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

by Herschel Cobb

  Nothing was the matter. He was sitting in the same chair he always sat in, waving to me to come over, smiling with that silly twinkle in his eye. His voice was no different either.

  “Hersch, it’s good to see you. Early, though. Come over here.”

  By the time I reached his side, I saw what was different. There was something going on. Only, I couldn’t figure out what. He was wearing his beige gabardine slacks and summer shoes, but he was still wearing his nightshirt! It had no collar, and the sleeves were three-quarter length. And he hadn’t shaved. His white whiskers showed all over his face. I leaned over to kiss him, and he pulled me into a hug and my cheek rubbed against his.

  “Ugh, your face is all scrappy, Granddaddy.” I pulled away, rubbing my cheek with my left hand. “You didn’t shave!”

  “Oh, yeah. Been up for a while but haven’t had a chance to shave. Your cheek okay?” His voice was slightly raspy too. “Had a visitor since early this morning. Got here just after you called. Sort of unexpected.”

  I glanced around the room. “Who’s here? I don’t see anybody.” The door to his office was open, I noticed. The wall where Granddaddy’s desk and file drawers were placed was the portion of the room I could see. Only I couldn’t see his desk because a man in a blue sports coat was hunched over it, his back to me, with a drawer open in front of him. He was lifting papers out of the file drawer, putting them on the desk, and then slipping them into a dark folder lying on the desktop. I watched for a moment, and then turned to Granddaddy, just as he started talking.

  “Al! Al, where are you? He was here a minute ago. Went to the bathroom, down the hall.”

  “There’s a man in your office,” I said slowly and directly.

  Granddaddy shifted his whole body to look over his left shoulder toward his office. His quick movement startled me, and I stepped backward, knocking against the ottoman next to his chair. When he spoke this time, his voice sounded more like a lion than a person.

  “Al. What the hell are you doing?” he bellowed. “Excuse me, Hersch,” he said quietly, then yelled again, “Al, get the hell out of there. What the hell are you doing?” His face flushed fiercely red, and he was just starting to rise from his chair as the man nearly ran out of the office.

  “Sorry, Ty. The door was open, and I couldn’t help but admire your pictures. The signed one of you and Ruth is so great. Wish it were mine.” He talked in a high, rushed tone as if to cover up being caught. I used that tone many times when I did not want an adult to know what I had been doing.

  The stooped man was middle-aged, slightly pudgy, and noticeably puffy around his eyes. He dropped the dark folder on the sofa at the back of the living room and stood before Granddaddy, looking sheepish, like he wanted to dodge a verbal blast. “I’d really like to get some more material on you and Ruth, and on your early investments.” His eyes darted toward the folder he’d tossed onto the sofa but then shifted to me. “Oh, but who is this handsome young man?” I looked back at him, but remained in place. He had a full head of hair on top, an avaricious look in his eyes that went with a forced smile, surrounded by a two-day-old beard. The blue sports coat was soiled on one lapel, and the red plaid shirt underneath was unbuttoned at the last button before it tucked into his pants, exposing his white undershirt.

  Granddaddy was rearranging himself in his chair. His face was still pink with anger, the veins in his arms visibly stood out, and his irritation was barely controlled. “Now, Al, I’ve told you a dozen times, I don’t want you in my office—” He didn’t finish because he was interrupted.

  “Now, Ty. I’m your biggest fan and admirer. I just wish I’d seen you play, you know, really burn those base paths. Nobody can do that stuff today. The spikes and all.” His hands were raised in surrender, moving up and down to calm Granddaddy.

  “Al, I’ve told you about the spikes, over and over. I don’t want to talk about that. You know how it was back then. I never used them that way—” I could tell that any patience Granddaddy had was fading fast. His neck and face were still red, and he focused his eyes on Mr. Stump with such intensity that he moved backward a step. His voice crackled with a force that I could feel; it wasn’t loud, but it filled the room.

  “Yes, yes, that’s what I meant, Ty,” the man interrupted. “I just wish I was there. But the pictures are great. Tell me again about Baker.” His voice became even and steady, and he edged between me and Granddaddy. “And tell me about this young man. Introduce me, Ty.”

  Granddaddy squirmed in his seat as he regained his temper. “Al, this is my grandson, Herschel Jr. Call him Hersch. Hersch, this is Mr. Al Stump.” His voice carried that resignation that grown-ups have whenever the intensity they just felt would have to wait for another time. He motioned for me to come over to him.

  I moved toward Granddaddy’s chair and said at the same time, “Hi, Mr. Stump.” I could see his forehead was wet with little beads of sweat. I didn’t offer my hand, nor did he offer his.

  “Hersch, Mr. Stump is helping your grandfather write a book. It’s about my life in baseball. I want the record set straight before I die.” His right hand tightened around my waist. “A lot has been written about me, most of it by people who weren’t there. I want the true record set down. Your granddaddy’s been through a lot, and I want the truth known before I leave this world.”

  “Ty, you’re going to be just fine,” Mr. Stump jumped in. “You look great, and you’ve got the best doctors. You’re going to be fine.” He continued in an ingratiating tone, “And I’ve got a lot of great material. I want to get some more, though, but what we have is just great. I mean, I need some personal stuff—say, maybe I could take the bat from the office, you know, the one with the Babe’s signature, and Sisler’s, and yours, and take it and have it photographed. Yeah, that would be great.” His voice was rushed, like a kid who was asking for ten chocolate chip cookies when he probably wasn’t going to get any.

  “Al, be quiet. I was just telling Hersch what I am doing. He doesn’t know everything about Granddaddy. Maybe he’s heard some stories. I want my record straight. Granddaddy wasn’t all bad, you know.” His thumb tugged on my belt loop in rhythm with his voice and words, as if for emphasis. He was talking to me like he wanted to explain something important. But I didn’t know specifically what in his past he was talking about, and Mr. Stump looked like a vulture about to pounce on his dying prey.

  “Ty, I was just talking about the human side. You know, people want to know more nowadays. So, maybe some more personal stuff. The bat, maybe some of the nicer pictures. Signed, right. I could take them and have them copied or something. That would add a lot.” He was pleading, inveigling to get the bat and photos into his hands.

  “Mr. Cobb, is everything all right?” Louise had just rounded the corner from the dining room. She looked flustered, but I guessed she had wanted to wait until Granddaddy either exploded or it passed over. She stopped suddenly and exclaimed, “Oh, Mr. Cobb, you still have your nightshirt on. And with guests here.”

  Mr. Stump spoke right up. “Louise, maybe you should take Ty back to his room and find him a shirt, and make sure he’s had his medicine.” He moved out of the way and made room for Louise to approach.

  “Have you had your shot, Mr. Cobb?” she asked.

  “Oh, Louise, I don’t know. Maybe I forgot. Al got here so early, I didn’t have a chance. But it’s okay, I feel just fine. We were talking about my book.”

  “Now, Mr. Cobb. You’ll feel poorly later on if you don’t have your insulin. Now, let’s go take care of that. We’ll be done soon enough.” She sounded firm, and she was his nurse.

  I knew Granddaddy took an insulin shot every day because he’d given one to himself in front of me several times. The first time had been a real surprise. I was visiting early in the morning and went back to his room before he was finished dressing. He was sitting in a chair next to his closet when I entered, and he called me over to him, told me that he was still tough as ever, and knew how to take good
care of himself. At the same time, he filled a syringe by sticking the needle into a bottle, flicked a little liquid off the end, and placed his thumb on the plunger. He told me to watch. My eyes became huge when he grabbed his thigh with his other hand, bunched up some flesh, and plunged the needle into himself. He emptied the liquid into his leg, pulled the needle out, rubbed his thigh a little and looked up at me and smiled, very pleased. I felt a little sick to my stomach. I’d never seen anything like that in my life.

  He patted my shoulder, gave a little laugh, and walked into his dressing room. A moment later, he came out dressed and smiling and said, “How about something to eat?” I couldn’t really answer because I still felt queasy, but I followed him into the kitchen, where Louise had his breakfast waiting for him.

  Louise started helping Granddaddy get out of his chair, saying, “Come, Mr. Cobb, you’ll feel better with a nice clean shirt on.”

  He resisted a bit, but she kept talking about not wanting to call the doctor, that it would just take a few minutes and he would feel much better. She was insistent, and soon he was walking, with Louise at his elbow, down the back hallway toward his room.

  After they were out of earshot, Mr. Stump turned to me and said, “Well, young Hersch, why don’t we go and find some hot chocolate for you?” His voice was dripping with sweetness, and I thought of the witch in Hansel and Gretel. “Let’s go see what I can find for you.”

  I could feel a speck of fear and excitement as I followed him to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator, took out a glass bottle of milk, and then started going through the cupboards looking for cocoa.

  He spotted the Nestlé package and put it on the drain board. “You know, Hersch, your grandfather and I are good friends. He trusts me, and he doesn’t have many people around him he can really trust. He wants his book to tell the whole story of his life, no matter what happened. He doesn’t want anything left out, you know what I mean?”

  He didn’t wait for me to answer before he continued, “Perhaps you can help me. Ty might like that. I understand you spend your summers with him? Is that right?”

  “W-well, yeah,” I stammered a bit, and then quickly added, “but not the whole summer, just a few weeks. We usually go up to Tahoe for a while.”

  “Sure. That’s what I meant. Just you?” I could tell he was measuring his words, like he didn’t want to make a mistake.

  “Oh, no,” I answered, “usually me and my sister and brother. And his nurse.”

  “That’s nice,” he said. “Well, tell me, what it is like being with him? You know, the three of you and your grandfather. What’s he like with you? What do you all do up there?” While he spoke, he fumbled with the cocoa, the milk, and the glass, keeping his eyes glued on me. He put a level soupspoon of cocoa into the glass and stirred. I told him I wanted more chocolate, and he put in a second huge spoonful and stirred some more, all the while forcing a wheedling smile in my direction.

  “Oh, play on the beach, row around the cove, swim, ride in his Chris-Craft, fish, stuff like that,” I said. “Once every few days we go out to dinner.”

  When I said this, he brightened up and looked eagerly right at me. “Really, is that so? Ty wants me to write some more about him getting out and about, you know that? Now, when you go out with him, does your granddaddy like a drink or two before dinner? Maybe he has some buddies he likes to have a drink with?” He was stirring the glass faster and faster, acting like his question was the most natural one in the world.

  “I don’t know about that, Mr. Stump,” I answered. He had my attention now. I saw the same narrow-eyed look as in the living room, as if I was now his prey. I sat up straighter in the chair, totally alert.

  “It’s okay if he drinks a little, Hersch. You can tell me about it. I’m just a little curious and need you to help me. Understand?” His voice sounded sincere as he stirred the chocolate milk absently. “Men in his day were tough. They played ball hard, and getting blocked or spiked was part of the game. They were entitled to their drinks, know what I mean?” He looked at me like a lecturer in school expecting the right answer. But it felt like a bear trap was about to spring shut.

  “I’ve never actually seen Granddaddy drink whisky, Mr. Stump,” I answered flatly. I swallowed hard because I remembered the night at the North Shore Club. Granddaddy had set his glass on the table, but it was just as full at the end as in the beginning. Mr. Stump was disappointed at me for not delivering, but what I said was the truth. I’d heard stories, and I’d read stuff, and people like Mr. Stump were always interested, but I never smelled it on him or saw it. I saw him drink a lot of Coca-Cola, but I didn’t mention this to Mr. Stump.

  “Maybe you didn’t see him directly. No matter. I’m sure you had fun. Where do you go out?” he continued, lowering his voice.

  “Well,” I said, thoughtfully, wondering where this questioning was going, “Granddaddy likes the North Shore Club, and they know him there.” I explained to Mr. Stump that he seldom went to South Shore, preferring the club, which was situated right on the highway going around the north end of Lake Tahoe. It was the fanciest restaurant and club at that end of the lake, and even though Granddaddy’s cabin was closer to South Shore, the man in charge of choosing seats for people knew Granddaddy pretty well and always greeted him by his last name. The four of us usually had a table right in front of the show.

  Mr. Stump handed me the glass of chocolate milk and rocked back against the wooden drain board. He looked like he was considering how to move the conversation forward. He put the spoon in the sink and asked, “Did Ty have a lady friend up there, at the lake, I mean?”

  “You mean, like a girlfriend or something like that?” I asked.

  “Yeah, like that. When you went out, or to the North Shore Club.”

  “Nah, his nurse never even went with us,” I told him. “Once in a while a friend would sit with us, and Granddaddy would talk a lot with him. A man who lives at Mr. Bliss’s place. A lot of baseball stories and stuff about hunting.”

  “Didn’t they enjoy a drink together, Hersch? You know, it would be nice to write something about Ty enjoying a good time with a friend, laughing it up and carrying on a little bit. People like to read about that stuff, you know?” He smiled broadly as he spoke.

  “What ‘stuff,’ Mr. Stump?” I stiffened again in my chair. I didn’t like talking to him anymore. I also remembered my grandmother’s instruction. But I was here and felt a wave of determination to correct this man.

  “I heard a story once that Ty had too much to drink at a club at Tahoe and made quite a fuss. You must have heard stories about his drinking. You have, haven’t you, Hersch? The stories, I mean.” He was trying to sound sincere, leaning casually against the drain board. The chocolate milk stayed in the glass in front of me, untouched. “He must enjoy a little whisky up at the lake?”

  I tried to maintain an even tone, but I was angry and a little nervous. Then I suddenly recalled Granddaddy telling me about getting the other guy off balance in a situation by doing the unexpected. I decided to go in a different direction, and continued, “You know, I’ve been up to the lake with Granddaddy every year since I can remember. We do lots of things up there and see lots of people. Have you ever been up to the lake with him, Mr. Stump?”

  “You mean, to his place at Cave Rock?”

  “Yeah, to his cabin there,” I replied.

  “Well, not really. We’ve talked about it, and I expect we’ll go up there together soon. I want to spend some good time with him. You know, Hersch, I’m a sportswriter. Write about lots of athletes. Tell their story. Most of them aren’t as famous as your grandfather. So I’ve been spending most of my time lately writing and trying to get published. I really want to do this one right. Tell about his career, of course, but I want to write about what he did off the field. People really like that stuff. And, Ty—your grandfather—well, as you probably know, was a pretty colorful ball player. He still is. Has a temper, you know. There are lots of stories. Have yo
u ever seen him really mad?” He was moving his hands back and forth in front of him, smiling, acting very friendly. He also had gotten back to probing me, hoping for family secrets.

  I started thinking. From where I was sitting, I could see through the butler’s pantry into the dining room, and out the window to the front yard. It was a sunny day. I turned to Mr. Stump and said, “Yeah, I did see him really mad one time.” I made my voice serious, almost dramatic.

  Mr. Stump’s face came alive. He leaned slightly forward and said, “See, I told you. Good. Now, did he hit somebody? Tell me everything. I’d like to hear all the details. This is exactly what I’m looking for.” He looked around the kitchen, as if searching for something important. “Tell me all the details, how he took this guy apart. Is there some paper in here, a note pad or something? I’d like to get this all down. Wait a minute, Hersch, I want something to write with.”

  He hurried over to the telephone, looked in the drawer and cupboard, didn’t find what he wanted, then moved to the next set of drawers and cupboard. No luck. He didn’t find a pencil or pad or anything he wanted. He was across the room when he blurted out, “Oh, shit. Just like that SOB.” Then he calmed down and said, “Okay, Hersch, just tell me as clear as you can remember, how he hit the guy?”

  “Well, Mr. Stump,” I started very slowly, “Granddaddy didn’t actually hit anybody. Probably wanted to, though, if somebody had been there.” I paused, and before I could continue, Mr. Stump jumped in, questioning,

  “What do you mean? He had to. I mean, what happened? Did the guy run? Tell me just the way it was, understand?”

  I felt his urgency, demanding that I answer. “We arrived at the cabin just after sunset, really tired and hungry. The front door to the cabin was wide open. The window was busted and someone had broken in. Granddaddy was really mad. He rushed inside, came right back out again, and told us to stay in the car, lock the doors, and don’t get out. I remember he was in his socks. He stayed inside for what seemed a long time, and I talked to Susan and Louise about what we saw. Louise said this had happened before, strangers usually looking for something to steal. They’d watch a place for lights at night, then pick one that stayed dark for a few nights, and break in during the next day. The neighbors were really too far away to do anything, and Pete, the man who watched over the place, looked in only now and then.”