by Dan Gutman
Mom tried to get Flip to come in for a cup of coffee, but he told her he had some errands to run. I knew his first errand would be to get those Shoeless Joe Jackson autographs into a safe.
“How was your trip, sweetie?” Mom asked as we went inside.
“It was…different,” I admitted. No way I was going to tell my mother that somebody shot at me and I’d been probably a millisecond or two away from getting killed.
“Different?” Mom looked concerned. “What happened?”
“Nothin’. Hey, what do we have to eat, Mom? I’m starved.”
As we walked into the kitchen, I was surprised to see an old man sitting in a wheelchair. He had a hearing aid in his ear.
“Who’s the old guy?” I whispered to my mother, just to make sure the old guy couldn’t hear me. Mom looked at me, a puzzled expression on her face. The TV was on, but the guy was asleep.
“What did you say?”
“I said who’s the old guy?” I repeated. “What’s up with the guy in the wheelchair?”
“Are you joking, Joey?”
“No,” I replied. She was looking at me really strangely. “How am I supposed to know who he is? I never saw this guy in my life.”
“Joey, that’s Uncle Wilbur! He’s been living with us for years! You know that, don’t you?”
“I…thought he was dead.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say, Joey!”
She put her hand on my forehead, the way she does when she thinks I have a fever. “Are you okay? Where’s your medicine?”
“I…must have left it in 1919.”
The old guy in the wheelchair opened his eyes and looked at me. I looked at him. And I could see, right there, a faint resemblance. Suddenly it was all clear to me. This wrinkled old man, maybe a hundred years old, was the same Wilbur Kozinsky I had met when he was a boy in 1919!
“Hello, Joseph,” he said weakly, waving at me.
“I think I need a drink of water,” I said, sitting in the chair next to Wilbur Kozinsky.
As my mother went to get me a drink, I looked at the old man in wonder. Uncle Wilbur. I’d saved his life by giving him my flu medicine. I put my hand on his shoulder to prove to myself that he was real. I had changed history.
“Your sister, Gladys,” I whispered to Uncle Wilbur. “What happened to her?”
“Gladys died many years ago, Joseph. You know that.”
My mother came back with a tall glass of water and I took a long swig of it. Uncle Wilbur looked at the TV set.
“So I guess you didn’t change history, eh?” Mom asked me, running her fingers through my hair.
I looked at her. Did she know what I had done?
“You weren’t able to stop the Black Sox Scandal, were you?”
“Oh. No, I tried to stop it. But there was nothing I could do.”
“Was it just a big waste of time?” Mom asked.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Mom.” I looked at Uncle Wilbur. “No, it certainly wasn’t a waste of time at all.”
Uncle Wilbur turned from the TV suddenly and looked at me.
“Hey, Joseph,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“I want to ask you a question.”
“What is it?”
“Where’d you get those pants?”
And I could be wrong, but I thought I saw him shoot me a wink.
24
Life Isn’t Fair
“C’MON, MILLER,” I SHOUTED FROM MY POSITION AT FIRST base. “Let’s get this thing over with!”
I was somewhere between angry and furious, maybe closer to furious. There we were, cruising along with a one-run lead in the bottom of the last inning. The leadoff guy for Yampell Jewelers had fouled out to our catcher, and the next guy bumped an easy grounder up the first baseline. I smothered it and stepped on the bag for the second out. One more out and we would be world champs. Well, champs of the Louisville Little League anyway. Pretty amazing, considering that half our team was away playing in some traveling soccer tournament.
When the next batter lofted a lazy fly to rightfield, I was sure we had won it. I was ready to run off the field and grab the trophy they give the winning team.
But Michael Barton, our right fielder, booted the ball. I couldn’t believe it! It tipped off his glove and rolled all the way to the fence. By the time Barton got to the ball and threw it in, the batter was sliding into third.
“C’mon, Barton!” I hollered. “What do you think you’ve got a glove for?”
“That’s enough of that, Mr. Stoshack!” Mr. Kane took off his ump’s mask and walked halfway to first base. “What did I tell you about unsportsmanlike behavior?”
“Okay, okay…”
I kicked the dirt disgustedly. We’d had the game in the bag, but now everything was different. If the runner on third scored, it would be a tie game. I hate tie games.
“Settle down, boys,” Coach Tropiano shouted. “Just get this next guy out and it’s all over.”
The next “guy” was actually a girl—Jennifer Cossaboon. There were a few girls on my teams when I was in the minors, but by the time we got to the majors, all the girls had switched to softball except Jennifer. She could play the game. She didn’t throw like a girl or anything. And she could hit better than some of the boys.
“Get a hit, Jenny!” somebody shouted from the bleachers.
“Strike her out, Miller!” shouted somebody else.
Jennifer stepped into the batter’s box and looked to her third base coach for a sign. She knew how to bunt, I remembered. But I didn’t think the Jewelers would try to squeeze the run home from third. If we threw him out at the plate, they’d look really stupid. I took one step back and a step toward the line to guard against an extra base hit.
“The play is to first base,” hollered Coach Tropiano, clapping his hands. “Get the easy out.”
Miller went into his windup, and Jennifer let the first pitch go by.
“Strike one!” called Mr. Kane.
“Nice pitch!” I hollered to Miller. “Two more like that, baby!”
Jennifer stepped out of the box for a moment. The parents on both sides of the field started shouting encouragement to everybody. I think some of them were more nervous than their kids.
As Miller went into his windup again, I got into my “baseball ready” position. Coach Tropiano tells us to always be thinking about what we will do if the ball is hit our way. I knew what I would do. I would grab it and step on the bag. Game over. We win.
But the ball wasn’t hit my way. Jennifer smacked a grounder to short. Greg Horwitz moved a little to his right. He blocked it with his glove, and the ball rolled a few feet away from him.
The runner streaked down the third baseline.
Jennifer dropped the bat and sprinted for first.
I ran to the bag to get ready for Greg’s throw.
Greg picked up the ball.
Mr. Kane ran up the first baseline so he could make the call.
I put my foot on the bag and stretched my glove out as far as I could reach.
Greg threw the ball, and it was on target.
I waited for the ball to get to me. If the ball hit my glove before Jennifer’s foot hit the bag, she would be out and we would be the champs. But if her foot hit the bag before the ball hit my glove, she would be safe and the runner on third would score the tying run. I could tell it was going to be close. Real close. Everybody was screaming, but I was only listening for one sound.
Pop. Pop.
The first pop was Jennifer’s foot hitting the first-base bag. The second pop was the ball hitting my glove.
Shoot! She was safe! I looked to Mr. Kane for the call.
“You’re out!” he shouted.
Out? I couldn’t believe it. Mr. Kane had blown a crucial call for the second week in a row! Only this time, I wasn’t complaining. All the guys on Flip’s Fan Club ran to the mound and mobbed Miller. We were the champions of the Louisville Little League. Everybody was going crazy
.
But we weren’t nearly as nuts as the Yampell Jewelers were. Their players and parents were all over Mr. Kane, screaming at him, cursing him out, threatening him, and telling him that he was blind as a bat. I couldn’t blame them. But there was nothing they could do. The umpire’s decision is final.
When it was all over, everybody on Flip’s Fan Club gathered around Flip Valentini, and the mayor of Louisville presented us with the trophy. Everybody cheered and took pictures of us.
Flip leaned over and whispered into my ear, “She was safe, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah,” I said, with a little giggle.
“Life isn’t fair, is it?”
“No, it’s not,” I replied. “But things usually even out in the end.”
Facts and Fictions
EVERYTHING YOU READ IN THIS BOOK WAS TRUE. THAT is, except for the stuff I made up. It’s only fair to let you know which was which.
Joe Stoshack does not exist. He and his mother and the Kozinsky twins are fictional characters. It is not possible, as far as we know, to travel back in time—with or without a baseball card. I found the photos of “Gladys and Wilbur Kozinsky” in a box of old photos in an antique store.
The information about the influenza epidemic of 1918 is true. In recent studies, it has been estimated that as many as one hundred million people died from the disease in that one year. Recently, two flu medicines, Tamiflu and Relenza, were introduced. According to doctors I spoke with, if these medicines had existed in 1918, they might have saved lives.
Shoeless Joe Jackson was a real person, and I tried to describe him and his life as accurately as possible. This was easy, thanks to such excellent books as Say It Ain’t So, Joe! by Donald Gropman and Eight Men Out by Eliot Asin of. I also watched the movies Eight Men Out and Field of Dreams, in which Joe Jackson is a character.
Joe Jackson had a spectacular World Series in 1919. He got twelve hits (more than any other player) to set a World Series record. His batting average was .375. He scored five runs and drove in six. He hit the only home run in the Series. He made sixteen putouts and didn’t make a single error.
Despite his performance, Joe and seven of his teammates were suspended at the end of the 1920 season when it was revealed that the White Sox had intentionally lost the 1919 World Series to the Cincinnati Reds. They were indicted by a grand jury and put on trial. All eight were found not guilty, but baseball’s first commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis banned them from professional baseball anyway. It was his first official act as commissioner. The “eight men out” were not allowed to play, coach, manage, or have anything to do with professional baseball for the rest of their lives.
The gamblers who arranged the World Series fix were never punished or even put on trial. However, gambling did catch up with Arnold Rothstein, who had put up $80,000 for the fix and won $270,000. In 1928 he lost $320,000 in a poker game. Rothstein refused to pay the money, so his opponent shot and killed him. The photo of Rothstein also came from an antique store.
The most famous story of the Black Sox Scandal tells of Joe Jackson leaving the courthouse after being indicted. A little boy came up to him and said pleadingly, “Say it ain’t so, Joe.”
The story is a myth. It never happened.
It’s also a myth that Joe Jackson lived out the remainder of his life disgraced, pathetic, and penniless. Even though he never learned how to read or write, Joe and his wife, Katie, ran a dry cleaning business, a restaurant, a poolroom, a farm, and a liquor store in his hometown of Greenville, South Carolina. Joe was illiterate, but he was not stupid. He made a better living as a businessman than he ever did as a ballplayer.
But baseball was his true love. After he was banned from the game, Joe didn’t stop playing. In the summers, he was frequently spotted on semipro teams, sometimes using a fake name. He was always discovered, though—because he was so much better than the other players.
Joe Jackson died of a heart attack on December 5, 1951, at the age of sixty-three. He is buried in Woodlawn Memorial Park in Greenville. Eight years later Katie passed away. They had no children. I was unable to track down a photo of Katie Jackson from the 1919 era. The photo of her is another antique store find.
Over the years there have been many efforts to clear the name of Joe Jackson so he can be inducted into the National Baseball Hall of Fame. Major League Baseball has stubbornly refused to consider his case.
But these are the facts about Shoeless Joe Jackson:
• He was never in communication with any gamblers.
• He never attended any of the meetings his teammates held to discuss throwing the World Series.
• He turned down big money offers to throw games—twice.
• A teammate threw an envelope containing $5,000 on his bed.
• He tried to give the money to White Sox owner, Charles Comiskey, and tell him the Series was fixed.
• Comiskey refused to see him, and Joe was instructed to keep the money.
• When all else failed, he asked to be benched before Game 1.
• His request was denied, and he went on to have the best Series of any player on either team.
In a glass display case in the Baseball Hall of Fame is a pair of Shoeless Joe Jackson’s baseball shoes. Joe deserves more than that. He deserves a plaque in the Hall of Fame, too. Baseball made a big mistake in 1921, banning one of its greatest and most popular players.
If you would like Joe Jackson reinstated and inducted into the Hall of Fame, go to Shoeless Joe Jackson’s Virtual Hall of Fame (www.blackbetsy.com) or write to The Shoeless Joe Jackson Society at: 106 Century Oaks Drive, Easley, SC 29642.
Permissions
The author would like to acknowledge the following for use of photographs and artwork:
Nina Wallace: x, 126; Cincinnati Museum Center, Cincinnati, O.H.: 54; George Brace: 105, 115, 117; National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, Cooperstown, N.Y.: 107, 108, 110, 118.
Acknowledgments
Special thanks to the following people for all their help: Bill Francis and Bill Burdick at the National Baseball Hall of Fame; Mark Alvarez and David Pietrusza of The Society for American Baseball Research; Jake Hamlin and Lester Erwin of The Shoeless Joe Jackson Society; Cynthia Keller of the Cincinnati Museum Center; Dr. Jonathan Cohen and Dr. Scott Kolander; Gina Kolata; Mary Brace; Allen Barra; and my wife, Nina Wallace, for her wonderful artwork.
Many thanks also to the great people I met at the schools I visited in 2000:
In New Jersey: Union Street School in Margate, Moorestown Middle School in Moorestown, Crescent School in Waldwick, Harrington Park School in Harrington Park, Churchill School in Fairfield, Bellmawr Park School in Bellmawr, Costello School in Brooklawn, Neeta School in Medford Lakes, Allen School in Medford, Simmons School in Clayton, Lore School in Ewing, Somerville School in Ridgewood, Central Middle School in Parsippany, Rockaway Valley School in Boonton Township, Durand School in Vineland, Bedminster School in Bedminster, Warnsdorfer School in East Brunswick, Central School in Warren, Green-Fields School in West Deptford, Logan School in Swedesboro, Tatem School in Haddonfield, Central School in East Brunswick, Wantage School in Sussex, North Boulevard School in Pompton Plains, Haviland Avenue School in Audubon, Gregory School in West Orange, Avalon School in Avalon, and Yavneh Academy in Paramus.
In Texas: Willow Creek, Lakewood, Tomball Elementary, and Tomball Intermediate in Tomball; Felix Tijerina School in Houston; Stephens School in Aldine; Ride, Bush, Powell, Galatas, Hailey, and Collins schools in The Woodlands; Forman and Wells schools in Plano; Miller School in Richardson; Pinkerton, Mockingbird, Cottonwood, North Middle, Denton Creek, Lakeside, Austin, St. John’s, Lee, Valley Ranch, Wilson, West Middle, Town Center, and East Middle schools in Coppell; Greenhill School in Addison; and West Memorial, Hutsell, Nottingham, Pattison, Mayde Creek, Winborn, and Wolfe schools in Katy.
In Oklahoma: Bishop John Carroll, Oakdale, Wiley Post, Rollingwood, Downs, Will Rogers, Harvest Hills, Dennis, Kirkland, Tulakes, Hefner, Co
oper, Overholser, Central Intermediate, and Western Oaks Middle School in Oklahoma City; Sequoyah and Cimarron middle schools in Edmond; Jenks East School in Jenks; and Darnaby School in Tulsa.
In Pennsylvania: Selinsgrove Intermediate in Selinsgrove; Calypso, Clearview, and Fountain Hill schools in Bethlehem; New Cumberland School in New Cumberland; Allen and Camp Hill schools in Camp Hill; Crossroads School in Lewisberry; Lemoyne School in Lemoyne; Eagle View and Good Hope schools in Mechanicsburg; Big Spring School in Newville; Wilson School in Carlisle; East Pennsboro School in Enola; Garwood Middle School in Fairview; and Erie Day School in Erie.
In New York: Chapel and Bronxville schools in Bronxville; Lakeview School in Mahopac; Meadow Pond School in South Salem; Lewisboro School in Lewisboro; and Baker, Kennedy, and Lakeville schools in Great Neck.
In Connecticut: Hopewell and Buttonball schools in South Glastonbury; West, East, and South schools in New Canaan; and Ox Ridge and Holmes schools in Darien.
In Iowa: Twain and Jefferson schools in Bettendorf; St. Paul’s School in Davenport; and Mulberry, West, Colorado, Grant, McKinley, Washington, Jefferson, Franklin, Madison, Hayes, and Central middle schools in Muscatine.
In South Carolina: East End, Greenwood High, Merrywood, Mathews, Oakland, Pinecrest, Hodges, Lakeview, and Ware Shoals schools in Greenwood.
In Illinois: Crone and Gregory middle schools in Naperville and Granger Middle School in Aurora.
In Florida: Shorecrest School in St. Petersburg and St. Mary’s and Berkeley schools in Tampa.
In Delaware: North Georgetown School in Georgetown and East Millsboro School in Millsboro.
About the Author
DAN GUTMAN is the author of many books for young readers, including four other Baseball Card Adventures: HONUS & ME, JACKIE & ME, BABE & ME, and MICKEY & ME. When he is not writing books, Dan is very often visiting a school. He lives in Haddonfield, New Jersey, with his wife, Nina, and their children, Sam and Emma.
