The Rhino in Right Field

by Stacy DeKeyser

  “That’s great!” said Ace.

  “Yeah, till Pete paid me a visit. In addition to leaving his calling card on my face, he dared me to show up on Saturday. He said that if I do, he’ll tell everyone that I’m a liar. All because you couldn’t keep your big mouth shut.”

  Ace sputtered. “Well . . . well, I wouldn’t have to open my big mouth, sticking up for you, if Pete wasn’t such a knucklehead!”

  I gave him the stink-eye, so he tried again. “You just said Pete’s been looking for an excuse to punch you. Which means he would’ve done it even if I hadn’t spilled the beans about the forged signature.”

  He had a point. But I was still mad. “You owe me,” I told him.

  “Sure thing,” he said, bouncing around me like a puppy. “Anything, just name it! But what’re ya gonna do now? You deserve to be in that contest! And remember what he did to Penny. And the monkeys! You can’t miss the monkeys.”

  “I’m not gonna miss anything,” I told him. “What can Pop do to me after the fact? Well, okay, he can do a lot, but it’d be worth it. Besides, I’m not gonna let Pete push me around.”

  “That’s the ticket!” said Ace, slapping me on the back with his good arm. “I’m behind you a hundred percent.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I said. “But do me a favor? From now on, keep your mouth a hundred percent shut.”

  I spent all of the next day being sore at Ace. I avoided him at school, and even walked home by myself. Which was boring, and no fun, and way too quiet. I finally decided that having a bigmouth for a best friend was better than not having a best friend. And if I used all my energy being sore at Ace, I wouldn’t have enough left over for hating Pete’s guts, which I really needed in order to beat him on Saturday. So that night after supper, I went over to Ace’s house and sat on his front porch until he noticed me. Then he came outside and sat down too. We both sat there, saying nothing, until it got dark.

  “Tomorrow’s the day,” said Ace, finally.

  “Yep,” I said.

  “Meet you out on the sidewalk first thing?”

  “Yep.”

  And we both went inside, feeling a whole lot better.

  CHAPTER

  39

  AND THEN, IT WAS SATURDAY. The big day.

  Me and Ace got up early and headed to the zoo. The morning newspaper had said that the caravan would be made up of four wagons, carrying two giraffes, a zebra, a rhinoceros (Tank!), and an unspecified number of monkeys.

  “That way no one will get in trouble if any monkeys escape and are unaccounted for,” said Ace.

  “Or maybe it’s just too much trouble trying to count a bunch of crazy monkeys,” I told him.

  “Suit yourself,” he said. “But tonight I’m sleeping with my bedroom window open, just in case.”

  We found Penny at the zoo entrance on Frederick Street, where the parade was supposed to start. “Nice shiner,” she said when we walked up. “What happened?”

  “It’s a long story,” I told her. “But keep an eye out for Pete, just in case. Here they come!”

  Four army-green Parks Department trucks were lining up just inside the zoo entrance. Each truck was pulling a flatbed wagon fitted with a big metal cage. The cages were all decorated with buntings and flags, and each truck had a banner on its side that said what kind of animal was in the wagon behind it.

  “Isn’t it pretty obvious?” said Ace, reading a banner that said GIRAFFES.

  He had a good point, but I told him, “It’s all for show.”

  Behind the giraffes were the wagons with the zebra, the monkeys, and good ol’ Tank. On the side of his truck was a yellow banner with black letters that said:

  DANGER!

  AFRICAN HOOK-LIPPED RHINOCEROS

  2,580 POUNDS

  KEEP CLEAR

  And there was Tank, calm as could be, as if riding around the city streets and going to a ball game was something he did every day.

  “Would you look at that,” I said. “Tank can be a real cupcake sometimes.”

  “Yeah,” said Penny. “A cupcake who almost took Ace’s arm off.” She looked down at Ace’s smelly cast.

  “It wasn’t Tank’s fault,” said Ace. “My foot got caught on the fence.”

  “On the rhinoceros fence,” Penny reminded him, “which you hopped over because you were being chased by a rhinoceros.”

  “I had to get our ball back,” said Ace, very sensibly. “Look! A police escort!”

  Sure enough, here came a squad car and four big Harleys, all with their lights spinning. They took their positions at the front of the caravan. Behind them, a marching band got into formation and started tuning up.

  Next came the animal wagons. Bringing up the rear was an open-topped Jeep full of zookeepers in safari hats. One of the zookeepers even carried a huge gun.

  “That’s just for tranquilizers,” I told Ace.

  “I bet it’s not,” he said.

  “Let’s hope we don’t find out,” said Penny.

  A big crowd of kids, and grown-ups, too, gathered behind the Jeep, ready to follow the whole procession to the ballpark. The sidewalks on both sides of Frederick Street were filling up with spectators, and police barricades kept the street clear of traffic.

  And then, somewhere at the front of the line, a whistle blew—one long blast and four short ones. A bass drum picked up the beat, and then the snare drums busted out in a marching rhythm. Trumpets blared. Cymbals crashed. Monkeys screamed. And the caravan was on its way.

  “Jeepers,” I said. “I wish Ma and Pop were here to see this!”

  CHAPTER

  40

  LET ME TELL YOU, that parade was a sight to behold. Me and Ace and Penny joined the crowd of kids following behind the Jeep at the end of the caravan. All the way down Frederick Street to the Ol’ Orchard, the band played, zoo wagons rumbled, kids followed, and spectators cheered.

  The only part that wasn’t perfect was when we marched past the Elegant Shoe Repair and Hat Shop. Pop was inside there somewhere, watching the celebration all alone. I pulled Ace and Penny to the near side of the street, so we could wave to him as we marched past, but I didn’t know if he could see us. The big shop windows looked dark, almost as if the lights were turned off. But it was probably just the bright sunshine reflecting on the glass.

  “Come on,” said Ace, pulling me along to keep up with the caravan. “Your pop said it was okay, remember? He wants you to have fun. So, have fun!”

  He was right. I tried to focus on the music, and the flags, and the people waving. But I also kept an eye out for Pete. He was out there somewhere, and the last thing I needed was another ambush.

  Before we knew it, we were at Orchard Field. The police escort led the whole procession straight into the ballpark through a big gate in left field, which was open just for the occasion. The zoo wagons and Jeep rumbled through behind the band, and all the people walking behind were corralled into a line by the ticket takers. Me and Ace had the bleacher tickets that we’d gotten for being in the batboy contest, and of course Penny had her ticket for Section One, Row One. Anyone without a ticket was herded toward the ticket windows around the home plate side of the stadium. It was crowded and confusing, and I bet that more than a few kids managed to sneak in for free. But I didn’t think Joe Daggett would mind, at least not for today.

  “Look!” said Penny as we followed the caravan through the gates and onto the outfield grass. “The radio announcers!”

  Sure enough, two fellas were sitting on a platform out in the center-field bleachers, with their big radio microphones set up on a table in front of them. They were wearing headphones over their Mudpuppies baseball caps, and they were holding big paper cups. The stands were filling up with fans too, and a big banner on the center-field fence read RESERVED FOR BATBOY CONTESTANTS.

  “Looks like it’s going to be a full house,” I said.

  The whole caravan paraded one full circuit around the field, starting in left field, marching down the foul line pa
st third base, around behind home plate, and then out to right field along the first-base line. The crowd gathering in the stands cheered as the caravan went past.

  The marching band finished playing “The Stars and Stripes Forever,” and the caravan came to a halt in center field. Then we heard a loud scratching noise as the loudspeakers crackled to life.

  “Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls!”

  “It’s Joe Daggett!” I said. There he was, standing at home plate with his big microphone.

  “Welcome to the first annual combined celebration of Mudpuppies baseball and the Zoo Spring Opening!”

  The crowd cheered and stomped their feet. All around the ballpark, the wooden stands rumbled like thunder.

  Joe Daggett waited for the cheering to quiet down, and then he continued. “May I present today’s live radio announcers! You know them as the hosts of the ever-popular Top o’ the Morning program, every weekday from six to nine on WTRJ. Give a warm welcome to our very own Ray Hinkley and Bob Gillespie!”

  More cheers, and from their platform in the center-field bleachers, the two announcers held up their paper cups and waved to the fans.

  “Take it away, Ray and Bob!” said Joe Daggett.

  The loudspeakers crackled again, and then there was dead silence. Everybody looked around, wondering what happened, but then the speakers boomed to life.

  CHAPTER

  41

  Transcript of live radio broadcast of May 29, 1948

  BOB:

  —the heck is wrong with this thing? Hey! There we go! Howdy, folks, it’s your old pals Ray and Bob here, broadcasting live from Orchard Field on this very special occasion!

  RAY:

  That’s right, Bob! What a beautiful day here at the Ol’ Orchard! Thanks to the Mudpuppies for hosting us, and to our sponsor for today, Doerflinger’s Artificial Limb Company.

  BOB:

  Doerflinger’s. Your source for corsets, braces, crutches, and all your orthopedic needs. Call Doerflinger’s today at MArquette 0114!

  RAY:

  For you folks listening at home, this is a sight to behold. Imagine a whole caravan of wild beasts, right there in the outfield! They’re parading around the warning track as we speak.

  BOB:

  I’ve never seen such a spectacle, Ray. The whole procession is being led by our city’s finest men in blue. Four motorcycles and a prowler car. Right behind them we have the Riverwest High School Marching Band.

  RAY:

  Don’t they sound swell, Bob?

  BOB:

  They’re in great form today, Ray. Here come the zoo wagons now! They sure do look spiffy, don’t they? What would you call those, Ray? Circus wagons? Rolling cages?

  RAY:

  I guess you’d call ’em one of a kind, Bob!

  BOB:

  Ain’t that the truth, Ray! First up, we have the sweetest pair of giraffes you ever did see. A mother and baby, I’m guessing. Would you look at that, Ray? The top of the cage is open! What a majestic— Whoops! The mama giraffe just reached out and plucked a baseball cap right off the head of a lad in the front row of the bleachers! Don’t you worry, buddy. I’m sure you’ll get your cap back, as soon as Mrs. Giraffe finds out it doesn’t fit, ha ha!

  RAY:

  I hope that kid doesn’t mind giraffe slobber, Bob. It looks pretty soggy, even from up here.

  BOB:

  Quite a souvenir that would be! Next we have— What’s that in the next wagon, Ray?

  RAY:

  There’s a banner on the side of the truck, Bob. It’s monkeys! A wagonload of screeching, skittering, screaming monkeys!

  BOB:

  How many monkeys do you suppose are in that cage, Ray?

  RAY:

  No one knows, Bob. They won’t hold still long enough for anyone to count.

  BOB:

  Those monkeys sure are a hit with the crowd, aren’t they, Ray? Listen to that applause.

  RAY:

  Good thing there’s bars across the top of the monkey cage, Bob. No grabbing baseball caps for these fellas. Can you imagine those monkeys getting out and swarming all over the field?

  BOB:

  It’s fun to imagine, that’s for sure, Ray. Hey, kids, better sleep with your windows open tonight, just in case! Who wouldn’t want a pet monkey? Here comes the next wagon, Ray. Look at that horse in striped pajamas, ha ha!

  RAY:

  Don’t worry, folks. It’s a zebra. He sure is regal looking, isn’t he? Say, Bob, have you seen that refreshment vendor around anyplace? I’m parched.

  BOB:

  I just called him over, Ray. That zebra is a beautiful animal, to be sure. Now, ladies and gentlemen, here comes the last wagon. What kind of animal is that, I wonder? An elephant? No—a hippo?

  RAY:

  The banner on the side of the truck, Bob. The banner.

  BOB:

  Oh, I see it there, thanks, Ray! It’s a very dangerous-looking African hook-lipped rhinoceros, the banner says. Weighs 2,580 pounds!

  RAY:

  Whoa, Nellie, that fella sure is big! Now, ladies and gentlemen, bringing up the rear of the caravan is an army-surplus Jeep, occupied by several esteemed members of our local Zoological Society.

  BOB:

  Is that an elephant gun that zookeeper is carrying in the back of that Jeep?

  RAY:

  I’m sure it’s just for tranquilizers, Bob.

  BOB:

  If you say so, Ray. That rhinoceros sure is a strong-looking fella!

  RAY:

  Well, folks, that wraps up our cavalcade of zoo animals. Aren’t they a swell bunch of specimens, Bob? But the fans in the stands can still get a good look at them, because the wagons will stay right out there in center field for the duration of the pregame festivities. What’s coming up next, Bob?

  BOB:

  Well, Ray, I’m told we have a very special surprise guest throwing out the first pitch! But first, it’s time to choose the batboy for today’s game.

  RAY:

  That’s right, Bob. Which of six lucky finalists will win the title of Mudpuppy for a Day? Stay tuned, after this message of interest from Doerflinger’s!

  CHAPTER

  42

  THAT ZOO CARAVAN WAS THE best. About a zillion kids (including me and Ace and Penny) got to stay on the field and follow the procession around. Then the police escort zoomed off the field, sirens blaring, and Joe Daggett appeared at home plate again to make another announcement.

  “Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! It’s time to commence the final competition for Mudpuppy for a Day!”

  “This is it!” said Ace, slapping my back with his good arm. “Go out there and show that Pete who’s boss!”

  All of a sudden my hands felt sweaty, and my black eye throbbed. Joe Daggett still hadn’t announced the details of the final contest. Would it be hitting? Fielding? Would Pete slug me again, in front of all these people?

  “Don’t worry,” said Penny, as if she knew exactly what I was thinking. “You’re ready.”

  Then Joe Daggett invited the six finalists to join him at home plate, and everybody else to get off the field. So all the kids scattered, mostly in the direction of the outfield bleachers, behind the banner that read RESERVED FOR BATBOY CONTESTANTS.

  “Hey, Ace,” said Penny, holding him back. “Do you want to sit with me behind home plate until Josie gets here?”

  Ace practically leapt out of his skin. “Gee, thanks, Penny!”

  I’m telling ya, that Penny is a swell girl.

  So we all hurried toward home plate, where the other finalists were already gathering, including Pete. “Hiya, Mr. Daggett!” said Ace real loud as he and Penny sauntered past on their way to the grandstand. Ace made sure Pete was watching as an usher opened a gate in the backstop, and he and Penny sat down, front and center.

  Pete stood there staring, and I could tell he was starting to fume. Then he noticed me.

  “You sure have a lot of nerve showing your face
here, Spirakis,” he growled as I walked up to the group. “Wait’ll I tell your pop.”

  I turned and faced him with my nose just inches from his. “My pop knows I’m here,” I told him. And then I pointed to my black eye. “See this shiner, Pete? This is nothing compared to what I’m gonna do to you today, right here in front of all these people.”

  I had no idea what I meant by that, but sure as shootin’ I wasn’t gonna let Pete get the last word.

  Joe Daggett did his best to herd all six of us together. “Ladies and gentlemen!” he announced into the microphone. “May I present our six Mudpuppy for a Day finalists! These bright young fellas were the finalists in a special competition here at Orchard Field last Saturday.”

  Then he announced us by name, one at a time. Each kid stepped forward and accepted a brand-new Mudpuppies ball cap from Joe Daggett. The crowd applauded politely while they waited for the good stuff. I couldn’t blame them. When Joe Daggett read off Pete’s name, Pete swaggered around in a circle, waving his cap like he was Babe Ruth at Yankee Stadium. I wanted to slug him.

  “Last but not least . . . ,” announced Joe Daggett, winking at me. But when he looked at the piece of paper in his hand, he stopped and scratched his head. He looked at me, and then at the paper, and then at me again. “Mick Sparks?”

  I hopped over to where he was standing, and he put his hand over the microphone. “Nick Spirakis,” I said in his ear.

  “That’s it!” said Joe Daggett. Then he took his hand off the microphone and said real loud, “Nick Spirakis, everyone! Let’s give our finalists a big round of applause!”

  The crowd clapped politely again, but they weren’t really paying attention. Would you? When there was still a wagonload of monkeys in center field?

  “I suppose you fellas are wondering what the final contest is gonna be,” said Joe Daggett into the microphone as he looked us over. “Any guesses?”

  We all stood there in a line, with our mouths hanging open for a second, and then we launched into suggestions. For all we knew, Joe Daggett would pick the one he liked the best.

  “Batting,” said Pete, sticking out his chest. I hate that Pete.