Harvest of Thorns

by Paul E. Wootten

  “I’m guessing it’s another public relations spot. Jack Berlin from the Chamber of Commerce mentioned something last week about a Louisville tourism ad.”

  “You probably make more cash doing those spots than you do playing ball,” Lorenzo replied. “I’m hoping my day comes.”

  “It is. Don’t worry about that.”

  Lorenzo whistled softly. “Playing in Cincinnati would be pretty special. You still remember your first big league game?”

  “Like it was yesterday,” Chan said. “Reds playing the Dodgers in L.A. I came in to pitch the seventh inning, Reds losing by four. Sixteen pitches, one hit, one strikeout, no runs. Came back out to pitch the eighth, got their shortstop to ground out to first, and was taken out for a lefty.”

  Lorenzo grew quiet. Chan thought he’d fallen asleep, until he raised his head.

  “How’d it feel?”

  “Well,” Chan said slowly. “Some guys say that other than their weddings and the birth of their kids, their first major league game is their greatest memory.”

  “How about you?”

  “I’ve never been married. I was too young and self-absorbed to appreciate Lani’s birth.”

  “Were you there?”

  “Sure I was there. Sheryl wouldn’t have it any other way. Then, since I didn’t even know Ryan existed until he was almost three, I guess my first big league game ranks at the top.”

  “Weren’t you excited when you found out you had a son?”

  “Excited? Yeah, that was one emotion. I was also very skeptical.”

  “That he was yours?”

  Chan nodded.

  “But when you found out?”

  “They did all the tests, but I knew as soon as I saw his picture.”

  Lorenzo snorted loudly, easing the uncertainty Chan felt anytime he discussed his past.

  “Ain’t no doubt that boy’s yours, Channy. He’s gonna be six-ten when he grows up. I just hope he’s better looking.”

  ###

  As Chan and Lorenzo made their way to the team offices, they passed the ticket window. Several people were waiting in line.

  “Chan Manning!” a middle-aged man yelled.

  Chan waved as others in line gawked and waved back.

  “You’re the man in this town,” Lorenzo said, playfully punching him in the arm.

  “I guess it’s good to be the man someplace,” he replied with a smile. “I just wish it could be Cincy.”

  “Your time is coming, Channy,” Lorenzo said, opening the door for his friend. “The Reds’ General Manager didn’t come down last week for nothing.”

  Lorenzo had a point. Tavish and Garbey, former Louisville teammates of Chan’s, were struggling for the Reds. He tried not to anticipate such scenarios, preferring to think today’s meeting was something mundane. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best. Still, as he and Lorenzo made their way down a carpeted hallway to the executive offices, Chan allowed himself a glimmer of optimism.

  Could it be?

  Nah. The Reds gave up on him long ago. They left him in Louisville, year after year, to fill a spot and give the hometown crowd a name and face they could identify with. Guys came and went, but Chan Manning was always there.

  But he was just named the league’s pitcher of the week. He threw two complete games, one a shutout. His fastball was humming and his location was spot on.

  Could it be?

  Saundra was seated at her oversized desk, deep in concentration, facing two computer screens. They stood quietly, looking at her, not wanting to interrupt. Lorenzo’s expression was like that of a dog eyeing the biggest bone he’s ever seen.

  Chan broke the silence.

  “Hey Saundra.”

  Saundra turned and smiled.

  “Hey Chan. Hey Lorenzo.”

  “Helloooo Saundra. You’re looking fresh today.” Lorenzo’s voice was two octaves lower than normal.

  “Well thank you, Lorenzo,” Saundra spoke as she might to a pesky younger brother. “How’re the kids, Chan? Did you find a school?”

  “They’re good. We did find a school, not far from home.”

  “Oh, perfect.” Saundra was genuinely happy. “Tell them Saundra said hey. I’ll let Lance know you’re here. I just put a call through, so it might be a minute. Lorenzo, are you going to wait here?”

  Chan knew that Lorenzo wanted nothing more than to hang out with Saundra for a few minutes. He also knew that his infatuated teammate would be a pest who would keep her from getting any work done. He started to tell Lorenzo to wait for him in the team weight room when the door behind Saundra’s desk opened. Lance Skelly spoke from inside.

  “Saundra get ahold of Lorenzo Wiggins, please.”

  “Lance, he’s here.”

  “What?”

  “I’m right here, Mr. Skelly.”

  When Skelly emerged from his office, he was beaming.

  “You are here!” The Bats General Manager reached for Lorenzo’s hand and pumped it heartily. “I got a call from the folks in Cincinnati, totally unexpected.”

  Skelly’s excitement amped up Lorenzo’s excitement.

  “Is it going to happen, Mr. Skelly? I’ve been hoping all week it might.”

  “It’s happening today, Lorenzo!”

  “On man!” Lorenzo’s delight was off the charts as turned to Chan.

  “I told you man! I knew you would get the call!”

  When Skelly caught sight of Chan, the happiness drained from his face.

  “Chan.” Skelly looked at him, searching for what needed to be said. It was pretty obvious that things weren’t as they seemed. Saundra knew as well. She busied herself with some files. Lorenzo was the last to catch on that something was amiss.

  “What?”

  Skelly appeared anguished. Lorenzo was oblivious.

  “Channy’s going to the Reds, right?”

  The room was quiet, until Skelly found his voice.

  “No, Lorenzo, he’s not.”

  “But you are.”

  ###

  The moment was awkward. Lance Skelly was an up-and-coming baseball executive in his thirties, but was still learning his craft. Chan’s gut told him it was time to step up and make the situation right. He crossed the room to Lorenzo, forcing a smile as he pulled him into a bear hug.

  “You’re headed to the show!”

  Lorenzo tried hard to speak, but his bewilderment was obvious.

  “But...”

  “No buts about it, brother. You got the call. It’s what you’ve worked for.” Chan broke off the hug and turned to Lance.

  “When does he report?”

  “They want him there tonight.” Lance remained guarded. “One of their outfielders has a strained oblique and is going on the disabled list today.”

  “Then we better get him packed up.” Chan grabbed Lorenzo’s arm and pulled him toward the door. “I’ll help you get your stuff together.”

  “Chan, I still need to see you.”

  “No problem, Lance. Can I come back after I help Lo pack?”

  “I’d prefer to visit with you now. The clubhouse guys can help Lorenzo.”

  Chan looked at his friend. The excitement of helping Lorenzo prepare for his trip to the big leagues was something he didn’t want to miss, but something told him he needed to get this meeting over with.

  “Get your stuff together and meet me here,” Chan said. “I’ll run you back home to get your car as soon as I’m done.” Then, with a big smile he repeated, “You’re a major leaguer, brother!”

  ###

  Chan remained stoic as Skelly dropped the bomb. It was evident that delivering news like this still pained him greatly.

  Both were startled when the office door was flung open.

  “It ain’t right!” Lorenzo charged in, heading straight at Skelly. “You coulda done something!”

  He grabbed Skelly’s shirt collar, pulling him to his feet.

  “Take care of this! You know it ain’t right!”

  Chan
pulled Lorenzo away. Skelly was badly shaken.

  “They already got your locker cleaned out, Channy,” Lorenzo yelled, stabbing his finger at Skelly. “He knew last night. Told the clubhouse boys to box your stuff up after everybody left.”

  Lorenzo pulled away from Chan’s grasp and made another lunge for Skelly, knocking over a lamp and scattering stacks of papers.

  Chan dragged him back again, holding on harder this time. “Get yourself together, Lo. You have to get your mind in the right place. You’re going to be in a big league uniform in seven hours.”

  “It ain’t... right! I... they...” The effort to form the words took its toll on him, and tears started to flow. Chan drew him close.

  He’ll be okay, Chan mouthed to Skelly, who sat slumped and dazed, his shirt disheveled, sweat stain crescents under his arms.

  “Chan, I’m so sorry,” Skelly said quietly. “I’ve handled this terribly.”

  They waited as Lorenzo composed himself.

  “Well I guess there’s one good thing to come out of it,” Chan said. “I’m available to go to Cincinnati tonight and watch my friend make his big-league debut.”

  ###

  It took seventeen minutes to complete the paperwork that ended thirteen years as a professional athlete.

  That was baseball. There was nothing anyone could do to change it. Some guys were talented enough or lucky enough to make a fortune playing the game. Many others experienced the dream for only a few days. Regardless of how long they persevered, all professional baseball players had one thing in common.

  The dream ended.

  Lorenzo had finally composed himself enough to leave Skelly’s office with Saundra. With the door closed, Skelly said all the right things.

  “You’ve been a big part of the organization.”

  “We’ll continue to seek out opportunities for you with other teams.”

  “Your involvement with the Louisville community will result in more job offers than you can imagine.”

  In the end, it was a numbers game. Yes, Skelly said, Chan had been pitching well, but the organization had younger pitchers who needed to be promoted from the lower minors. Sending Chan further down the organization wasn’t an option, either. While modest by major league standards, his salary as a veteran was higher than the organization could afford for a pitcher in the low minors.

  The only decision that could be made was this one.

  Seventeen minutes of signing release forms, insurance forms, tax forms, and several other forms Chan couldn’t remember, and it was done.

  Skelly stood up, a clear indication their business was finished. They shook hands, and Chan departed. It wasn’t a time for idle conversation. There was nothing else that needed to be said. They both sensed that.

  Saundra looked up from her work as Chan came out. Even in his funk, he could see she was troubled.

  “Chan, I just took a call.”

  “Who was it?”

  “She said she knows you from way back. I asked a lot of questions and I think she’s telling the truth.”

  “Okay.”

  “Her name was Bertha Mae Ellis. She said she—”

  “I know her. Did she say what she wanted?”

  Saundra picked up a slip of paper.

  “She asked if you could come to a place called Adair, where you grew up, she said—”

  “Doesn’t matter Saundra,” Chan said sharply. “I decided many years ago to never go back there.”

  She was quiet.

  “Good-bye Saundra. Thanks for everything you’ve done for me.”

  “Chan, I think you ought to reconsider this lady’s request. I mean—”

  Chan pointed angrily at her.

  “Drop it.”

  She looked wounded, but recovered quickly. “I won’t drop it, Chan, and don’t talk to me like that.”

  He was so taken aback by Saundra’s counterattack that he almost missed what she said next.

  “Your father died.”

  SIXTY-FIVE

  As best as he could figure, Chan had been a part of seventeen-hundred professional baseball games.

  He had never sat in the stands. Never watched a game with his children.

  An usher greeted them as they entered the VIP gate.

  “Welcome! First time here?”

  “First time in a long time,” Chan replied.

  “He played for the Reds!” Lani interjected.

  The usher smiled, “I’ve worked here fifteen years. I don’t usually forget a player.”

  Chan was embarrassed. “It’s been a few years ago, just a couple games.”

  “Now I remember,” the usher effused, snapping his fingers. “Chan Manning. Pitcher. Came up at the end of the season. You won a game against the Dodgers.”

  “He plays for the Louisville Bats!” The pride on Ryan’s face was quickly washed away by reality. “He used to. He doesn’t anymore.”

  The usher kneeled in front of Ryan. “You can be proud of your father. I saw him pitch, and he was very good. There aren’t many people who can say they made it to the major leagues even for one day.”

  When Chan saw Ryan’s face light up, he made a mental note to either send a note of appreciation to the usher or include him in his will. It had been a roller coaster of a day, and this man was smart enough to push the right buttons.

  “What brings you back to Cincinnati?”

  “We’re guests of Lorenzo Wiggins,” Chan said, pulling a pass from his shirt pocket.

  “He lives with us,” Ryan added.

  The usher consulted a list he pulled from his pocket. “I’ve got some great seats for you.”

  ###

  Once seated, they began searching for Lorenzo. When they last saw him, he was pulling out of the garage for the two-hour drive north. He made a valiant attempt to gather his belongings, but the excitement was too much. Between frequent trips to the bathroom and figuring out what to take along, he had gotten almost nothing done. Chan finally sent him on his way with a promise to pack as much of his stuff as they could and bring it with them.

  “There he is!” Lani yelled loud enough to startle a woman seated in front of her.

  Lorenzo was running slow sprints across the outfield grass.

  “He looks funny wearing red,” Ryan laughed.

  “He didn’t get his number,” Lani said. “I’ll bet he’s sad. He thought number seven made him look fast.”

  Chan looked closer. Trying to read the small font on the front of the jersey was hard from this distance. Then, when Lo turned to shag a flyball, he saw the number clearly.

  Fifty-one.

  Chan’s number.

  Lorenzo concluded his warm-ups and made his way across the infield. Slender and willowy like a blade of grass, Lorenzo was the prototype major league centerfielder. Tall enough to pull down balls headed for the outfield fence, fast enough to beat out infield hits and steal a base, confident enough to not be overwhelmed by the bright lights and attention.

  Lorenzo scanned the sea of faces as he jogged toward the dugout. Ryan screamed his name, but couldn’t be heard over the ballpark hubbub. After a few moments of searching, he spotted them. His face lit up with the sunny grin they’d grown to love. Lani and Ryan waved like maniacs. Lorenzo, dropping any pretense of acting like a big leaguer, waved back, beaming like a ten-year-old. Turning sideways, he pointed to the number on the back of his jersey, clutched both hands to his heart and pointed at them. Chan’s emotions threatened to get the best of him.

  When the game got under way, they watched excitedly as Lorenzo took his first turn at bat, grounding out to shortstop; then cheered with thirty-thousand Reds fans a few minutes later as he made a diving catch in left center. Lorenzo’s big break couldn’t have come at a better time for Chan, allowing him to get his mind off his own worries, which he knew would be considerable over the next few days. News of Earl Manning’s death had left Lani and Ryan bewildered. Chan had so completely locked that part of his life away that they hadn�
��t even heard his name before. Chan deflected their questions as best his could, until they understood that he didn’t want to talk about it.

  Watching the game with the kids allowed him to take in the sights and smells of the ballpark while easing away much of the day’s stress. By the fourth inning he was answering their questions, running for popcorn, and doing all the things daddies do with their kids at a ballgame. Standing for the seventh inning stretch, Chan considered all that had happened. It took a few moments to put his finger on what he was feeling, but as Lorenzo banged out his first major league hit, a triple into the gap in right center, Chan knew what it was.

  A sense of peace.

  That’s when he heard it.

  At first he thought someone nearby had spoken to him. He looked behind him and knew it hadn’t been anyone sitting there.

  It seemed so real.

  The words weren’t new. He was sure of that. He remembered.

  They had been spoken by an old man to a young boy, words of encouragement many years ago.

  Echoed by a young girl, fighting for her life in a burn unit, but certain that better days lay ahead.

  I know the plans I have for you.

  SIXTY-SIX

  Chan lifted the cover and inspected the heaping plate of sausage, bacon, biscuits and gravy, pancakes, and toast.

  “Are you really going to eat all of this?”

  “Ain’t had nothing but McDonalds drive-through since yesterday afternoon.”

  Shaking his head, Chan turned his attention to a plate of fresh fruit. The early morning sun shined brightly through the hotel suite’s living room windows. The bedroom doors were closed. Lani and Ryan hadn’t yet stirred.

  The convertible sofa in the living room was still open, the sheets pulled away at three corners.

  “Trouble sleeping?” Chan asked.

  Lorenzo eyed the sofa. “What do you think?”

  “I think you should have taken a bedroom. Lani could have slept out here.”