Ray was called up two weeks ago, Gene.”
The news was almost as stunning as the news that he was being released. “Called up? What are you talking about?”
“When he found out Pittsburgh wasn’t taking you, he told the Pirates, well, basically he told them to take their offer and shove it. He told them he wasn’t moving up without you. They didn’t take him until they gave you one long last look. Their head scout has been shadowing the team for a while now.”
A sudden realization struck Gene. “That’s why Frank was here.”
“Yeah. That’s why Frank was here.” Gene nodded, the threads of the story finally coming together and making sense. Skip spoke again. “Gene, the scout Frank was sitting with told the Pirates that you’re an amazing ballplayer, but in his opinion your ankle would never hold up.”
Gene sighed and nodded slowly. “You said you needed to ask me something.”
“I need you to convince Ray to go to Pittsburg without you. They told me flat out they will not call him again. If he refuses after today, they plan to trade him and pass the problem on to someone else. Quite frankly, I’m worried he may just walk out of here with you. I can’t imagine—oh hell, what am I talking about? I’ve been around baseball all my life! I know how painful this must be for you, but we can’t let Ray do that.”
Unable to speak, Gene nodded and turned to walk out of the office. Skip reached
over and grabbed his arm. Gene turned back and Skip looked him in the eye. “Everything Frank Boudreau said about you … and more … was true. You did yourself proud here in Greenville, son.”
Gene wiped his face a second time with his sleeve, but this time managed a small smile when he heard Frank’s name.
“Can you get yourself together and play today?” Steve asked.
“Today’s my last game. I can do it. Is that scout still here?” Gene asked.
Skip looked over at Steve. “Yeah, he’s still here,” answered the coach. “You want to meet him?”
“No,” Gene shook his head. “I just want him to see me play one more time. That’s all.”
“Will you speak with Ray for me?” asked Skip.
“Skip, Ray will go to Pittsburgh if I have to carry him there on my back. I’ll see to it. For now, just let him think I was called up with him. Okay? Just don’t tell him about me yet. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Thanks, Gene.”
Gene wiped his eyes again, took a deep breath, and walked out of Skip’s office into the locker room. He spent a few minutes at his locker composing himself before grabbing his equipment and heading for the field to warm up. Ray was standing outside the door waiting for him.
“You ready to pitch today, Ray?” Gene asked with as big a grin as he could muster.
“You ready to catch what I’m throwing today, boss?”
“Depends on whether you can throw what I’m calling for!”
“You’ve brought me this far. You call for it, and you’ll get it,” smiled Ray. “But Gene, if I were you, I’d put a little extra padding in that glove today. That ball will be blazing. Can you handle the heat?”
“I think I can handle the heat, Ray,” Gene said slapping his friend on the back and stepping outside to face the diamond. When Gene stopped walking, Ray turned around and gave him a quizzical look.
“What’s wrong, boss. You forget something?”
The sight of the freshly cut diamond had brought Gene up short. As his eyes soaked it in, a deep sense of sadness washed over the catcher from Sesser. He pictured his Pop sitting in the stands, with Ward on one side and Frank on the other. All three were eating peanuts, drinking sodas, and cheering him on to knock the ball out of the park. Only a few hundred people had arrived and taken their seats in the stands, but Gene could hear the roar of the crowd; it was intoxicating—overwhelming. The lines had yet to be chalked, but he could already feel the dust on his fingers. Not a ball had been thrown, not a bat had been swung, but the sweat of athletes lingered in the air.
