Heart of a Tiger: Growing Up With My Grandfather, Ty Cobb

by Herschel Cobb

  The steps from the beach up to the cabin were old railroad ties, with rocks and steel spikes holding them in place. Over the years, the hot, dry summers and wet winters had caused the ties to split and dislodge, so I was careful with each step. When I crossed the rear deck, I peered into the grand room of the cabin and barely made out Granddaddy sprawled out over a chair or heard the radio spitting out what sounded like a baseball game. Radio reception in the mountains was spotty at best, so he turned it up loud, ignoring the crackling of electrical interference. I could tell he was asleep because his mouth was half open, his head slouched onto his shoulder, and his arms flopped over the sides of the chair. I sat down on the sofa across from him and tried to make out what game he was listening to. It didn’t really matter to him who was playing, so long as the company of his past was with him.

  A small eight-sided coffee table sat between us. It matched the other simple furniture in the room, except the top was copper, held in place with ornamental rivets. On it rested a cigar box, a lighter, some coasters for drinks, and packages of Bicycle playing cards. That was all normal. What was unusual were three white letter-sized envelopes, side by side, open and bulging with money. It was easy to see the edges of the green bills, and make out the number 100 on several corners. I’d never seen such stacks of money, so I slid off my seat and crawled around the coffee table to get a closer look. The envelopes were slightly crumpled, and it looked like all the bills were 100s. The edge of each stack was rough, like they were used bills and someone gathered them together, shuffled them into a neat pile, and stuffed them into the envelopes. The piles looked about the same height, about an inch or so.

  My attention was so focused on the contents of the envelopes, I jumped out of my skin when Granddaddy snorted and snored in the same breath. His body lurched a bit and his arms shuffled, but he remained asleep. I settled down and kept peering into the envelopes, wondering what Granddaddy was doing with all this money. After a few minutes, I got bored and went back to the sofa to wait. A loud crackling noise jolted out of the radio, which meant there was a big electrical storm nearby. I looked out the back window toward the lake and sure enough, the sky in the south was filled with a huge black cylinder, nearly touching the surface of the lake. At the same time, it was sunny at Cave Rock. Soon enough, I saw lightning bolts inside the cylinder flash toward the lake, along with huge thunderclaps, and the noise woke up Granddaddy.

  He rubbed his eyes, looked at me, and said, “Come over here and let me take a look at your back. Pull your shirt up and let me see if you got too much sun.” I did, and I could tell I was a little pink, but not too bad. “Not too much damage.” At the same time, he turned the radio volume way down and asked me, “Did you hear any score?” I told him I didn’t, and he snapped off the radio.

  He looked at his watch. “Let’s find Louise, and get you some lunch.” I told him I ate my sandwich. He replied, “That’s not going to be enough to get you through to dinner. Remember, we’re going to the North Shore Club and we’ll eat a little late. Now see if you can find Susan and Kit, and you all get some lunch.”

  He leaned over the white envelopes and contemplated them with his eyes as if he were weighing them. I didn’t say anything, but wondered what he was thinking. After a minute or so, he picked up two of them, one in each hand, slightly juggling them up and down like he was deciding which one was heavier. Then he put the one in his right hand down and picked up the third envelope and did the same thing. He repeated this a few times, changing envelopes in each hand, and I watched the edges of his mouth turn up with a satisfied smile. Then he folded the flaps into the envelopes, not sealing them, stacked them, and put a rubber band around all three.

  He was still smiling when he looked up at me near the window, saying, “Hersch, get going. Get some lunch.” His voice was smooth and factual, just a reminder. But he definitely knew I watched the whole time he was weighing and judging his white envelopes filled with hundred-dollar bills.

  I practically sprinted to the front door, shouting for my sister and brother to come in for lunch. They were playing in a level area just across the driveway. I am sure that at one time, perhaps when my dad and aunts and uncles visited, this area was a badminton court. Although the whole property sloped down from Highway 50 toward Lake Tahoe, the badminton court was level, built up on the downside slope with the same railroad-type ties as the steps leading down to the lake. Now it was covered in pinecones, old branches, and leaves, badly neglected on all sides. The stakes holding the railroad ties were loose, and several ties were falling out of place or missing and had not been repaired for years. As far as I was concerned, this was all good. I didn’t care about badminton, but the deteriorated railroad ties held all kinds of wonderful bugs. I was particularly impressed with the black beetles, which were huge, and when rolled over on their backs, struggled with tremendous vigor to right themselves. We spent hours digging for those beetles and potato bugs. I found the kind that was yellow and black and a sickly white. They looked creepy, and I never touched one without using a stick.

  I played with them for a few minutes and then we all went inside for lunch. Louise fixed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, juice, fruit, and cold water from the pail on the shady north side, and we ate on the deck overlooking the lake. It was now well past noon and the roar of inboards, pulling their water skiers, was at its height. In another two hours, the waves would be two to three feet high, taking the ease and most of the fun out of skiing. The dark blue line that started on the west side of the lake early in the morning had moved all the way to our side on the east, and with it came the large waves that were formed and pushed along by the breeze from the west.

  We finished our lunch, and Susan and Kit went down to the beach. I went inside to find Granddaddy. He was lying on his bed, nearly dozing. The slam of the screen door behind me must have roused him a bit because he lifted himself on one elbow and motioned for me to come into his room. His room was at the rear of the cabin, on the lake side; the windows were open, and I could hear the waves splashing on the shore. The air flowing through was cool and delicious. His room was the same size as the bedroom at the front of the cabin, although he had one full-sized bed and one twin-sized bed. Those bedrooms shared a bathroom in between them that had a door to the outside with steps leading down toward the lake.

  He said, “Granddaddy’s a little tired. Go on out and play. Come back around five and wake me up and we’ll get ready to go out. Tell Susan to help you boys. Understand?” I didn’t have to answer, but I knew to close his door quietly on my way out. He told me many times that he got his best sleep and rest at Lake Tahoe.

  The sun settled lower into the western sky and the afternoon faded away. I walked out on the deck and looked out on Lake Tahoe with the sun still above the top of the mountains in California; looking over the lake was like squinting into the midday sun, only broken into a million parts of darting light, each bouncing off the water’s surface. It was bright, hot, piercing, and relentless, with part of the intensity the heat and the other part the blinding glare. The heat came directly from the low sun, increased by the reflective glare off the lake, and looking out the huge window of the grand room, I watched the steam rise from the railings around the deck, sucking every bit of moisture out of the wood that had seeped into it during the night and early morning.

  The glare was so bright and hot that I couldn’t see anything on the lake. My eyes were teased into thinking there were still boats out there, but I knew the waves were too dangerous; only the lost or foolish would be caught on the lake at this time of day. I squinted, trying to imagine a speedboat, slugging it out with five-foot waves. There were none, and I retreated from the glare back into the cool front bedroom, to my bunk bed, sank into the satin comforter, and drifted off to sleep.

  When Susan woke me up, the sun had set behind the western mountains and it was noticeably cooler. She reminded me that we were going out to dinner and to hurry up and dress in nice clothes. Kit was stan
ding beside her, already wearing good slacks and a nice shirt. It didn’t take me long to get ready, and Granddaddy, Susan, and Kit were waiting in the living room when I walked in. He said jovially, “Well, if I don’t say so myself, you’re a fine-looking family. Whadda you say we go get some dinner?”

  He led the way out to his black Chrysler. He wore a sports coat, and I noticed the tops of the white envelopes sticking out of the side pocket, although I couldn’t tell if there were two of them or three, and watched him pat them as he slid behind the wheel and started the engine. He always liked big fast cars and the Chrysler was his favorite; he told me he’d bought so much stock in the company, he wondered why they didn’t give him a free one every year. I didn’t understand, but I agreed they should.

  The North Shore Club was on the highway that went around the lake, pretty close to where Nevada ended and California began. I never saw the exact line that separated the two states, and always wondered what it looked like. It took a while to get there, but Granddaddy kept us busy looking for deer on the highway or boats still out on the lake, and the time passed quickly. It was dark when he turned onto a steep driveway, and the North Shore Club announced itself in neon lights. He drove up to the entrance and a young man opened his door and said, “Good evening, Mr. Cobb, welcome to the North Shore Club. We hope you enjoy your evening.” The young man also opened the back door, which I didn’t expect, and we all climbed out.

  Granddaddy shook the young man’s hand and gave him a silver dollar. “Park it where it won’t get bumped, understand?” The young man nodded and drove the Chrysler slowly away.

  We walked up the front steps, and the door opened. Just a few feet inside the entrance stood a man behind a tall podium, making notes and saying hello to everybody who came in. We waited for only a second before he quickly stepped forward, saying in a loud voice, “Mr. Cobb, Mr. Cobb, welcome to the Club. Good to see you. How are you? Oh, and I see you have guests tonight.” He gestured toward the three of us. “We have a special table all ready for you.” While he was talking, he grabbed Granddaddy’s hand and pumped it up and down and patted his shoulder. Then he turned toward the other people standing nearby and said, “Folks, we have the immortal Ty Cobb as a special guest tonight.”

  I could feel Granddaddy bristle and he quickly said, “Henry, please, I have my grandchildren tonight. We’re here to have a quiet dinner.”

  The man replied, “Fine, fine, Mr. Cobb, no bother. Just let me check and make sure your table is ready.”

  We were waiting to be called when another man suddenly appeared and staggered toward Granddaddy. This man didn’t walk straight, and I could smell whisky as he approached. I felt Granddaddy’s hand nudge my shoulder so that I shifted behind him. Susan and Kit were behind me. The man stopped, barely short of bumping into Granddaddy. The people standing nearby didn’t notice. The smiles on their faces remained, and they carried on as if this man was an old friend or something like that. I felt the tension radiating from Granddaddy, and I moved slightly to my right to see what would happen.

  The man didn’t even look at me or Susan or Kit but stared straight into the face of my grandfather. He was slightly younger than Granddaddy, built full and stocky.“So, you’re the great Ty Cobb, huh,” he blurted out, “the tough one, huh, the guy who thinks he can give anybody a licking.” He drew a big breath and said, “Well, I’ll tell you, I’ve been waiting for a chance, and I’m going to show everybody what a coward and run tail you really are. I watched you play and I think you’re a chicken. A chicken, you hear.” He took another breath and growled, “You want it here, or outside?” motioning with his thumb toward the front door.

  The noise in the room was so loud, no one could really make out what was said. My own body tensed up, and I saw the flush on Granddaddy’s cheek. He formed a fist with his right hand, and I thought, “Oh, my gosh, he’s going to hit this guy.” I took a step backward, ready to duck or jump out of the way. For me, the lights in the room became brighter, and I noticed Granddaddy shift his body, bend his knees, and put some weight on his back foot. I was sure he was going to knock this guy’s lights out. I was scared, but it was exciting.

  The man snarled, “Well, you big blowhard, what’s its going to be? Get your ass whipped in here or out there?”

  Granddaddy was furious. His eyes focused like he was going to drill this guy, and I was sure he was going to bust him in the face. His breathing was quick but steady, and his hand relaxed a little. He knew where I was because his right hand came over and barely brushed against me; I thought he was making sure he had enough room to swing his hardest. The man edged closer, and his smell was just terrible. All of this happened like a quick blurry movie.

  Then the strangest thing happened. Granddaddy’s shoulders dropped just a little, and his right hand quickly moved across his body. Deliberately, he took the guy’s right hand in his in a handshake. The man flinched a little bit, as if he didn’t understand what was happening. Granddaddy didn’t let go of his hand and held it down at the man’s waist, right where I could see both hands, struggling. The man wanted loose, and Granddaddy held tight. Granddaddy moved closer to him, not giving him any room to rip his hand away. I watched him squeeze hard and felt a knowing smile come over my own face. I’d seen that squeeze on the Snake River in Idaho when I was six years old.

  As Granddaddy’s grip squeezed harder, I heard him whisper in a guttural snarl, probably not meant for my ears, “You lousy bum, you’re not going to swing on anybody.” His face moved so close to the other man that he edged backward.

  The man exclaimed, “Let go of me, you sonofabitch. When I get done with you, you’ll be sorry you ever saw me.”

  Granddaddy, breathing on his face, told him, “I’m not fighting you. You’re leaving. Now.” His grip tightened on the man’s hand. I knew he would never let go; he had taken my hand or arm many times to help me, and just by being helped, I knew his strength.

  By this time Henry had returned. He saw right away what was happening, and he whistled and motioned to a big guy who was standing at the entrance to the casino. The big guy came over in an instant, put his arm around the man, and began walking toward the front door, carrying the man along with him.

  Henry turned to Granddaddy and started to apologize, gesturing, bending at his waist, and almost pleading, “I’m so sorry Mr. Cobb. Sometimes, this can’t be avoided. Please let me show you to your table.” Granddaddy put his hand on Henry’s chest, slowed him down, and said, “Please, Henry, don’t worry. I’m here with my grandchildren. We’re here to enjoy ourselves.” He was still breathing hard, and I know I had barely missed a fight. I really wanted to see him knock that guy down. I didn’t know at the time why this all happened, why the drunk man wanted to fight my grandfather, and how much it meant to Granddaddy to stay out of a fight. He had told me that first summer to stay out of fights, but once in, make the other guy know that I’d never give up.

  Henry led us into the dining area where four men on a stage were playing their instruments and singing, but that didn’t really matter to me compared to the spectacle next to them, which caught me by surprise and riveted my attention. Eight dancing women, with long legs and beautiful costumes, were moving and flowing together with legs kicking high, singing a song that was lost to me in the flurry of spins, kicks, twists, wiggles, and coy looks; all performing perfectly in unison.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Granddaddy pause at our table, make sure we were seated, then walk to the smoky doorway of the gambling room, look around, and step inside. No matter how captivating the follies on the stage were, I was grabbed by the mystery of what Granddaddy was up to. He planned this evening to be at the North Shore Club on time, dodged a drunk when we arrived, and was now pursuing his mission. I was determined to witness whatever it turned out to be.

  I stood up. Susan and Kit were watching the show, fascinated by the adult entertainment. They didn’t even turn their heads as I eased away from the table. A man in a suit stood
just past the doorway, watching the room I was in as if he was a guard. I hoped he was watching the long legs on stage and not keeping a lookout to keep some people out of the gambling room. I walked past him like I had business in that room but immediately realized I couldn’t have any real business there because it was full of gambling tables, drinking, and cigar smoke. Before me were card tables, roulette tables, a couple of dice tables, and a wall filled with slot machines. I was not yet twelve years old and knew I was not allowed in a casino. It was dimly lit, difficult to see and be seen, so I quickly took up a station on the left wall just past the door and scanned around, looking for my grandfather. Luckily, I recognized the pattern on his sport coat because his back was turned to me and he was leaning over, talking to a man sitting on a straight-backed chair, with hands gripping his knees, his face slightly white with old men’s whiskers, thin hair on top, and sorrowful eyes, fixed on Granddaddy. I watched his lips moving now and then, but Granddaddy shifted in front of him and I could only see his left shoulder, arm, and hand.

  Just then a tall man with slicked-back wavy dark hair, dressed like a penguin, came up to me and said, “Kid, you’re not allowed in here. You’ll have to leave.” He placed his hand on my shoulder and started to push me toward the door.

  I didn’t move from the wall. I looked at him as if I knew what I was doing and said, “I’m waiting for my grandfather, that man over there, talking to the guy in the chair.”

  He turned and spotted whom I meant. “You mean Cobb?” he said, “That guy in the coat, Cobb?”

  I quickly replied, “Yeah, my grandfather. I’ll only be here a minute, please?”

  He looked at Granddaddy again and said, with a lot of hesitation in his voice, “You sure? Cobb. Okay, just one minute and then you’re out of here, understand?”