Jim Tavegia

2010-04-10T06:13:00.001-07:00

Thanks for taking the time to visit my blog and hopefully enjoy my first novel, The Dreamers.

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Scroll down to July of "09" where you will open up the first imported chapters of my novel. Once opened up you can find Chapter 1 and begin your journey.

The work of fiction is about 2 very talented high school athletes about to embark on professional athletic careers. Due to choices each of them make their lives take many twists and turns, some for the better, and some not. As in real life, the choices we make seem right at that moment we make them, and often easily justifiable, but in the end they end up becoming the wrong choices and consequences are to be suffered.

Both of these young men have immense character and view each of their lives with nothing but the greatest of hopes, only to find for one of them that pain and suffering is coming his way. It is in many ways a story in which families are pulled in and suffer right along with our main characters which, ultimately, makes the choices that are made even more problematic.

If you like strong character, and believe that people having great character still matters, you should enjoy this story. If you like baseball and often wonder what happens in peoples' lives after each nine innings is played, this book should be for you.

It is ultimately a story of triumph over tragedy and how a romance can seemingly appear in the least expected places. It is a tale of how love of friends and family can lead to great happiness and joy.

I hope you enjoy The Dreamers, because we all had one at one time or another.

Jim Tavegia

Chapter 47

2010-04-09T12:28:00.000-07:00

Chapter 47

The wedding was beautiful. God provided a sunny seventy-degree Indian summer day. The wedding was held outside in the flower garden of the Baptist Church. Becky and Gloria were absolutely stunningly beautiful in their white wedding gowns.

Four of my best friends from Hasting Mills brought their families out for the wedding. I felt sad that I had no immediate family to share this wonderful day with. I did feel lucky to have Gus, Mary, Red Dodge and his wife there. Jon and Chris Tavy were there, of course, as was the entire Madison team.

After the reception, Gloria and I headed off to Hawaii for two wonderful weeks. We sunned ourselves on the beautiful beeches, danced until the wee hours of the morning, falling more in love with every passing day.

We were just sunning ourselves in lunge chairs by the pool one afternoon. We had only two days left before we were scheduled to go home and really start our lives together.

"Fate is sure a funny thing," I said to my beautiful bride. "I mean, how else can you explain my lying on the beach here with you, and, your being my wife."

"Yes, I know,” answered Gloria. "I always thought it would be with Bob. I still can't believe he is gone. I don't think I will ever understand life, really, at least that chapter of my life."

"I know," I said. "He was a great guy and had so much to offer. He seemed to always make the right decisions. He was truly Dudley Do-Right if there ever was one."

"He was that," added Gloria, "even to his own detriment, I think."

"I guess we all think that every decision we make, at the time, is the right one," I add. "We think we look at all the options, understand the possibilities of what may happen, even think we know how things will turn out. I guess the reality is that we move too quickly with our hearts and not enough with our heads. Maybe Bob WAS to take that scholarship. Maybe he would still be alive today if he had. Who knows, I guess."

I took a sip of my lemonade. Gloria just starred out across the crystal blue water beyond the pool fence.

"I just hope he has found his peace, where ever he is," Gloria said, as a small tear rolled down her cheek. "Bill, thank you for marrying me. I do love you so."

"You're very welcome," I reply. "Was the least I could do."

I reach across and brush away the tear.

"I hope Bob has found his peace, too," I add. "I really do. I can't help but think, though, that his business is left unfinished. I have been having some strange dreams lately, almost visions if you could call them that. It’s like I'm supposed to be doing something to help bring closure to all of this. I don't know exactly what, though."

"What do you mean, Bill," asked Gloria. "How could YOU finish what Bob tried to start?"

"That's what I don't know," I reply. "I'm certainly not as religious a person as Bob, but I think that you and I have some serious soul-searching to do to try to figure out what God wants us to do about this. I know that we can't let Bob's murder be in vain. He was too special a person for that."

I take Gloria's hand in mine and look deeply into her eyes.

"I'll help you any way I can," she replied lovingly while leaning over to kiss me softly. "We're in this together, for the rest of our lives. She caresses my face with her soft hands. "God will let us know what he wants us to do...in his own time. Some dreams do come true. Mine truly have."

Chapter 46 The Dreamers

2010-04-09T12:27:00.000-07:00

Chapter 46

Gloria, Gus, Mary, and I had a wonderful dinner and went back to my condo. It had two big bedrooms with a sleep sofa in the living room. I slept there giving my guests the two bedrooms.

Saturdays' game was a two-o'clock start so we could have breakfast before I left for the park at 10AM. Gloria called her Mom and told her the news of our engagement.

Gloria and her Mom thought about a wedding date and both decided that, if I didn't mind, they saw no reason to wait very long, unless I wanted to wait until after the season was over. We would talk about it tomorrow. It might be difficult since there were not many days off the rest of the season. They even thought about a double wedding with Becky Lollar and Dave Bolton in October.

Back in Chicago the liberal press was all over the Metro Police about the execution of Motown Matthews and his thugs. The community, as a whole, was not upset at all, much to their surprise. It seemed that the press was less concerned about the real innocent victims than they were about the real hoodlums. There was a rash of talk shows and Sunday Morning community programs centered on this whole ordeal. It became clearer that the community had no sympathy for Motown or his men, period. They felt justice was served.

It certainly didn't bother Mookie or Marvin. They called Sergeant Jenkins and asked if he wanted them to do anything else. He told them not at the moment, but that he would appreciate seeing them about once a month, just to keep in touch with what was going down in the neighborhood. They appreciated that he cared enough to do that for them. All Mookie wanted was a safe place for Dwight to grow up in and be able to safely ride the bike Bob and Sergeant Jenkins had given his son.

They also liked the idea of the basketball league being cleaned up. They felt with Motown gone, so would the drug deals and the pimping. They just had to keep an eye out for someone else trying to take over.

The Monarchs continued to breeze through the league. My record moved to twelve and three and Jack's to 11 and two. Tavy continued his assault with eight more homers and twenty-three RBI's for the month. I also continued to hit over .300 and added another six homers myself. We went into the last week of the season tied with the Orioles for first place. The third place team was nine games out. It was to be between the Orioles and us for the A.L. East Crown.

The City was buzzing. Madison had clinched their pennant over the weekend. They had a twelve game lead, continuing to be the class of the league in spite of loosing three of their best players. Buck did a good job of keeping the team focused and helping the new players fit right in.

For the New York club the last three games were against the Orioles. It was going to come down to head to head play, for sure. We swept our three games with the Brewers while the Orioles took two out of three from the Indians. With a one game lead we would have to loose all of our games with the Orioles to not, at least, force a one game playoff. I was to start Friday night's contest, a 7PM start.

Jack was moved back to Sunday, in case that game proved to be critical. Red thought he could use an extra day off as he seemed to be getting tired having lost about five miles an hour off his fastball the last week or so. It had been a long and emotionally draining season for all of us. An extra day couldn't hurt.

I breezed through the Orioles for four innings not giving up a hit. In the top of the fifth Chris Hoiles, the Oriole catcher took me deep to left giving the Orioles a one to nothing lead. In the Yankee half of the fifth, I led off the inning with a sharp single into right center. Tavy took the count full, but fouled out to third.

Ruben Santos made up for it with a triple into left center with me scoring, tying up the game. The Monarch catcher took care of the rest with a towering homer into the monuments on the first pitch giving us a three to one lead and all the runs I would need for the night.

I pitched eight strong innings giving up four hits, striking out seven and walking only one. Hack Johnson closed out the ninth for his thirty-second save. The Monarch clubhouse was ecstatic with our two game lead. The Orioles had to win tomorrow, but it was not to be.

We came out bombing with four homers in the first four innings and climbed out to a six to nothing lead. All Scott Marsch had to do now was keep the ball in the ball park, which he did. The final score was: Monarchs 8, Orioles 2. It was over.

The Monarchs had come back from being eleven games out. Red Dodge and we new Madison players did it. We played not only like we belongs here, but like true champions. Our workman like attitude rubbed off on the older players. Red did a wonderful job with the older players and by not showing any favoritism to his own boys. The team respected that.

George offered Red a contract extension of two years, which he accepted with the condition that Gus Lollar could join him in some capacity, but only if Gus wanted. George agreed.

George offered Jack and Jon very nice bonuses with their two year contract offers. Jack and Jon signed immediately. I was already signed for 2 more years, which was part of my huge bonus package.

Gloria and I, after talking to Becky and Dave Bolton, decided to have a double ceremony back in Madison after the season was over.

We two couples had grown so close; it just seemed like the natural thing to do. It would even give us more time to plan a honeymoon which we would NOT take with Becky and Dave, no matter how much we liked them. Gloria and I wanted some real time alone. This had been some year for everybody.

We lost in the playoffs to the Oakland A's in a tough seven game series. Jack and I both win one to nothing games, and then I win five to one, and Jack gets a no decision.

It was still a great season and gave the Monarchs great hope for the future. The Monarch bullpen let us down in three of the losses. There would be changes made there in the off-season for sure.

Chapter 45 The Dreamers

2010-04-09T12:26:00.000-07:00

Chapter 45

The Monarchs began one of the biggest turn-arounds in their history. The existing players seemed to get the message and Meyers, Tavy, and I were playing as well as we were in Madison. We never missed a beat. By months end I was six and one and was batting .325 with five homers. Jack Meyers was five and one, and Jon Tavy had hit nine homers for the month and named the League Player of the Month. He added twenty-four runs batted in. Collectively, we seemed to raise the level of play for everyone. There was a renewed sense of not wanting to let your teammates down.

The Orioles, in the mean time, had gone on two losing streaks of their own, one of five games, and one of seven games. We had moved within two games with over a month left to go in the regular season. The town and the media had gotten off George’s case, for a while.

The Madison Monarchs were doing just as well. Buck was enjoying managing again and it was like nothing had changed with the team. It made me, Jack, and Jon feel better about our own success. We still had strong affections for our ex teammates.

Gloria, Gus and Mary were coming up for the weekend series with the Red Sox. Gus had gotten someone to fill in for their weekend series. He and Mary needed to get away. The last month had been tough, but they got through it. It was time, they knew, to get on with their lives. Maybe this weekend in New York could be a new beginning. They drove down and parked at my apartment. I had a limo take them to the stadium. Chris Tavy had already moved down here to be with Jon. Everything was going well for them, too.

I met Gloria, Gus, and Mary in the huge visitors' lounge adjacent to the locker room. I gave her the biggest hug of my life, or hers. I had missed her so much. I gave Mary a big hug as well and warmly shook Gus' hand.

"I'm so glad you all could come down," I began. "I missed you all so much."

Gloria was just beaming. "You think YOU missed US," she added? "I got news for you sailor," she added. Everyone started laughing.
"Listen," I said. "I've got to get ready for the game today. It is Jack's turn to pitch. We'll go out for a nice dinner to night."

"Sounds great," said Mary. "Should we meet you back here after the game?"

"That's fine," I replied. "See you then." I reached for Gloria and gave her a warm, passionate kiss. "I'll see YOU later, too," I added with a big smile. She returned it, as well.

Jack pitched a four-hitter for seven innings and the Monarch relievers closed out the game with six strikeouts, and no runs to complete the shutout of the Red Sox.

Both Jon and I hit two-run homers, mine came in the first inning with Moss aboard. Jon hit his in the fourth inning with me on with my second hit, a double into the gap in left center. Rubin Santos hit a three-run homer in the seventh for insurance. We just kept on rolling.

I met my new family as planned and a limo quickly sped us down to Mickey Mantle's Restaurant. It was easy for players to get in, reservations or not. I made them. I was not looking for any special treatment.

We took our seats and I ordered a nice bottle of wine for all of us to share. We sat talking about the game and how all three of us Madison players had brought so much to the team. It was something out of a dream they all thought.

I reached into my pocket and took out a small navy blue hinged box. I sat it by my plate. I was growing nervous. Mary spotted the box and quickly asked Gus to escort her to the ladies room so she wouldn't get lost. Gus didn't understand, but went anyway.

"Gloria," I began, "you know I've grown very fond of you. You are a very remarkable woman. You've been through a lot in your short life. And when I think about all that has transpired, I know that I am truly in love with you. I would love for you to me wife, if you'll have me?"

I opened the small box that had a huge diamond engagement ring inside. I took it out of the box and held it in my left hand. I reached for her left hand with my right.

"Gloria," I said as lovingly as I could, “Will you marry me?"

Gloria sat stunned for a moment. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. It was the words she had hope to hear for months.

"Oh, Bill, You know I will," she replied. "I love you so much." Her eyes welled up with tears as she leaned across the table to kiss him. She sweetly and gently touched the side of his cheek.

I slipped the beautiful ring on her finger. It fit perfectly.

"How did you do that," she asked?

"Got one of your rings from your Mom and had it sized," I said. "You're Mom has known for two weeks. She is really good at keeping secrets."

"She sure is," said Gloria. "I guess I didn't know how good, myself."

Gus and Mary made their way back to the table. They could sense some good news was about to be announced.

"Gus and Mary," I beamed, “this beautiful, young woman has agreed to become Mrs. Billy Alan." Both Gloria and I were smiling like Cheshire Cats.

"Oh," said Mary, "that is wonderful news. We always hoped this day would come. We love you both so very much." Mary leaned over and gave Gloria a kiss on the cheek.

"Congratulation," said Gus, giving me a pat on the shoulder.

"I know it's soon, but have you thought about a wedding date," asked Mary?

"When ever Gloria wants," I said. "I'll leave that up to her. I just plan to be there."

"We can talk about that the rest of this weekend, if that's O.K. with everyone," said Gloria. "I’ve got to call Mom tonight as well."

The waiter came by the table and asked if we were ready to order. He also asked for a favor.

"Mr. Alan," he asked sheepishly, "could I get your autograph for my son? He is a big fan of yours."

"Sure, what's his name," I ask?

"Martin," replied the waiter.

The waiter placed a clean piece of paper in front of me and handed me his pen. I began writing.

"Keep you eye on the ball and your mind in school," I wrote. "Best wishes, Bill Alan."

"Thanks,” said the waiter.

"Any time," I replied. "Come on everyone, let's eat."

Chapter 44 The Dreamers

2010-04-09T12:25:00.000-07:00

Chapter 44

Word of the firing-squad execution of Motown and his boys spread quickly. The Brown Panthers had dropped the bodies at Beaupre Park. They must have figured that it was the appropriate site. Within five minutes of the Panthers anonymous tip the police dispatched the City Morgue to pick up the bodies.

Both Jenkins and DA Johnson had decided to go directly to the courthouse that morning. Sergeant Riccio called him there and told him what had transpired. He and Johnson quickly made their way back to the precinct. Johnson said on the way over with Jenkins in the car that the only winners here were the taxpayers. Literally Millions and millions of dollars were saved in trial costs and nine life sentences. He felt sure that the outcome would have been plea-bargained to life-in-prison with no parole in exchange for guilty pleas.

Even if you count fourty-five thousands dollars for each of forty-plus years of maximum security prison stays, it came to well over a few cool million dollars in incarceration costs for each of them, not counting inflation. Johnson wasn't so sure what had happened was such a bad thing after all. Jenkins wasn't so sure. He hated to see a massive trend of vigilante justice cropping up. He was glad to see the moral outrage within the Black Community, but not like this. Now he had to worry about both sides in this fight. As if he didn't have enough problems already.

The media had moved quickly and had their remote trucks at Beaupre. Captain Moss was at the precinct. The Mayor’s Office called and said the Mayor was on the way, too. They all met in Jenkins office.

"Sergeant Jenkins," said Moss," fill us in, will you?"

Sergeant Riccio was in the room as well. He knew more of what transpired downstairs. He passed along the account he got from statements from the guards and transport personnel.

"Do we know who heads up the Brown Panther group," asked Moss? "We need to bring in someone for questioning, before we look like total idiots," he added sarcastically.

"Total idiots, is that what you think we are," snapped Jenkins? "Where have YOU been during this investigation while the rest of us have been working eighteen to twenty hour a day on this case?"

"Watch it Sergeant," snapped back Moss.

"Watch it," snapped back Jenkins, now seething with anger. "I've had it with your involvement only at photo-op time. The rest of us have been killing ourselves working on this case, all you worry about is your chances to become Police Commissioner. Why don't you do the rest of us a favor and go play some more golf or whatever it is you do. I am tired of your sarcasm and crap. You don't like it, you can take this job and you know what you can do with it."

Moss was taken back. Jenkins never talked to him like this before. He never believed the animosity ran so high. The Mayor stepped in.

"Listen, this can wait," he chimed in. "I want to know what you want to do here Jenkins. What's our next move?"

"We know some of the key players in the Panthers," Jenkins stated. "We will go question them this morning. I don't think we're going to get any confessions. We have no witnesses to the executions. No one seemed to remember the vehicles they drove. We have no license plates, and all the assailants had on brown ski masks. I also believe that eighty percent of the public is not going to be that morally outraged about what happened. Mr. Mayor, what this should be is a wake up call to our Judicial System and Legislators that the public has grown very tired of the judicial systems failing them and bankrupting them at the same time."

"You know we spend over six percent of our state budget just locking these guys up." Jenkins went on. "That doesn't count what we spend on the court systems that put them there, or what we spend on municipal law enforcement. And, another thing, of the fifty-thousand people we arrested last year whose sentences would have been minimum-mandatory three year terms, we had to drop the charges on forty-thousand of those cases because we had no place to lock them up. If we did, prisons would account for over twenty-five percent of our state budget. That would be a crime in it self. Our dysfunction is both killing us and bankrupting us. We need this money for far more important things than prison. Our studies show that eighty-percent of our prisoners cannot past Fourth Grade Mastery Tests on Course Subject Material. Forty-percent have high school diplomas. What's that about?"

"Get the Legislative Leadership in my office sometime this week, even today if you can," said the Mayor firmly to members of his staff who came with him. "I think it is time we had a little heart to heart talk. Jenkins I want you there when they come. Any problem?"

"No, Sir, none at all," replied Jenkins. "I’ve been wanting this kind of meeting for a long time."

"Consider it done," said the Mayor. "I am calling a press conference for one hour from know. Jenkins, come with me and we'll talk about what we SHOULD say at this point."

"Give me five minutes, Sir," asked Jenkins, "I want to give Riccio the names of the Panther' Leadership I know."

"No problem," said the Mayor. Everyone, including Moss left Sergeant Jenkins’s office, except Riccio.

"Ric," said Jenkins, "here's the list. Tell them to be here at 1PM today, on their own, or we will come pick them up at OUR convenience. Tell them it is their choice, this time."

"O.K. Sarge," said Riccio. "I'll take care of it."

"Listen; are all of our men from down stairs all right?"

"Couple of scrapes and bruises, not much else," stated Riccio. "Seems like the Panthers made a strong effort not hurt any of our people. Give um some credit for that, I guess."

Jenkins nodded. He thanks Riccio for all his help and headed down to leave with the Mayor.

Their plan became to make this a legislative, judicial, educational problem. It was high time to really educate the public. They both hoped it could work.

Chapter 43 The Dreamers

2010-04-09T12:24:00.001-07:00

Chapter 43

The court room was filled by 8AM. The media was treating this preliminary hearing like it was the trial of the century. That would be coming within a few months, what with possible continuances and all.

Down at the station all necessary arrangements were made with the prisoners about to be transported. The eight shooters were cuffed and escorted single file down to the end of the holding cell area. Two set of motorized bars had to be actuated to let them pass. A final manual set of swing-open bars were key locked with one final guard sitting at a desk just outside. A final locked, steel door went to the outside to the waiting prisoner carriages. Two rifle armed officers were positioned at the opening of the alley that led to the street.

The shooters were escorted, first into their waiting carriage. Motown was escorted out next to his private carriage. He was to be arraigned last and would be kept in a holding cell at the court house while the shooters went through their proceedings.

Little did anyone know trouble was brewing. The Brown Panthers, unrelated to the Black Panthers, had made a decision there was to be no trial. This was a vigilante type organization of black men who had grown tired of the violence in their community, mainly perpetrated by members of their own race. They felt it was time for them to take some action. They had decided to target Motown and his boys and make their first example out of them.

They had positioned two, large Ford Econoline vans just around the corner of the alley entrance. Each van carried ten commando attired men with automatic weapons. They all wore brown ski masks over their heads. Their plan was that no police officers were to be hurt.

Four of their men in normal looking trench coats walked up to the opening of the alley. The police officers were standing no more than five feet back from the sidewalk. Two of the trench coats quickly roll-blocked the guards, football style, while the other two subdued them as they hit the pavement. They were quickly brought under control and put into a large black Cadillac and whisked away. Two look-alike guards quickly assumed their positions.

The ten commandos quickly made their way to the side of the prisoner carriages. They quickly forced the guards to drop their weapons, pulling the drivers from the cockpit and putting their own men in place. They handcuffed the officers and placed duct tape over their mouths, sitting them up against the precinct brick wall. They got the keys to the back doors, climbed in with the prisoners and sped off. They made it look just like a standard prisoner transport, only they headed down to the docks to conclude their business.

It took them only fifteen minutes to arrive at the docks and pulled their carriages into an old, deserted building on the end. They piled out of the carriages pulling out THEIR prisoners, lining them up against on of the walls. They left Motown in his van.

Two black Lincolns pulled inside within minutes with four well dressed black men in expensive suits walked forward with their heals clicking against the cement flooring.

"You're all set," said one of the suits to one hooded man?

"Yes, Sir, we are," he replied.

The suited man moved in front of the eight shooters to address them. He stood and looked each one of them in the eye. They were growing very nervous. It was their turn to squirm. They didn't like it one bit.

"We've grown tired of you killing our neighborhoods," began the suit. "We would like to think the legal system could solve this problem and eliminate your kind, but reality is they are not prepared to do what is right. They aren't prepared to take an eye for an eye, like the Scripture says. Too many of our well meaning politicians think your kind is, somehow, worth saving. We, on the other hand, do not. We have grown so tired of you having no respect for your own race. You use up our children like pack mules. It is coming to an end. May God, somehow, if He sees fit, have mercy on your retched souls."

Eight hooded men with high powered hunting rifles took places in front of each of the shooters. They locked shells in each of their rifle's chambers, holding them firmly across their chest.

"Ready," shouted a voice off to the side.

"Aim," shouted the voice again.

"Fire," he said again.

Eight shots rang out hitting each of the shooters directly in the chest cavity, ripping through the heart of each victim. They all fell quickly to the pavement. One hooded man went over to each of the bodies, felt the each of the victim's neck to insure there was no pulse to be found. There was not.

They quickly placed each of the bodies into body bags and dumped them in the vans they brought and left just outside the door.

Motown was brought out of his carriage and lined up in the same manner.

"I am not even going to waste on once of breath on scum like you," he said angrily. "Move."

The eight hooded men all lined up again, Went through the same sequence. Eight bullets ripped through Motown. There was no doubt he was dead as a door nail.

His body was also bagged and dumped in the same van outside. The van sped away to a predetermined location. The police were given a call fifteen minutes later where the bodies were left.

There would be no trial. It was over.

Chapter 42 The Dreamers

2010-04-09T12:22:00.000-07:00

Chapter 42

Jenkins and Johnson had a quiet dinner. Both expressed how disappointed they were in Martin and Mason. They were two of Johnson's best Attorneys. He was going to miss them. He couldn't believe what they did. What could they have been thinking, he thought?

They walked into Judge Menter's office and sat waiting to be announced. Judge McElroy entered the room. He recognized DA Johnson immediately. Johnson introduced Jenkins to the Judge.

Judge Menter came out of his office and asked the men to come inside. They did. They all took seats in the three leather arm chairs in front of the desk.

"What can we do for you," asked Judge Menter? "Seems rather important."

"It is," said Johnson, looking at Judge McElroy. "Judge have you had any personal contact with Motown Matthews," he asked? "We have reason to believe you have."

Judge McElroy looked down at his feet crossed in from of him. He said nothing.

"Judge McElroy," asked Menter? "What's this about?"

"Judge McElroy, you want us to tell what we suspect happened." asked Johnson?

"Go ahead," said Mentor.

Johnson showed Judge Menter the entries in Motown's ledger next to the Judge's name. He also showed him the two prosecutor's names, as well.

"Mark is this true," asked Menter? "Tell me it's not, will you."

"It's true, all of it," he replied in a subdued voice.

"Why," asked Menter? "Why?"

"Motown had his thugs kidnap Marky, my son, over a year ago," the Judge began. "He called about a week after it happened. No leads were forthcoming. I know there was a lot of pressure on the police to do something, but when you had no witnesses to the crime, no evidence, and no leads, what could anybody do. He said if I would cooperate, Marky would not be hurt, and that we could make some deal." stated the Judge.

"He had me meet him with no police down at the docks where he turned Marky over to me, unharmed," the Judge continued. "He said if I would make sure I was available to sit on any cases he was charged with that Marky would never be hurt. I love that kid with all my heart and soul, Jack. You know Martha and I thought we would never have any children, but when he came along late, it was like a gift, you know. I wasn't going to let anyone hurt Marky, no one."

"Go on," said Judge Menter.

"Well, he also said that he would compensate me for my services. It was later that the large manila envelopes began showing up with the cash in hundred dollar bills. Here it all is."

Judge McElroy pulled all seven envelopes out of his briefcase and placed them on Judge Menter's desk. He closed his case and placed it beside his chair.

"I didn't need the money,” continued McElroy. "I just didn't know what to do. I didn't want Motown to get upset and take Marky again. I never asked Bill's office or his prosecutors to take it easy in any of Motown's cases. I never did anything to give him a break. He seemed satisfied with how things always went so I never said anything to anyone, mainly out of fear. I don't need to remind you how these guys work. They can leave bodies. They can make them disappear without a trace. I didn't know what else to do."

"Bill, what does your office want to do here," asked Judge Menter?

"I have no ax to grind with Judge McElroy," DA Johnson responded. "I have no reason to believe he ever contacted our office looking for a favor. I can certainly understand the Judges situation here, especially when your kids are involved. I think that this can stay in this room. We may need the Judge to testify later and bring up Motown on charges of bribery and kidnapping, if we need it, if that is agreeable to the Judge, “asked Johnson.

"Mark, are you agreeable," asked Menter?

"Yes, that is the least I can do, I would think," he replied. "Just let me know when and where, if you need me."

"Judge McElroy," said Jenkins. "I’m sorry we weren't much help to you. I can sense your frustration and fear. We sense it everyday. It is very frustrating, but when it's your own kid, well, that is another matter. I'm not sure if I would have handled your situation any better than you did. It gets tough to know what is right in wrong in cases like that. Just let us know next time, if you would. We probably would have told you to do what you did, anyway. Seems like the only sensible course of action you could take."

"I know, I should have told someone," said Judge McElroy. "I was just so scared for Marky. I wasn't thinking of much else at that point. You need me for anything else?"

"No," said Jenkins. "I think the file on Motown is just about to be closed, for good."

Judge McElroy left the meeting. Judge Menter asked Johnson and Jenkins to stay for a moment.

"I just want to thank you for how you handled this today," said Menter. "Mark is a great Judge, a real caring person. He and his wife Martha are great people. Marky has brought a lot to their lives. Mark was being very sincere, today. Thanks again for your understanding."

"No problem," said Johnson. "Take care, Judge."

"Nice to meet you Sergeant Jenkins," said the Judge. "I owe you one."

Johnson and Jenkins went to their cars and headed home for the night. It was to be a big day tomorrow. They both hoped for a good nights sleep. They would need it.

Chapter 41 The Dreamers

2010-04-09T12:21:00.000-07:00

Chapter 41

Back in Chicago Sergeant Jenkins was still working on putting his case together with the DA's Office. His only hope was that some witnesses from Beaupre would come forward and finger these thugs and not be gotten to before the trial. He was getting so tired of these guys, like Motown, beating the rap time and again. Bob Lollar would still be alive if the legal system worked, even a little bit.

He was fortunate enough because of the severity of this shooting and the communities' anger to get Judge Monroe to eliminate any potential bail and keep all the shooters and Motown locked up until the pre-trial hearing set for tomorrow. He had no fear that with Monroe, these guys were going no where until after the regular trial was concluded.

Plans for the transporting of the prisoners to the court house were reviewed over what seemed to be a million times to insure there would be no logistical screw-ups. The shooters would go in one wagon, Motown in another.

Two young black men were waiting outside Jenkins office, sitting in an old worn walnut parson’s bench that had to be as old as the precinct. It was Mookie and Marvin. Jenkins motioned for them to come in after the Desk Sergeant announced them by phone and he passed along some other messages, one from the Mayor's office about wanting to meet with Jenkins at 3PM, if it was convenient. Jenkins told him to pass along that he would be there.

"Come on in, Boys," said Jenkins. "What can I do for you?"

"Sergeant," said Mookie, "me and Martin, here, are on the Knights. We want to testify against Motown. Bob was our friend. We've had it with these guys blowin up our hood. We gotta stand up to-um sometime. Put Marvin in the hospital last spring. Should have done somthin then. Cracker might still be here if we had. We feel partly responsible, dig. We kept waiting for someone else to do it. Guess that ain't going to happen, is it?"

"No," said Jenkins. "It is not. You boys know what you're up against. The rest of Motown's boys may not be too happy.

"Word on the street," said Marvin, "is that Motown is finished 'round here. They have grown tired of his sloppy thuggery. Guess they realize this time he really crossed the line. They know you guys gonna come down with both feet on someone's neck. Too much pressure from the town on this one."

"Yes, I think you are right on that," said Jenkins. "You guys will have to help me out, though. We need more witnesses from that night. Can you guys ask around, kinda quietly, and see if any neighbors or businesses down the street saw anything, or heard any thing? We've been asking, but every body’s tight lipped. Too scared I think. They're gonna have to help us if we are going to clean up this mess. We always get their too late."

"Ya, me and Marv can ask around for you," said Mookie. "Least we can do. Check in which ya in a couple, if we hear anything. Thanks man."

"No, thank you boys," smiled Jenkins. "Maybe we'll get some where this time. Thanks, again, for comin in."

Mookie and Marvin left walked out and stood for a moment on the precinct front cement top landing, just kind of looking down the street to see if anybody was spying them. They didn't see anything and started walking home.

Sergeant Jenkins was getting his papers and thoughts together for the Mayor's meeting in an hour. He loaded a few things into his brief case and called the DA's Office. He let them know about the meeting in an hour. They weren't invited, but they appreciated being kept informed. Jenkins said he would let them know what it was about if he thought it remotely involved them.

He headed out the door and went out to his car and started to drive down town to the Mayor's office. Upon arriving he spotted remote news vans from channels 2, 5, 7, and 9. Reporters were all on the outside steps of City Hall doing their normal audio and video checks. Jenkins wondered what this was all about. He hoped he was not to have some press conference sprung on his without some advance notice. That would be most unlike the Mayor and his staff.

He climbed the stairs up to the front doors. No one from the new media paid any attention to him at all.

He went into the Mayor's office reception area and told the receptionist who he was. He took a seat in one of the chairs and waited, fumbling through some old magazines eyeballing just the covers. The mayor came out of his office and greeted him.

"Jim, thanks for coming on such short notice," said the Mayor with a big smile. "Please come on in. Martha, please hold all my calls."

They both went into the Mayor's plush office. Jenkins took a chair in front of the Mayor's large cherry desk, as he motioned.

"Jim, I asked you here to fill me on from your perspective on the case," began the Mayor. "I've talked to Capt. Moss, but he is just too politically correct to really believe even half of what he blows your way. What's happening up to this point?"

Jenkins appreciated the Mayor's respect and honesty. It was nice to know that someone appreciated hard work and dedication.

"Seems like we have a good case against all the shooters and Motown this time," began Jenkins. We have some witnesses we hope we don't lose before the trial, plus a couple of Knight Players who vowed to testify about all of Motown's activities they know about. One of the boys was hospitalized last spring by Motown's thugs. He has a debt to repay it seems. They also volunteered to check around the neighborhood for any other witness who may testify. The DA's ready to go tomorrow with our pretrial motions. We are seeking twenty-seven counts of capital felony murder against each shooter and Motown. Judge Monroe is presiding. Thank God for that."

"Sounds like great new and good work on your precincts part," said the Mayor.

"We also got a search warrant for Motown's pad," added Jenkins. "Our people are over there right now going over ever inch of the place, forensics, photo, everyone. I'm meeting them there after our visit."

"O.K.," said the Mayor. "Is there anything you need at this point from our office?"

"No, Sir, I don't think so," said Jenkins. "I appreciate the offer, though. Sir, there is just one thing. What's with the media outside?"

"Not sure, yet" said the Mayor. "My staff is checking into it right now. What I don't need is for them to get the community more riled up than they are already. A good day in court tomorrow will diffuse that, I think," concluded the Mayor.

"Well, thanks Sir," finished Jenkins. "Think I'll head over to Motown’s and see how we're making out."

The Mayor smiled, rose, and shook Sergeant Jenkins hand. Jenkins left, passing by the reporters on his way and sped over to Motown's condo on the north side. Amazing the nice places drug dealers can afford he thought. Fancy homes, fancy cars, plenty of booze and women, but what a mess they leave behind for everyone else to clean up.

Sergeant Jenkins entered Motown's condo; the door had been left open by his people. Four Police cars and two City Vehicles were parks out front.

Sergeant Riccio was in charge and met Jenkins at the door. He held a black address book of some kind in his hand.

"Sarge," said Riccio, as he motioned for Jenkins to come into the unoccupied kitchen. "You won't believe this," he added, handing the book to him.

"Look in the back," he said to Jenkins. "Names, dates, and dollar amounts. Look who some of the names are," he added.

Jenkins scanned down the list. Some appeared to be nick-names; others were just last names, three he spotted immediately.

"Oh, no," said Jenkins. "I don't believe it, or maybe I do. This does change things, doesn't it Ric."

"Yes Sir, I think it does," said Riccio with a glint of a smirk. Thought we were all supposed to be on the same team?"

"So did I," said Jenkins. "Guess we're not."

Two names in the book were attorneys in the DA's office. The other was Judge McElroy. Jenkins thought back how often he remembered he sat on Motown's cases. How convenient Jenkins thought.

Dollar amounts next to each of the prosecutors totaled over twenty thousand dollars, with four separate dated entries. Seven dated entries followed the Judge's name totaling over fifty thousand dollars. This was a ton of money Motown was dishing around. Jenkins wondered if this was all of it?

"We're looking for other books or files right now," added Riccio. "We've taken his computer downtown already to our computer people to check all his old files. He made have deleted some he didn't want anybody to find. Our guys are good. If they are there our guys can retrieve them. I'll keep you posted."

"Good," said Jenkins. "Where's the phone?"

Riccio pointed over to the wall. He placed a call over to the DA's office.

He told the DA he was on his way over and to have attorneys Mason and Martin in the DA's office in ten minutes. He said he would.

When Jenkins arrived all the players were seated in the office. Jenkins was mad, but he did his best to keep his composure. DA Johnson was getting a little uneasy.

"What's up," asked Johnson? "Something to do with Mason and Martin, here?"

"Yes Sir, it does," said Jenkins matter of factly. "Seems your boys have been doing some possible moonlighting."

"What kind of moonlighting," he inquired?

Jenkins handed his the book and pointed to the entries by their names. Johnson stood motionless, just starring into the ledger.

"Where did this book come from," asked Johnson?

"I just picked it up from Motown Matthew's Condo just an hour ago," said Jenkins. "Look at this other name," pointed Jenkins.

"Oh my God," said the DA. "Judge McElroy, too?"

"Looks like it," said Jenkins.

"Gentlemen," began Johnson, "if that is appropriate at this point. This ledger Sergeant Jenkins brought over here contains your names with some dated entries. How much money we talking about here, Jenkins," he asked?

"Over twenty a piece," he answered.

Johnson walked over to both attorneys and pointed to the entries. Neither of them blinked.

"Want to explain how your names got in this hood," Johnson asked?

Mason and Martin looked at each other. Mason spoke.

"We both needed the money, plain and simple. Student loans, little children, you know the pay is not enough. We never worked on any of Motown's cases, you can check. We just took the money and kept quiet. We just thought it would go away. The last entry was eight months ago. We thought it was over and easily forgotten. We didn't know he kept a book."

"You guys have your resignations on my desk by five today," said Johnson angrily. I will get each of you a month’s severance pay. It is only for your families that I am doing this. You guys make me sick. If you guys had financial problems you could have come to see me first. Now get out of here."

"Oh, by the way," asked Johnson, "do you know why Judge McElroy's name is in this book, too?"

"Have no idea on that," said Martin. "Remember his seven your old son was kidnapped, for about two weeks wasn't it, a little over a year ago. Maybe Motown had something to do with that. Maybe the kidnapping was just a warning of what might happen if the Judge didn't cooperate."

Jenkins looked at the DA, both had forgotten about the kidnapping. Very few end up with happy ending like that one. Maybe it wasn't such good police work, after all.

Mason and Martin left the office. Jenkins, somehow felt sorry for them. Their legal careers were over. All that education, all that talent. What a waste he thought.

Johnson went out to his receptionist and told her to call Judge Menter who was in charge of all the Judges. He said he wanted to have a meeting as soon as possible with him and Judge McElroy. He wanted a call back immediately.

She made the call. Fifteen minutes later Judge Menter's office called back. The meeting was set for 6PM in the Superior Court building. Jenkins called his office and told them were he could be reached. He and Johnson decided to go to dinner before the meeting. They had much to talk about. Court tomorrow, Judge McElroy today.

Jenkins wondered how much more stress either of them could deal with. He knew that when this was over he and his wife were taking a real vacation. They hadn't had one in over five years. When this was all over, it was going to be THE time.

Chapter 40 The Dreamers

2010-04-09T12:20:00.000-07:00

Chapter 40

I completed my warm-up pitches and Mike whipped the Ball down to second. The Monarch infielders tossed it around the infield with Tony Fado flipping the game ball back to me.

"Good luck, kid," said Tony. "Keep it in the park, we'll snag it," he added.

The Yankee infield was filled out by Randy Moss at Short, Pat Pitts at Second, and Jon Tavy at First. The outfield was Paul Day in Left, Bernie Willis in Center, and Ruben Santos in Right. Santos would have normally be the Designated Hitter, But Red was kind enough to let me hit for my self. He really put himself on the line with that decision.

I looked in for the sign. Mike asked for a fastball and moved slightly to the outside against Ricky Henderson of the A's. I held the glove against the left side of my ribs, and then I moved it out and slid my hand into it to grip the ball. I rocked back a step while my hands and glove went back over my head. I turned my foot sideways against the pitching rubber, forced my upper body toward the plate, and, with a strong push of my muscular right thigh, whipped my right arm toward home plate. The ball sped toward home plate at 96 miles per hour, cutting the outside black, knee high.

"Stee-rike one," yelled the plate umpire. The crowd cheers seemed deafening to me. Fifty-thousand fans were a little different than the three to five-thousand the Meriden club was used to. No mind, I took the throw back from Mike and re-toed the rubber. Ricky Henderson looked down at Stanley.

"He doesn't plan on doing that all afternoon, does he," asked Ricky with a smile on his face. "If he does, it looks like I won't be hitting a first-inning dinger, does it?"

"Hope not," answered Mike, returning the same smile. "That's IS the plan, you know."

"Figured as much," replied Henderson, digging back into home plate.

My next pitch was the same only this time on the inside black. Ricky over-swung trying to catch up to my fastball and swung over the top.

"Strike two," yelled the ump.

The crowd was delirious and rose to their feet, chanting again. "Bill-eee," Bill-eee".

I, again, took the return throw and walked back to the top of the mound. I got the sign from Mike, a slider, and moved to the outside again.

I rocked and fired, starting the pitch knee high, on the outside half of the plate. By the time Henderson began his swing the pitch darted a foot outside with Stanley back-handing it six inches off the ground. Ricky could have only touched it with a seventy inch bat.

"Strike three," was the call.

The crowd was shouting the house down. Mike whipped the ball down to third and started it around the horn. Henderson was leaning against the nub of the bat regaining his balance after lunging for my last pitch. He slowly walked back to the A's dugout tapping the barrel-end of his bat, mumbling to himself.

The next two batters grounded out to short and second. I was hoping to not have to face mark McGwire in the first inning. That would come in the second with no one on. That was the best way to face him with the year he was having.

The crowd was chanting again as the Monarchs ran in from the field. It changed to mostly applause as I crossed the first base line and moved into the dugout. Jack Meyers was the first to great me.

"Great job, Billy," said Jack with a big grin on his face.

"Thanks, Jack," I said, sitting down to put my jacket on my arm and reaching for a towel to wipe down my forehead.

To open the Monarch first, Pitts walked and Moss singled softly to left. Fado tried to advance both runners, but his bunt down the third base line was so perfect no one could make a play.

Ron Darling, the A's pitcher was clearly in a jam. Jon Tavy strolled to the place with the crowd going nuts. This was an even match up. Darling knew nothing about Tavy, and Jon knew nothing about Darling. This was just going to be good, old fashioned hardball. Tony LaRussa, the A's Manager sent Dave Duncan, their pitching coach out to mound for a talk. It lasted less than thirty seconds.

Tavy got into the left-side batter's box and began smoothing out the dirt. It was mostly a nervous habit, since Fado, Santos and I were the only other left-handed hitters and we didn't dig in that much.

Darling was ready and got the sign from catcher Steinbach. He rocked and fired a waist high fact ball toward the plate. Tavy cocked, opened his hips and pulled threw a powerful, level swing. The ball touched his bat so briefly and was launched high into the right field air. Darling turned, bent over at the waist, put his hands on his knees and looked into the ground.

The crowd became silent with anticipation and erupted as the ball landed into the upper deck. The Stadium erupted! Tavy rounded the bases emotionless, not trying to hot-dog at all. He crossed home plate with hardly any emotion showing on his face. He was greeted with high-fives from his batted-in teammates. Monarchs four, A's nothing. This truly was a storybook beginning. Tavy came down the steps and was first greeted by Red. It was bedlum!

"Man, am I a great manager, or what," said Red beaming ear to ear while slapping Tavy on the shoulder?

"Guess so, skip," said Jon with a big grin on his face. "Smart enough to bring the three of us with you." They both started laughing. If wasn't always going to be like this. You had to really enjoy these moments went the came.

The score remained the same through five innings. I only gave up two scratch singles in the third and fourth innings. One was to Ricky Henderson, who also stole second, but was left stranded.

My pitch count was at seventy-eight and so Red told me only one more inning, so he sent Jack Meyers out to get warmed up.

I got through the sixth inning except for Mark McGwire. I put a perfect fastball on the outside black; knee high that McGwire just flicked into the fifth row in the right field stands. Mike walked out to the mound with a new ball.

"Bill, don't worry about it," said Mike. "That was a good pitch, and hitters like Mark, well, sometimes a good pitch is still not good enough. Forget about it and let’s get this last guy and get out of here. You have pitched one heck of a game. Stay focused."

I nodded and retook my place at the rubber, twirling the ball inside my glove. I sent a wicked dropping curveball toward the plate that was weakly tapped toward short. Velarde threw the runner out by six steps. I had done my job for today. The crowd roared with approval and admiration. My performance was more that anyone had a right to expect. The only problem was they didn't know this was norm and how it was to be and how hard I worked to make it look so easy.

The Monarch were about to be turned around. The town and the fans just needed to be ready. The rest of the year was going to be exciting.

Jack Meyers breezed through the seventh and eighth innings with an assortment off-speed breaking pitches that were in sharp contrast to what I had showed then for six innings. Jack has a ninety mile an hour fastball, too, but he kept throwing what was working.

The Monarch closer came in and mopped up the ninth with his wicked split-finger pitch. Three strike outs to close the game had the Yankee fans beside themselves with excitement. Maybe what George had done was just what was needed. One game was not a turn around, but it would be hard for the press to be critical of anything that happened today.

After the game the first thing Red did was to call Gus and tell him the news. He just had to talk to his closest friend.

"Hey, Gus, did you watch the game," asked Red?

"About ten of the players came down to the park and we watched the game here," beamed Gus. "Billy was something to watch, wasn't he," added Gus.

"He was just vintage Billy," replied Red. "And Tavy, man did that set the tone of the game in a hurry. I think I am most happy for him, if that's possible. The last couple of years for him have not been pleasant. I hope this is a big turning point in his life, for him and Chris."

"Me too," said Gus. "Jack did well, too," added Gus. "That would be something if both we and you win our pennants. That would be unbelievable."

"Who knows," said Red. "Take one game at a time. Have your replacement players shown up yet?"

"Ya, they have," said Gus. "George was true to his word. He also threw in this young, black, string-bean of a pitcher from California. He looks like a strong wind would blow him into Rhode Island. He throws ninety-plus, though. Kid's got the longest fingers I ever saw and throws a wicked fork-ball. We should be all right, after all. Buck is a good guy. Feel sorry for him. What was going on in New York was not all his fault. Taken it like a man, though. Players seem to like him."

"That's great," said Red. "Listen I got to go. Another press conference takes place. This is going to take some getting use to. In Madison the paper could have cared less about us. Here they seem to be crawling around in every one of your pockets. Take care Gus, keep in touch."

"Good luck, Red," stated Gus. "Talk to you soon."

Both men hung up. They both had their jobs to do. Gus had a night game to get ready for and some new lockers to prepare. Red had to become Mr. Diplomacy for the Monarchs. Only today was going to be easy.

Chapter 39 The Dreamers

2010-04-09T12:19:00.000-07:00

Chapter 39

The announcement was made prior to the game concerning the Monarch players who were cut. As each of the cut players came into the clubhouse they were called into the manager's office. They were told by the Monarch General Manager. The only player who took it badly was the first baseman, Biff Johnson.

"Who does George think he is," shouted Biff at the G.M.. "This is my career, my life. He can't do this. I'm going to the player's union and file a grievance!"

"On what grounds," snapped the GM? "You’re bating .220 with only seven homers and thirty-eight RBI's. You have left over thirty runners in scoring position this month alone. You should have been benched over a month ago. It was George who wanted you left in the lineup, not the Skip. Look how he got repaid, a trip back to double A. Maybe YOU should be the one he should thank for his wonderful career move? Stop your whining and get out. You earned very little of the million you've been paid. Don't make a scene out there and force me to call security."

Biff stood there for a moment and then stormed out of the office. He left quietly. He wasn't going to file any grievance. His only hope was to try and get picked up by some pennant contender who might need and occasional designated hitter and part-time first baseman. Biff still could play good defense.

We MADISON players were escorted over to our apartments and allowed an hour to settle in best we could. Our cars would be waiting for us in the parking garage below after the game.

We got back to the Stadium a little after noon. The club house manager showed us to our new lockers and gave us our uniforms. I didn't know how they did it, but the uniform fit like a glove. Jack, Jon, and I dressed and were somewhat in awe of where we were twenty-four hours ago and where we were now.

"Hey, Bill," said Jon from across the room. "Have you pinched yourself yet, to see if this is real?"

"It's real, all right," I answer. "It might be nice to stay for a while. I hear going back down is hard to take."

"That would be nice," chimed in Jack Meyers. "Wouldn't it be something if we had something to do with the Monarchs winning the A.L. East? That would be a trip, wouldn't it?"

"It might be something if you just didn't trip over your shoe laces," laughed Tavy. I laughed, too. We all had too much nervous energy to get rid of.

"That would be bad, wouldn't it," I said. "Walking out to the mound this afternoon and trip and fall flat on my face would be a great way to start my Major League career."

"Don't worry, Bill," said Tavy. "We have every confidence you'll at least make it to the mound in one piece. Just don't let them light you up in the first inning."

"I won't." I reply, "even if I have to walk everybody in the park, including the ball girl."

"Very funny," said Jack. "I hope you last longer than that since I’m supposed to relieve you in the sixth or seventh inning. Don't make me come pitch in the first inning today. They want one hundred pitches from you and about twenty from me. It would be the same 20+ pitches I would do from the side anyway. I’d rather get baptized tonight with you. They would like their closer, Hack Jackson, to finish the game in the ninth."

"Well, now that I know the plan I guess I know what I have to do," said Bill. I immediately ran down the hall and into the toilet area.

Jon and Jack ran done the hall and saw a two legs with cleats attached from underneath a stall. The sounds coming out of it were not good.

"Bill, you O.K.," shouted Jack.

"Ya, I'll be all right in a minute," I groaned.

"Here we thought you were the man with nerves of steel," said Jon.

"It's not my nerves I'm losing," I groaned, again. "I'll be out in a minute."

The left the bathroom area, mainly before they both got sick as well.

I regained my composure and made my way out to the Monarch bullpen in center-field. The game started at two-ten PM. it was about one-twenty PM and time for me to start getting loose.

I took off my NY windbreaker and threw it on the bench on the side. The bullpen catcher, Rick Rodriguez, flipped me a new ball he had been rubbing up. I stepped about fifteen feet in from of the mound and began soft-tossing with Rick. After about twenty throws I went to the top of the mound and toed the pitching rubber. I looked in and sent a ninety mile an hour plus fastball toward Rick.

"Good stuff, Billy," said Rick as he fired the ball back. "Keep it comin baby." It was now about one-forty PM.

I was warm by about one-fifty PM and feeling no ill effects of my previous bathroom experience I grabbed my jacket which I put only over my right arm and began walking through the outfield, toward the Yankee dugout.

"Good luck," shouted Rick. "Keep it down, baby, you'll be all right!"

I made my way into the dugout. The crowd behind the dugout began chanting "Bill-eee", Bill-eee". Players began patting me on the back wishing me well. The catcher, motioned me over and took out a spiral notebook and told me to have a seat.

"Don't worry about what to throw today," said Mike. "Just worry about location. Just watch where I set up and work into that zone. Stay out of the middle of the plate and you'll be O.K.," Mike added. "How do you feel? Did you get loose?"

"Ya, I said. "I feel good."

"You should," said Mike. "Rick called; they clocked some of your pitches at ninety-four, ninety-five and a couple at 98. If you stay there and pitch to spots...you'll be just fine."

Mike tapped me on the knee and walked down to the end of the bench and got a drink of Gatorade. He came back with a small glass for me, as well. Red had joined me on the bench.

"Feel all right, kid," asked Red?

"No problem, skip," I replied. "I'm ready to go."

"Then let's go," Red stated. "It's Showtime."

The rest of the Monarchs burst onto the field. I took off my jacket. I didn't even notice the bat boy was waiting to take it from me and hang it up.

"Thanks," I said.

"No problem," said the kid.

I climbed the steps and felt the soft grass hit the bottom of my cleats. The crown rose to their feet and began chanting again, "Bill-eee", "Bill-eee". I picked up the ball lying on the first base side of the mound and placed it firmly inside my A2000 glove’s pocket. I reached down and grabbed the rosin bag, squeezing it a couple of times and flipping it so it landed on the back of my right wrist to kill the slight amount of perspiration there. I dropped it to the ground behind the mound. I looked around the outfield at the white façade. Man, this was too much.

Robert Merrill sang the National Anthem, as always. The announcer shouted, "Play Ball".

"Let's do it, Kid," shouted Mike from behind the plate. "You and me, baby."

I toed the rubber and sent his first big league warm-up pitch toward the plate, right down the middle. Mike shook his head in agreement and fired the ball back. I then walked back to the top of the mound and looked around the field at the players taking grounders from Tavy at first. This WAS it, I thought. I had finally made his dream come true. I thought of my parents, my grand parents, my sisters, Gus, Mary, and Gloria, and how I wished they could be here to see it. Maybe my parents were, I thought, from Heaven, perhaps.

Mike walked out in front of home plate and shouted, "Bill, you O.K.?"

I turned and smiled the biggest smile of my life.

"Ya, I'm O.K.," I replied. "Let's play some ball."

Chapter 38 The Dreamers

2010-04-09T12:18:00.000-07:00

Chapter 38 The Dreamers

Jack, Jon, and I arrived at the ballpark early. Red was in his office cleaning out his desk. Gus was in helping him. Two cardboard boxes were on top of the desk and one thirty gallon trash can was to the left. The boxes were mostly empty. Red decided to consolidate and take only one to New York.

"Boys, come on in for a moment," yelled Red. The players entered Red's office.

"Ya, skip, what's up," said Jon? "Hey, Gus," he added with a warm tap on the shoulder.

"George sent a small commuter jet to pick us up," announced Red. "It’s sitting out at Mackie Airport. Decided he wants us at the press conference for 10AM. He is sending up four drivers to take our cars down to New York. He has even taken care of getting each of us an apartment up-town so we don't have to worry about setting up house-keeping. A driver is waiting outside for us. We’ve got about five minutes. Any problems?"

"No, guess not," I said. "You want our car keys now. I left my personal stuff in my car. That O.K.?"

"Ya, I don’t see why not," said Red. "Why don't you do that."

Everyone dropped their car keys on Red's desk. Gus picked them up and told them he would take care of it.

We players went into the locker room and picked up our equipment and headed out to the limo waiting for them. I stopped and came back into Red's office.

"Red, could I have a minute with Gus," I ask?

"No problem," said Red. "I'm done in here anyway." He turned and took the box with his saved belongings and left.

Gus was fumbling with what was left on the desk and what was left was garbage. Gus was nervous.

"Gus," I said, "I just wanted to say thanks for everything. You and Mary have been great to me. You opened up your home to some stranger. You cared for me like I was your...well, one of your family. You and Mary will always be special to me. Gus, I just wanted to say...I love you and Mary and will miss you."

I walked over and gave Gus a big hug. Gus turned and embraced me hard. The tears were streaming down Gus' face.

"Hey, listen, get out of here, kid," said Gus," not really meaning it. He tapped me on the cheek.

I walked toward the door. I turned to look at Gus once more.

"Hey, Mr. Monarch," said Gus to me, smiling. "Don't be a stranger."

"Don't worry," I replied, smiling. "I won't. Take care...Dad."

I left and boarded the limo with my teammates. The new adventure was about to begin.

*****

We arrived in New York just after 9AM where a limo whisked us to the stadium. Jorge Canasta was waiting for them at the gate to usher us up stairs to the press area. It was flooded with reporters and cameras.

We assembled in an outer office adjacent to the press area. As soon as we entered we were spotted by Mr. “S” and he greeted us warmly.

"Red, introduce me will you," asked George?

"George, this is Bill Alan, Jack Meyers, and Jon Tavy," said Red. George shook each of our hands after we were announced.

"Boys, it nice to have you here," said George. "I know I seem to do some wacky thing once in a while. Some even think I own the Bellevue Monarchs, but, believe me I love this team and just want to bring this town a championship more than anything."

George went on to describe how the press conference was set up. He was going to make the announcement of the changes and introduce Red as the new manager. Nothing was in any of the morning papers so this was going to be quite a shock. Red would then introduce the new players from Madison and then we would all have to field a few question as a matter of protocol.

"You gentlemen ready," asked George? "Then it's Showtime!"

George led the way into the Media Room. The camera flashes immediately began going off. He went up to the podium which seems to have hundreds of microphones glued and scotch taped all over the place.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the press," began George, "I called this press conference to announce some immediate changes to the New York Monarchs. After consulting with Dan Mann, our General Manager, we both agreed that this team was not responding and failing to live up to its' potential. Our Manager has agreed and will immediately take over managing the double-A Madison, CT. ball club. Mr. Red Dodge, standing to my left, will immediately take field control of the New York Monarchs," George continued.

"In addition, Red has brought along with him his three most talented prospects who will take over starting assignments immediately. To my far right is First Baseman Jon Tavy. Next to him is Pitcher Jack Meyers, and to his right is Pitcher/Third Baseman Bill Alan. Mr. Alan will be starting this afternoons contest. The announcement of those current Monarchs who will be released will be announced prior to game time. They have not been told as of this moment, but the decisions have been made who they are. We will be glad to answer any questions you may have," he concluded.

"George, isn't this just some stunt to deflect attention away from the Monarch’s poor performance, and aren't you making scape-goats out of these players you are about to release," said a voice from the back of the room? It was Jack Milton of the Times.

"No, Jack," stated George sarcastically. "This is not just for your benefit, to give you something more to write about. The team stinks right now, but we are only eleven games out. If the Orioles fade at all and we start playing like we are capable of we could end up, at the very least, respectable. The fact that we have brought up two fine pitching prospects, I believe our main weakness, should indicate that we at least understand our problems and our needs. Next question."

"Mr. Dodge," asked a reporter from the Post," do you have any immediate plans shake up the line-up today?"

Red moved to the podium. He removed his new Monarch hat.

My immediate line up will include Tavy at First and hit clean-up with Alan pitching and batting ninth today. When Bill is not pitching he will play Third and bat third." announced Red.

"You're kidding, right," responded the reporter?

"Son, you might as well learn right now that I don't kid about much of anything," snapped Red with an intense look on his face. "Mr. Alan has an eleven and one record and is batting .360 with nineteen homers and 68 RBI’s. Mr. Tavy has twenty-six and is tied for our league lead in RBI's with 81. Mr. Meyers, not to be forgotten, is eight and two. I believe after looking at tens of hours of Monarch game tape that these players are as good as anybody currently in a Monarch uniform. Now, some of the players here might not like me saying that, but it is up to THEM to show me otherwise. These three, new players will have to play themselves out of the line up, just like some current Monarch have already done. All George and I ask is you give them a chance before you begin crucifying them."

Red stepped back from the stage. The media was kind of taken back by Red's matter-of-factness. It was obvious that there would be a different presence in the Monarch dugout from now on.

"Mr. Alan," asked the woman reporter from WFAN Radio, "How do you feel about pitching your first game in the Stadium?"

I moved up to the podium. I kept my cap on.

"It was to be my regular turn in Madison, anyway," I said calmly. "It would be nice to know the hitters better, obviously, but it's really not a big deal. The secret of pitching is not making mistakes and getting behind in the count. I'll take my cues from Mike March, our catcher, and work on keeping my composure and control. My job is to put my best pitch where he wants it. If I do that my success will continue. Dave Bolton, our catcher in Madison, was doing a great job preparing both me and Jack. We still had to do our job with good pitches. It will be no different here."

"Mr. Meyers," asked the same reporter," is that how you feel?"

"There's not much to add to that," said Jack as he moved onto the podium. "Neither of us is 100 MPH over-powering, but Billy is certainly very close. He is going to surprise many hitters up here. We pitch to spots and stay out of the middle of the plate. There is pitching and throwing. If you are a thrower you can only rely on luck and the hitter weakness. You really don't have much control over your team’s destiny if you do that."

Jack stepped back to his original spot. He winked at Red, who smiled back.

A couple more softball-type questions were lobbed up and were easily handled. The press did their best to find out who the released Monarchs were. A lot of speculation centered around Biff Johnson the current First Sacker, a couple of pitchers with losing records and big salaries. George would not budge with any hints and told them to be around prior to game time.

Chapter 37 The Dreamers

2010-04-09T12:17:00.000-07:00

Chapter 37

I drove over to the diner after the game. This was a day filled with just too much change and disappointment. Bob's murder seemed to overshadow everything else. It seemed to make everything else insignificant.

I sensed that something was wrong, or certainly strange about the funeral. Too many people seemed to be holding back too many tears. Mary, Gus, Gloria, Becky, and Gloria's Mom all seemed to fight back any release of pain and loss. It was almost eerie the lack of emotion showed at the funeral. Had Bob's being gone for so long in the service and now his being off at school in Chicago kind of placed him out of sight, out of mind? Had these people emotionally disengaged themselves from Bob along time ago? His personal career choices had clearly disengaged himself from his family and hometown friends. I wondered why? At some point these people were going to explode with emotion.

I had arrived at the diner and went inside. I found Gloria sitting at a booth by herself, but in her regular clothes. It was clear she had not been working. I went down and sat across from her. She looked up as I moved into the seat and gave me a big smile.

"Listened to the game on the radio," said Gloria. "Just didn't feel much like going to the park tonight. Team is still playing well."

"Ya," I replied, "I don't think many of us felt like playing tonight. Maybe it was best we did, but it was hard to keep focused, our minds on just the game. This has been a strange day."

"I know," said Gloria. "I still can't believe we were at Bob's funeral. Here he is, a great guy, wanting to go in the ministry and help these kids and two months later he dead in some stupid shooting that no one understands. If this is God's idea of some kind of sign he sure needs to explain it to a lot of people."

"My grandmother used to read us Old Testament stories about how mad God would get and wipe out entire nations," I stated. "She also liked the story of Job who had a very happy and wealthy existence until God was challenged by the devil, whose opinion was that Job was only loyal to God because he blessed him with riches. God challenged the devil back, but no matter what evil the devil heaped on Job he still remained faithful."

"I really don't know," I continued. "Maybe sometimes WE put too much importance on what happens here on earth instead of dealing with eternity, what God wants of us, how we treat others, and how much leadership we provide in our little corner of the world. In Bob's case, maybe there is no message, except that the devil does have dominion over THIS earth. That much I know is Scriptural. Maybe Bob was going to make a difference, we won't know now. His dreams are certainly gone by this senseless shooting. Maybe now Chicago will get all these thugs off the streets and in prison where they belong."

"I always wondered how different things might have been had Bob accepted that athletic scholarship and stayed in school," thought Gloria out loud. "His emotions seemed to take over his head, leaving that dream behind. He seemed to have no regrets, though. Maybe his success as an Army pilot made up for his lost college athletic career. Bob was the type that created success where ever he went what he did would have probably made little difference. If he had done tidily-winks he would have most likely been All-World. At least he would still be alive. Maybe for many of us Bob died a long time ago. He walked out on us, left us behind. I think it hurt more back them because we loved him so. His new life choices made us start again, too. Some strange twist of fate, though."

Mel brought over two cups and a thermal pitcher full of coffee and set it down in the middle of the table.

"You kids want something to eat before I shut the griddle down," he asked? "I know it's late, but I don't mind. Bill, you must be hungry?

"No thanks, Mel," I answer. "Don't feel much like eating tonight. Thanks anyway."

"O.K.," replied Mel. "Take your time, I’ve got plenty of cleaning up to do. Just gonna turned down some of the lights and shut the sign off."

"How are Mary and your Mom holding up," I ask?

"She seems all right," replied Gloria. "Mom is going to stay close to Mary for a while. Mom remembered how depressed she was after Dad died, didn't realize it, though. She had just a sense of carelessness, like not wanting to do anything or go anywhere. She was just content to sit around doing nothing. That wasn't like Mom and is certainly not like Mary. In Mom's case it just seemed to take time. With Mary, I just don't know."

"Gloria, we have another problem," I stat. "It really compounds things, I think."

"Bill, what is it," asked Gloria with much concern in her voice?

"George has decided to shake up the New York Monarchs," I continue. "He has fired the manager and replaced him with Red. He is also taking three players from Madison with him...I am one of them."

"Oh, Bill," said Gloria excitedly. "That is great news for you. I am so happy for you. You are going to get to realize your dream after all.

Gloria paused. She sensed my lack of excitement.

"Bill, what is wrong," she asked? "How can you not be excited about this chance?"

"I just don't think that leaving Gus and Mary right now is a good thing for them," I state sincerely. "Becky spends more time off with Dave Bolton. They're getting married in less than three months and it just doesn't seem like a good time to leave the house so empty right now."

"Bill, you listen to me," snapped Gloria. "This is not about Gus and Mary; it's about you, period. Have you forgotten that you gave up on your dream once already? Most people don't get second chances, Bill. You got one. Don't say no, this time too. No one is going to think badly of you for thinking about yourself first, this time. Please do this for yourself, for me, for Gus and Mary. Quite frankly, we don't need any more guilt right now. Please go and do this."

"O.K., I'm going," I said with a small smile on my face. "You don't need to have a liter of kittens right here in the diner over this." I laughed. Gloria did too.

"I'm not going to have a liter of kittens," said Gloria. "I still haven't found the right TomCat yet, or, maybe I have, but he just doesn't know it yet."

My face became a little flushed. I was caught off guard and wasn't sure what to say. I sure had strong feeling for Gloria, I really loved her. It was the first time she had even made so much of a hint of her true feelings for me.

"Look at your face, Mr. Alan," said Gloria smiling. "First time I ever made a Big Leaguer blush."

"I hope it's not the last," I reply. "I sure hope it is not the last."

I reached across the table and took both of her hands in mine. Gloria responded by squeezing mine very tightly. We sat there quietly and finished our coffee. There was not much more that needed to be said tonight.

Chapter 36 The Dreamers

2010-04-09T12:15:00.000-07:00

Chapter 36

"Gus, come on in here for a second will ya," shouted Red from his office. He had spotted Gus putting out the last of the uniforms for tonight’s game in the player stalls. "Come on in and close the door."

Gus did as he was asked. He shouldn't have been at the ball park in the first place. Bob's death, the funeral, he could be taking some time off. As long as Mary was not alone he was doing the right thing if it made him feel better thought Red.

"What's up, Red," asked Gus "Need me to do somethin before game time for ya?"

"No, nothin like that," answered Red. "Take a seat. I want to talk to you a minute."

Gus sat. He could sense something was up. He and Red hardly ever had conversations in Red's office.

George wants me to come to New York and take over the Monarchs," announced Red to Gus. "Really wants to shake up the boys in the Big Apple. I don't really have much of a choice but to take the assignment, Gus, you know George. His way or the hi-way."

"I know," said Gus. "Just, why does it have to be right now?"

"I know, the timing stinks," replied Red. "It could have been last week or just as well next week. The only time that applies is when George is ready. You know that."

"I know," said Gus looking at the floor. "I guess it really doesn't make that much difference."

"One other thing," said Red. "I'm taking three players with me from this team. I want Billy to be one of them. I think he is ready, Gus, really I do. I wanted to let you be the first to know. Even Billy doesn't know. With Bob's death and all I'm not so sure it the best of ideas for you and Mary. That's why I asked you in here, to talk to you about it."

"You really hit a guy with both barrels don't you Red," stated Gus. "This one really hurts. You know how fond we've become of Billy. He and Bob are so much...were so much a like. It will be really tough on Mary, I think. Maybe Gloria and her Mom can help keep Mary busy for a while. It will be tough, but I think we can do it."

"You sure," asked Red. "I want you to O.K. this part. Otherwise Billy stays."

"No, it's not fair to the kid," said Gus. "He came here to make his way to the big leagues. It's not fair for us to stand in the way. He’s earned it, Red. We'll manage."

"O.K., Gus, if you say so," said Red. "I'm going to make the announcement after tonight’s game. The only other person who knows is Reggie. I'm taking Tavy and Jack Meyers, too. Tavy is out of options. Reggie understood. Billy and Jack will give the team some needed pitching. I think there both ready. They both pitch smart. That's more important than speed. We'll sure find out tomorrow. Billy's turn would be here tomorrow afternoon. He'll just be doing it eighty miles to the south, that's all," finished Red.

"Thanks Gus for understanding," said Red with a big smile on his face. "I’ll start thinking about being in New York next year. If I get asked back I want you there, too."

"We'll talk about that later," stated Gus. "I've got some things I need to do." Gus left the room. He knew full well he wasn't going to New York, ever. Reality was, so did Red.

The Monarchs won their game five to one. The club house mood was not festive. There was kind of a sullen nature to the bench all game. It was hard for the players not to thinking about Bob, the funeral, Gus and Mary. There was a business like attitude the whole game. Even after Reggie hit is twenty-third homer in the sixth to put the game out of reach, there was not much celebrating in the dugout.

Red gathered the team in the center of the locker room to make his announcement. Gus stood by his side.

"Men, I have some tough news to tell you," Red began. "New York wants to make some changes with the big club and is going to announce at 10AM tomorrow morning that I will be the new New York manager."

A big cheer goes up in the room.

"Way to go, skip," said a voice from the back. "You deserve it," said Mario. "For once George made a smart choice."

Laughter fills the room.

"Right on," said Reggie. "That's the truth."

"All right," said Red. "I'm taking three of our players with me. Jack Meyers, Jon Tavy, and Bill Alan. We leave first thing in the morning and all will be starting tomorrow in New York."

"Oh, man," says Mario. "There goes our chance for the pennant. How can he do that to us?"

"Hey, I know this is tough," stated Red. "You'll have three talented prospect coming up from A ball. Mike Miller is coming up from Chattanooga. He is seven and two and they tell me he pitches like he's thirty. Memphis is sending Mark Martin, their first baseman, who is hitting .310 with nineteen homers. Replacing Billy is going to be a problem. George is working on that one with his scouts tonight. These players will be here tomorrow. They can help you guys win this thing. Help them out and make them feel at home. That's all I ask."

"O.K.," said Dave Bolton. "We'll take care of it, Skip."

"No problem," added Reggie. "Any body messes with the new blood will have to mess with me. We’re winning this pennant for us and Bob Lollar."

"All right," said Red. "Just one other thing. I just wanted to tell you guys that I was really enjoying this year. We were having some fun, breaking a few windows as they say. You guys were playing your behinds off for me and I appreciate it. I look around this room land see no reason why you all couldn't join me in New York in a few years. Thanks again for a great year. I'm going to miss you." Bolton yells out, "Three cheers for the coach."

"HIP, HIP, HURRAY! HIP, HIP, HURRAY! HIP, HIP, HURRAY!" shouted the team. Red disappeared into his office and closed the door. Leaving was tougher than he thought.

The players all quickly showered and left. Jack Meyers and Jon Tavy cleared out their lockers into a couple of team bags. Gus told us to be here at the park by 10AM for the trip to New York.

I was the last to dress and still had not packed my gear. Gus came over and sat next to me.

"What's wrong, son," asked Gus. "Your big chance tomorrow," He lightly socked me in the arm.

"Gus, I don't think I can do it," I said. "I can't leave you and Mary right now. It's not right."

"Listen, Bill," began Gus, "I know you feel bad about Bob, we all do, but reality is that life goes on. Bob would not want you to miss taking your shot in the big leagues because of him or his death. The best thing you can do to honor him is to go to New York and make it big. That was Bob's dream, to play for the Monarchs. You have to take his place. He would want you to."

"Gus, are you sure," I ask. "You say the word and I'm not going. That's it."

"No, you go, son," answered Gus. "That is the right thing to do. Mary will understand."

Gus rose from the chair and began cleaning up. He turned back to me.

"Now, get a move on." said Gus emphatically. "You've got some news to tell Gloria, boy. I'll see you at home later."

I finished getting dressed and packing my things, leaving the bags in front of the locker. I pulled the tape off the top of the locker that had my name on it. I wadded it up and threw it in the waste can as I left the room.

I went out to my car, unlocked it and just sat behind the wheel for a moment. I started it up and pulled out of the parking lot, turning toward the diner. I hoped Gloria was not going to be a problem. This was one heck of a day I thought. I was glad it was almost over.

Chapter 35 The Dreamers

2010-04-09T12:14:00.000-07:00

Chapter 35

Father Spencer got back to Chicago. Ben was waiting for him at Midway. Their ride back to campus was made in silence. What was there to say, really?

In his office, Father Spencer put in a call to Sergeant Jenkins. Jenkins had been grilling all of the suspects, if you could call them that, all night. They had finally gotten one of the triggermen to tell where Motown Matthews was probably hiding out these days. He was and the Police brought him down to the station at 9:45AM. They had been interrogating him for over 6 hours straight without a single break. It would go on longer if need be.

"You know, Motown, you will be here for as long as it takes," snapped Jenkins. "We're just going to keep bringing in the fresh bodies and keep asking the same stupid question, getting the same stupid answers, until you decide to give us the straight scoop on what went down last night. We have you at the scene with at least three eye witnesses. Two of your triggermen are prepared to testify how you planned it all out. We would just like to know why? Why did you have to kill so many? What did you hope to accomplish?"

"Man, I copping the fifth, dig," chirped Motown. "You got sompin on me, we'll dance in court. Wasting my valuable time with this jive."

"Think it's Jive, do you," snapped Jenkins. He slammed a portable cassette player on the table. "Listen to this choirboy." He played the tape from an interrogation of one of Motown's boys.

"We was at Motown's pad last Friday, planned the whole thing out on a napkin. Couple of his mule/players wasn’t quite keepin up. Thought he needed to teach them a lesson. None of us thought it was going down like this. Was only spose to be couple of shooters. Didn't know Motown brought in reinforcements. Would've skipped known that," said the voice on the tape. Jenkins shut off the tape player.

"I think that might get you life this time, Motown," said Jenkins sarcastically. "Twenty-five counts of murder. You might have to live to be two-thousand to make parole this time. That is unless you decide you want to spill the beans on your whole operation. If not, we'll play it the DA's way. He wants a piece of your behind worse that I do."

Motown sat silently in his chair. He had refused an attorney. He was much too smart to need counsel.

Jenkins couldn't imagine what was going through his mind. What could some guy who just killed over twenty-five people be thinking? Maybe that was the problem. There was no cause and affect to him. The only rule was he was not to be inconvenienced. No life mattered but his. What a shallow existence Jenkins thought. Jenkins motioned to two officers in the room. They moved toward Motown.

"Silence is golden," said Jenkins. "You can take up space just as well in the lock-up. Take him down."

The officers grabbed Motown by the biceps and lifted him out of the chair and took him down stairs. They had cleared out a number of cells to make sure the each of the shooters and Motown had their own cell.

Motown knew who the talker was there just wasn't anything he was going to be doing about it now. He also realized that maybe; just maybe, he wasn't going to be doing anything about it from the outside, probably for a long time as well.

Father Spencer had made his way downtown to the station. Jenkins assigned one of the junior officers to help Father get through the paperwork with the Coroner's Office. Bob's body would be transported back to Connecticut in two days. Father Spencer and Ben would both be accompanying the body. Miller Funeral Home made arrangement to pick them up at Bradley Airport.

The following two weeks were a nightmare for Sergeant Jenkins and his precinct. Countless press conferences, luckily handled by Captain Moss. He assured the community that HE had the perpetrators of the hideous massacre in custody and would be working with the DA's Office and would be seeking the death penalty for everyone involved. What grandstanding thought Jenkins. What election fodder for Moss.

He had enough to do making sure the evidence all fit, no loop holes, no conflicting testimony. He also had to make sure his witnesses didn't get cold feet and/or take a walk. That usually happened in all too many of these cases. No witnesses. No case. Wouldn't be the first time Motown got to the witnesses. Probably wouldn't be the last. Jenkins was determined those days were over.

The Funeral for Bob Lollar was beautiful. It seemed like the whole hometown came out. The street was lined with people as far as the eye could see. It was even being carried by the local cable company. Bob Lollar was certainly loved by the whole town.

Father Spencer and Ben stayed for the funeral and flew back immediately afterwards. There was just too much going on for them to be of much use or help.

Father Spencer told the Lollar's before he left that he was going to establish a Scholarship Fund in Bob's name that would annually pay the full tuition to some inner-city kid who wished to enter the ministry. The Lollars were grateful and knew that Bob would be proud and honored.

The Monarchs had a game that night that the President of the league offered to cancel and be made up later. The team decided to play the game and dedicate the rest of the season to Bob's memory. They all knew that Bob would not want the game called on the account of him. That was not his style. The team would wear black arm bands on their uniform with a gold cross embroidered on the outside.

The family was doing as well as could be expected. Billy and Gloria had grown quite close since her return from California over two months ago. She would be drawing her strength from Billy for a while. It was good that Billy was living with the Lollars. They had been treating him like their lost son ever since he got to town. A role he never really felt comfortable with, but now was truly going to be filling.

He knew what the Lollars were going through. He knew how he felt when his mother, sisters and grandparents were killed. There is nothing to be said. No way to prepare. You just must move on. He could only try and help everyone do just that.

The Monarch’s Owner had been in town and attended Bob's funeral, as well. He had spent the better part of yesterday and today in the company of Red Dodge, the Madison Monarch’s Manager.

Everyone wondered what was up with that. What did George want? What plan was he cooking up this time?

"Red," said George, outside the church fellowship hall where the reception was being held. "Let's go back to the park and your office. Got a couple of ideas I want to bounce off you," he added.

"O.K.," said Red. How could he refuse the Big Boss?

"Red," George began, "the big club stinks. It’s not the manager's fault, but the team is just not responding to anything he has tried. We've decided to really shake them up. Here's the plan."

George said the plan was to fire the manager and put him in charge of the Madison team for the rest of the season. Make Red the new manager of the big club and bring up at least three Madison Monarchs and make them instant starters. The players they replace would be given their immediate release and told to clean out their lockers within two hours. There is no doubt that would get a rise out of the team, just no telling if would have a positive affect and get the team to pull together. Only time would tell.

Red made it clear that he was quite happy with his Madison assignment, but that he would do all he could and be a part of the plan. The fact that he would be bringing some of his players made it more palatable.

Red and George talked about the immediate needs of the team and realized that pitching was most critical. Red made the decision to bring Billy Alan, Jack Meyers, both pitchers, and his toughest choice between Reggie Bond and Jon Tavy. He made the choice on Tavy because this had to be his last year in the minors and now was a good time to see if he could make the jump to the Show.

Red knew that Reggie was at least going to be in triple A next year, maybe even make the jump to the majors next spring training. Jon would not have that luxury, Red thought. George was not usually that patient. Now was the time. Red explained that later to Reggie, who said he understood and had no problem with Red's decision. Reggie wished Red the best and hoped they would be reunited next year in New York. Red promised to do all he could to make that happen. He reminded Reggie a continuation of the great year he was having would make that happen.

Red told George that he would like to make the announcement after tonight’s game. He also made George promise that he would re-stock the Meriden clubs' pitching. It was not fair to the other players who had a chance to make the playoffs to take their top two pitchers in the middle of a pennant race. George agreed.

The affected players and Red could easily make the trip to New York for tomorrow afternoons, Saturday game. George would call a press conference for 10AM tomorrow morning. The bomb would be dropped then.

Chapter 34 The Dreamers

2010-04-09T12:13:00.001-07:00

Chapter 34

Father Spencer decided a phone call was improper to the Lollars and decided to take a plane into Hartford and rent a car and drive the twenty miles or so it was to Madison. The death of someone like Bob Lollar deserved, no demanded, more than just a phone call.

He took a morning flight from Midway and arrived in Hartford at little past noon. He hopped in his rented Mercury Sable and followed the easy directions to get onto I-91 south. He passed through the skyline of Hartford and could see the gold dome of the State Capitol off to his right. He traveled past Wethersfield, Rocky Hill, Cromwell, and Middletown until he got to exit 17, East Main St., Madison, and got off the interstate. He stopped at the Darby's Gulf station and got directions to the Lollar’s home. It was now almost 1PM.

He pulled up into the driveway and found an older woman pulling weeds from the flower bed to the right of the front steps. It must be Mary he thought. Coming down the driveway was a portly gentleman pushing what looked like an empty wheel barrow with a shovel hanging out to one side. This must be Gus.

Father Spencer exited the car, walked around, starting up the front walkway.

Mr. and Mrs. Lollar," inquired Father? I am Father Spencer from Moody Institute.

Gus had made his way over to where Mary had been working. She was now standing, brushing the dirt from her hands, and then wiping them on her garden apron.

"Hello, Father" said Mary with a loving smile on her face. "This is my husband, Gus, Bob's father." The men shook hands.

"Could we go inside," asked Father Spencer. "I need to talk to you."

"Sure, come on in,” replied Gus. "Let's go inside."

Gus placed his hand warmly on Father’s shoulder as he ushered him up the few steps leading into the house. Mary followed.

"Would you like some lemonade, or soda," asked Mary?

"No," replied Father Spencer, "this is not a social call, I'm afraid."

"Bob not doing well in school," asked Gus. "You know, Mary, I thought Bob might have a little trouble at first getting back into studying after almost four years in the military."

Father looked into his hands he was wringing on his lap. Mary sensed immediately it was more than that.

"Father, what is it," asked Mary. "Is Bob all right?"

"I'm afraid not," responded Father Spencer, stumbling through the words. "Your son was murdered last night at a basketball game. It appears to be a drug-related commando style attack. Bob was just one of the over twenty innocent bystanders who were killed. I can't tell you how sorry I am. There was no way I could just call and tell you such terrible news."

Mary and Gus were both so stunned neither could speak. Gus put his arm around Mary as she pulled a small hanky from her dress and began to wipe away the tears that were beginning to form.

"Gus, do you know where Becky went off to with Dave," Mary asked? "We have to tell her right away. We have to call the Pastor and get him started making the funeral arrangements," Mary rambled on. "Gus, you'll have to go to Chicago and pick up the body I suppose, right Father," asked Mary, allowing the peripheral issues to overtake her immediate release of grief.

"Mary, I can take care of that for you if you would like," offered Father Spencer. "You will have enough to deal with back here. If you let me know what funeral home you will be using I will take it from there."

"That's very nice of you, Father," said Mary. "If you will excuse me I think I would like to go lie down for a while," said Mary as she rose. She extended her hand to Father and clasped it warmly.

"Thanks for coming all this way. It means a lot to me and Gus." Mary walked slowly down the hall to her room. You could hear the door close behind her.

"Gus, I am terribly sorry to have to bring you this news," said Father. He made his way toward the front door.

"You know Father," said Gus, "we just never worried about Bob this way. All that time in the service, Bob flying planes and all, we just never worried about his getting killed or even hurt. Maybe we just thought if we ignored the danger nothing would happen to him. It wasn't so much or faith, just that Bob always seemed so invincible I guess."

"I think we all feel that way that WE can never be the victim," replied Father. "Unfortunately, this was totally senseless. Your son was truly a class young man. He will be terribly missed."

"Thank you Father, that is nice of you to say," said Gus.

"I can tell you he would have made a great Pastor," added Father. "I am sure of that."

He shook Gus' hand and made his way back to the car. He had given his card to Gus and told him to have the Funeral home contact him directly. He promised to let Gus know all the details that were worked out.

He made his way back to Bradley Airport and boarded his return flight to Chicago. It was probably a good thing Father Spencer didn't drink. He sure would be on this return flight home.

He sat in his window seat and began browsing through the Hartford Courant newspaper brought by the flight attendant. He turned to page two and found highlights of the national news. A small news brief that read: AP, Chicago. A drug-related commando-style attack claimed the lives of over twenty-five last night in the city suburbs.

Father Spencer folded the paper quietly in his lap. He starred out the window. The flight attendant came back by.

"Father, can I get you something else to read," she inquired.

"Yes," he replied, never taking his eyes from the window. "That would be a good idea."

Chapter 33 The Dreamers

2010-04-09T12:12:00.000-07:00

Chapter 33

Sergeant Jenkins and Ben arrived at the Administration building parking lot about the same time. Ben remained sitting behind the steering wheel of his car. Jenkins came over and opened his door.

"Come on, Ben," said Jenkins. "I know this is hard, but we have to get this over with. Besides, I've got an all nighter ahead of me. The press is going to be all over us on this one."

Ben got out of the car and the two may their way silently up the stairs and entered Father Spencer's office. Father was listening to his radio. A new bulletin was describing the sketchy details of the Beaupre Massacre as it was now being called. Fr. Spencer motioned for them to sit in the two chairs in front of his desk. He turned off the radio as he turned to them.

"Where is Bob," He asked? "I hope he is all right?"

"That's why we're here," began Sergeant Jenkins. "This is very hard for us," he continued. "Bob is dead, Father. He couldn't get across the court to safety. He had no time like any of the victims. The shooting happened so fast. Looks like were are going to have over twenty-five casualties. Many of the others will arrive at the hospital in critical condition. The final count may be more."

Father Spencer sat in his chair in disbelief while Jenkins rambled on. Father heard only half of what he was saying. His greatest fear had come true. Only Bob was more than just hurt. He was gone. Why, he thought to himself? What good could possibly think could come out of taking such an innocent, young life? His many decades of spiritual training and growth still didn't make this any easier to understand or accept.

"I hope he didn't suffer," stated Father. "He deserved better than that."

"Couldn't have been very long, Uncle," said Ben. "It was over in less than a minute. I barely got out of my car when the murders were speeding off. I was kind of half dozing and listening to the White Sox game when the first shots rang out. It happened so fast even if the police had been there I don't think they could have saved anyone. they might have shot a couple of the assailants, maybe. These thugs had automatic weapons. They knew what they wanted to do."

"Father, do you have the number for Bob's family," asked Jenkins. "Would you like for me to call them?"

"No, I'll take care of it," said Father. "I'm the one who got Bob involved in the first place. It is my fault."

"Father, Let me say this to you right now," stated Jenkins in a firm tone of voice. "This is no one's fault but Motown Matthews. This is not your fault, my fault, or Ben's fault. You need to understand that and accept it right now. If God couldn't stop it how do you think we can? We at Metro try, every day, to stop it. It seems like all we end up doing is cleaning up the wreckage. We don't seem to be able to make even a dent in all the dysfunction this society can create. I am not a very religious man, Father, but it may just take the Second Coming to fix this. It's just too bad Bob had to be another casualty of this stupid war."

"I know, Sergeant," said Father Spencer. "It is just so difficult when all the good we try to do is repaid with evil. This is all so senseless."

"Father, until we get Judges to put all the Motown Mathews away for ever it will never end," added Jenkins. "He never should have been on the street now. I will personally take care of him this time myself. He is not going to get away with this, I can assure you."

Father reached into his middle desk drawer and pulled out an address book and began leafing through the pages. He stopped at the L's and kept his finger on the Bob Lollar's home number in Connecticut.

Father, unless you need me for anything else I need to get down to the station," said Jenkins as he rose from his chair. Ben didn't move.

"No, go ahead," said Father. "I would like to come down to the station tomorrow. Can you help me make arrangements for the body? I would think that the family will want the body back in Connecticut for burial."

"No problem," said Jenkins. "I'll be there for at least the next twenty-four hours. I'll get you through the red tape."

Jenkins left and went down to the station. He went through the booking area where he saw six black men going through the process. He called to the Desk Sergeant.

"Riccio, fill me in," stated Jenkins. "These guys part of the Beaupre shooting?"

"Ya, Sarge, they are," said Riccio. "Officers cornered them down by the docks at Lexington. Two others are being chased in the vacant warehouses right now. May take some time, but our swat team is on the way. Should have them out, one way or another, by midnight."

"Put out an APB on Motown Matthews," said Jenkins sternly, anger filling his face and voice. "I want him in this office by day break. I want every available Officer on this now!"

"You got it," answered Riccio as he broke out of the office. He knew a priority when he heard one. Captain Moss entered the office.

"What a mess, Jenkins," stated Moss. "Fill me in."

Jenkins could have cared less about what Captain Moss thought. He knew all he was worried about was his precious career and how this could hurt any chances he might have to become Commissioner if it wasn't solved in a hurry. Moss was never the type to dirty his hands with the nasty side of police work, but he was always around for the photo-opportunities. They had both come through the Academy together. Moss just knew which rear-ends to kiss up to along the way. That was not Jenkins style.

He filled his superior officer in, anyhow. This was not the time to be picking a fight or being sarcastic. Jenkins had much bigger fish to fry. What a night this was going to be.

Jenkins found out which interrogation rooms the alleged perpetrators were in. He entered room 2A and went to the back of the room and leaned up against the wall with his arms folded against his chest. A Public Defender was already seated at the table next to one of the shooters. A tooth pick was hanging out of his mouth.

"Excuse me," said Jenkins. "I hate to interrupt. Mr. Robinson is it," as Jenkins looked at the top of the file? Take the tooth pick out of your mouth while you're in this building."

"Don't be rousting my client," said the attorney. "He may decide not to cooperate."

"That would be most unfortunate for him, wouldn't it," announced Jenkins, moving up and leaning on the table with both hands in the attorney's face. "He can remove it now and be most cooperative, or he can have it surgically removed after he has been in lock-up for while. I don't care which it is. I've got over twenty-five people dead as the result of your client here. I would advise you not to make me one ounce madder than I am at this point. I am not interested in any of your legal garbage, either."

Robinson sized up the situation rather quickly and put the tooth pick in his pocket and sat up in his chair.

"No problem, Sarge," said Robinson. "It's cool."

Jenkins moved back off the table and leaned up against the wall again. Officer Miller resumed his questioning again. There would be no more interruptions.

Chapter 32 The Dreamers

2010-04-09T12:10:00.000-07:00

Chapter 32

The alarm went off right on the dot and I gathered my basketball gear, dressed, and headed out for Beaupre. As I headed through the old neighborhoods the sounds of ethnic music filled the night air. Children were out playing on the sidewalk.

Boys were playing stickball in the middle of the street. Chalk marked their bases. It reminded me of my countless hours of waffle-ball games in the back yard, countless games of homerun derby played until darkness robbed us of another inning. I thought that even these children are oblivious to all that is going on. Or, maybe they are just numb to it all. Who knows what how they really deal with the poverty and the violence that surrounds them, I thought.

I arrived at Beaupre with the second half of the game before ours just starting. Some of the Knight players were sitting with Coach McKay across the way at the bleachers' end. I go over. I glanced around and see a white BMW pull up within 100 feet of the court. The driver's window was powered down and a black hand came out flicking cigarette ashes to the ground.

The Knight players greeted me. I did likewise and took a seat next to Coach McKay.

"How you doin, Coach," I ask?

"O.K.," said Dave. "I hate these late games, though. It makes 6 AM come awful soon. It should be our last late game of the season. I guess I'll make it."

"This game seems to be moving along pretty quickly," I state. We may get started before nine."

"That would be all right with me," Said McKay. "I'd like to get home early."

Coach asked the Knights to start loosening up behind the bleachers with some passing drills he had been working on. They obliged.

As I got up I noticed two other cars, big Lincolns, pulled up behind Motown's Beemer. Eight big men got out; four had long trench coats on and moved to the side of the vehicles closest to the court. I began to sense that something was wrong. This did not look good.

I looked across the street and saw Ben's car with the window partially rolled down. No sooner did I turn around than I heard the sound of what appeared to be fire crackers. Crack, Crack, Crack, Crack. The sound of screams filled the night air as people began running in every direction. Crack, crack, crack, crack. There appeared to by hundreds of shot by now filling the court.

I turned to see the four men in long coats with automatic rifles, M16's I thought. Two had dropped their magazines to the ground and were inserting new clips.

People were littering the court, lying in pain, screaming, blood seemed to be everywhere. Six players were down as well as fifteen to twenty spectators. I spotted Esther and Dwight trying frantically to get Dwight's tricycle unstuck from the bleacher corner rail. I ran toward them.

"Esther," I shouted at the top of my lungs! Leave it! Get down," I yelled! "Get down!"

Within a split second I felt sharp pains in both of my legs as I crumpled to the pavement. On my way down sharp pains entered both shoulder blades and my lower back. I hit the asphalt hard, like I had been tackled by a 300 pound lineman from behind, breaking the cheekbone to the right of my nose. The pain was immense. God, did it hurt. I tried to raise myself up, but I couldn't. My thigh bones had to be shattered by the 5.62mm rounds that sped through my legs. I tried to drag myself with my arms but the pain from my shoulders was too great. I just laid there with my left cheek against to pavement watching people still running for their lives. The level of screaming seemed loud or louder than any cheering crowd I had ever heard at any big game.

The pain was getting even more unbearable and then I saw two feet walk right up to my side. I looked up to barely make out a shape on some man with a long coat.

"Tough luck, Whitey," said a Husky, scratchy, bass voice. "You shoulda stayed in your own neighborhood."

I saw the man raise his arm; his hand held what looked like a military .45. I never thought I would be dying this way. I only heard the first shots that ripped threw my skull.

Within forth-five seconds 25 people were dead and the attackers sped off into the night. Two unmarked police cars sped off in pursuit. Five minutes later the street was blocked off by Metro Police cars. Sergeant Jenkins arrived, got out of his car and began scanning the basketball court. He spotted Bob lying at the far side of center court. He ran as fast as he could.

"Bob, Bob," he shouted. "Get me a paramedic over here, now," he shouted, turning as he ran! "Now," he said!

He got to Bob's body, kneeled down, but saw the blood from the two head wounds he suffered and knew it was too late. He felt his neck, anyway, just in case there was still some pulse. He knew from experience that there would be none. He could still hope, he thought. He took off his rain coat and draped it over Bob's upper body. Tears began flowing down his face. His greatest fear had become reality. He really admired Bob. Thought he could protect him. Reality was there was no way he really could. Not from these thugs who strike so indiscriminately.

Jenkins wiped the tears from his eyes, raised his head and scanned the entire Beaupre court area. Bodies everywhere. Moans of pain, occasional screams, and crying fill the air. Sirens filled the background with shouts of directions coming from police and EMT personnel who seemed to be everywhere.

Jenkins sat cross legged against Bob's body, still not wanting to believe what had happened. He spotted Ben walking slowly over to where Jenkins was. Ben stopped next to Jenkins, kneeled down and put his hand on Jenkins' shoulder.

He made the sign of the cross on his chest and began to pray. "Dear Father in Heaven," began Ben, as tears began streaming down his face. His voice began cracking as each word crossed lips.

"Take this life you so graciously blessed us with for such a short time," he continued. "He loved you and your Son more than his own life. Please grant him a special place at your side. He will be greatly missed."

Ben and Sergeant Jenkins remained at Bob's side, still numb from what had happened. What a senseless death they both thought. What a great potential lost in Bob's death. What a senseless tragedy.

"I will get these guys who did this," announced Jenkins in an angry voice. "If I have to kill them with my own bear hands, I swear I will get them. Motown’s' days are numbered now."

Sergeant Jenkins rose to his feet. Paramedics came over and placed bob's body on a stretcher and rolled him over to one of the 6 ambulances that lined the street. Jenkins pulled his business card from his breast pocket and handed it to a young, female attendant.

See that the Coroner calls before he does anything with this body, understand," said Jenkins sternly. "Can you do that for me?"

"No problem," she replied. "I'll take care of it myself."

They rolled the body to the ambulance, pushed the cart passed the doors, slammed them, climbed in, and took off toward the morgue. No siren was needed on this run.

"Ben," said Jenkins. "Follow me back to the campus. I'll call your Uncle from my car and we can tell him the bad news together. O.K.?"

"No problem," answered Ben. "I'll meet you there."

They went to their cars and sped off into the night. This was a visit Jenkins did not want to make. Never thought he would have to. He kept thinking of what he would say. What could he say? How could he even bring himself to do it? Even with all of his years of Police work, all his experience, planning, attention to details, he hated this part of the job the most. Who wouldn’t?

Chapter 31 The Dreamers

2010-04-09T12:07:00.000-07:00

Chapter 31 The Dreamers

Since I joined the Chicago Knights the team could do no wrong. It reeled off nine straight wins over two months and gave me a chance to really fit in with the team and the league. If I had been able to pile up more playing minutes I could be leading the league in scoring and assists, but that didn't matter to me. My goal was to try and be a part of stopping the violence that was destroying the community. Four more murders had occurred during this period, one was another player in the league. It was becoming clear that there was clearly something wrong with some of the players in the league.

The Knights had another game this evening with the last place team in the league. It was the late game which usually started around 9PM. The usual arrangements were made with Sergeant Jenkins with full surveillance across the street.

I had just come back from class and decided to call home. Dad answered the phone.

"Hey, son, how are you," said Dad cheerfully? "Your Mom has been bugging me to call you for a couple of days. Seems like I keep missing you."

"I'm O.K., Dad," I said. "Keeping pretty busy with school. Kind of hard at first getting back into the grind of studying again, but I've settled in now, I guess. How's everybody back home?"

"Everybody is fine back here," said Dad. "The team is doing great. First place by ten games, if you can believe it. Billy is tearing up the league. He is a perfect seven and 0 with an E.R.A. under one and a half and is hitting .360. The guy is making everyone on the team work so much harder trying to keep up. Reggie and Tavy are tied for the league lead in RBI's, with Reggie just ahead of him in the homerun derby twenty-two to twenty. This is all very hard to believe coming into July playing this well. Even Mr. Big has come up to see the team."

"You're kidding," I said. "George came all the way up from the Big Apple just to see AA baseball? Wonder what's on his mind." I ask?

"I don't know," Dad answered. "The big club is playing terrible. Last place in the A.L. East, fourteen games out. From what I read into the box scores their defense stinks and they lead the league in runners left on base. Mr. S. is not a happy camper."

"Dad, you don't think he is mad enough to bring up some of the players from the Madison team, do you," I ask? Just because some of these guys are having good years doesn't mean there ready to make the AA jump to the Show."

"I know," replied Dad. "Red and I have talked briefly about it. But, if George has made up his mind, secretly, there is not much any of us can do to change it. It is not smart career wise to get in his way if you want to stay in the Monarch organization."

"Oh, by the way," said Dad, "Your sister and Dave got engaged two days ago. Your Mom and I are real happy for them. We haven't seen your sister so happy. The wedding is set for October sometime, depending on our playoff chances. Sure would be great if you could come home for the wedding."

"Dad, that's great news," I said cheerfully. "I'm so happy for them. You'll tell Becky I'll be there with bells on. Wouldn't miss it for anything. Give her my love, will you?"

"Sure," Dad said responded.

"Tell everybody Hi for me," I continue. "Would love to see all of you. Definitely in October. Take care and keep that team in first place, will ya?"

"We'll try," assured Dad. "Take care, Son. Bye."

"Bye, Dad," I said, and hung up the phone.

It was just about 5PM and I decided I had better go over and get something to eat before the game. Someone knocked on my door.

"Bob," said a fellow student who was an office runner for Father Spencer? Father would like to see you when you have some time. He'll be in his office until 7PM."

"Thanks, I'll go over right after I grab a bite to eat." I replied. "Tell Father I'll see him by 5:45PM, O.K.?"

"No problem, I'll pass the word along," said the student. He headed back to Father Spencer's office to pass the word.

At 5:40PM I entered Fr. Spencer's outer office and found his door wide open. I knocked on the door frame and peaked inside.

"Father, you wanted to see me," I state?

"Yes, son, please come on in," said Father in a cheerful tone. "Haven't talked to you in a week or so and just wanted to make sure you were all right. Are your studies coming along?"

"Yes, Father, no problems yet," I answer. "With only eight hours of classes it is not too hard to keep up."

"Good," said Father. "Hear the basketball team is doing quite well with you on it. Sergeant Jenkins fills me in, you know."

"The team is doing pretty well," I replied. "Pretty good bunch of guys. It appears that the Knight players are clean and not involved in any illegal activity that I can spot. These murders have everyone a little on edge, though."

"Just be careful, that's all I ask," stated Father Spencer. "Jenkins says this Motown something is one bad character. I hope you are staying clear of him?"

"He hasn't tried to bother me or many of the Knight players," I answered. "Most just seem to brush him off. Guess he has enough action elsewhere to not need Knight players at this point."

"Is there anything I can do for you," asked Father?

"No, I don't think so," I reply. "Ben has been a big help. Great guy."

"Yes, I am so proud of him," smiled Father. "Had a full scholarship to Notre Dame for football, but chose to enter the ministry. He is a very special young man, just like you, Bob. We need more young men like the two of you. Your generation needs more leaders like the two of you."

"That's nice of you to say," I said. "Ben's about to graduate, I still have a long way to go."

"You'll make it," announced Father Spencer. "You'll make it."
"You ought to try and come to a game sometime," I offer. "I think you might enjoy it."

"Maybe I'll do just that," said Father, as he rose from his chair. I rose as well.

"Hope so," I said.

"Bob, if you need anything, don't hesitate to let me know," offered Father. "Don't be a stranger, either."

"I won't," I reply. "I know you're busy and I don't want to be a pest."

"You'll never be that," said Father emphatically. "We're in this together, don't forget."

"I know," I state. "Since I've been here it is a different feeling I have. It's kind of hard to explain. Kind of an inner peace, a calmness I've never know before."

"I know," said Father. "Those who are truly called feel the same way. Everything seems to fall in place. You'll be just fine. Good luck tonight."

I thanked Father Spencer and headed back to my room. I thought about our conversation as I slowly waked across campus and admired the beautiful grounds. How lucky I thought I was to be going to school here and trying to help the Police solve a major problem within the neighboring community.

Back at the room I decided to take a short nap before the game. I set the alarm for 7:30PM and fell right to sleep.

Chapter 30 of 47 The Dreamers

2009-10-23T14:29:00.000-07:00

Chapter 30 The Dreamers

The Knights kept on the pressure and defeated the Dragons ninety-two to fifty-seven. No one ever pasted the Dragons like that, ever. The game got a little more physical with some of the dragons trying to take cheap shots at me. I just worked around them and then Coach McKay just took me out and let the Knights finish off the Dragons with their regular team. The Knights never played better.

After the game the players took off as the second game was about to begin. Mookie invited me back to his place. I accepted.

We made our way over to Tremont St. to an old brick tenement. We walked up to the third floor, past graffiti covered walls and apartment doors. Many doors had plastic garbage bags outside their doors. They arrived at apartment 306. The walls surrounding the door were freshly painted, as was the door. Mookie opened the dead bolt and motioned for me to go in.

The apartment was very clean, but you could tell the furniture had passed the one hundred thousand mile mark. It was clean but well worn.

An old console color TV was in the corner with a set of bent rabbit-ears sitting on top. No cable or ESPN here, I thought.

"What ya want to drink," asked Mookie? "Beer? Soda?"

"Soda is fine," I said. "Anything is O.K." I hated to impose. as I knew they didn't have much.

Mookie disappeared into the kitchen and came back, tossing me a can of Coke. He tossed Marvin a can of Bud as he had gone over, turned on the T.V. and was adjusting the antenna to get the Cub game. They were in St. Louis playing the Cardinals. It was the fifth inning, Cubs leading three to nothing.

"Bob," asked Marvin, "spose you play this game as well as you play b-ball,un?" Marvin had pointed to the TV screen with the Cubs at bat.

"Ya," smiled Bob, "I played that game all right I guess." I wasn't sure if he should tell them I was all-state in baseball too.

"What was ya, All World back in Connecticut," asked Mookie?

"No, Just All-State," I answered, sheepishly. "That was enough, I guess." I kept my eyes on the TV.

"Should have known," said Marvin, shaking his head. "Should have known.

"Can I ask you something about this afternoon," I reply?

"Sure," said Mookie.

The white "Beemer" that pulled up to you guys. What was that about," I asked, not sure if I was going to get an answer or be asked to leave.

"You don't want to know," answered Marvin as he remained glued to the TV. "Bad news."

"It just seemed that you guys wanted out of there, but you seemed reluctant just to walk away," I state. "Why?

"Motown IS bad news," chimed in Mookie. "Marvin spent a week in the hospital last spring because of him. Always tryin to recruit "players" to be his runners or pimps. Tell him no, things get a little rough. Some of our boys got rough back after what he did to Marv. We had his black BMW “cubed” and dropped on his door step. Mookie and Marvin started laughing. Looked like a big $40,000 black Ice Cube! He laid low for a couple of weeks not knowing who was responsible."

"You guys cubed his Beemer," I said with a smile on my face? "You guys are nuts."

"You gotta do what you gotta do," said Marvin. "If not, my or Mookie's next trip would have been down to the morgue. These guys don't mess around. They are afraid of dying, though. Put a gun to THEIR head and they scream just like any stuck pig. They just usually get to do the "sticking" first."

"We've been trying to keep our team clean," Mookie went on. "Most of the teams have some players on Motown's payroll, pimping, running drugs, and numbers, whatever. Most these guys ain't college-gradiates, ya know. Money ain't easy to come by for most around here."

"How are you guys makin' it," if I can ask?

"You mean how are we makin it in this luscious, penthouse pad we have created here." said Mookie sarcastically. "Where is that darn butler, anyway?"

Marvin started laughing. "You gave him the day off, don't you remember," he chirped in. "He and the Maid took the bonuses you gave them and went to Atlantic City for the weekend."

"Oh ya," said Mookie. "I forgot."

"I wasn't trying to be rude," I said apologetically. "I didn't want to seem insensitive."

"Don't sweat it, Cracker," said Mookie. "I know you didn't. Just givin ya a little hard time, that's all. You're all right for a white guy. Right Marv?"

Who's white," asked Marvin as he turned, looked at Bob, and jumped five feet out of the chair. "Mookie, there's a white guy in your apartment," shouted Marvin. "Call Orkin, oh, man, this is the worst. You'll never get THAT smell out of the place. Oh, Man!"

Mookie and Marvin waited about ten seconds, which seemed about ten hours to me, and broke out laughing. I didn't know what to think. The shoe was on the other foot, wasn't it. I was in someone else’s world. No matter how I tried to figure it, it was a little disconcerting.

"O.K. you guys," I said, "Give the white guy a break. I just came up here to eat you out of house and home and drink all your soda. So, shut up and bring me another."

"Yes sir, Massa Bob," said Mookie bowing on his knees. "Jus don't hit me no mo, I can't take it no mo."

Marvin is really cracking up, now. Mookie vanished into the kitchen, bringing Bob another Coke.

"Listen, when you guys are finished, how about I spring for a Pizza," I offer. "Do you think someone will deliver to our plantation tonight?"

"Don't see why not," said Marvin. "Mookie, call Peppi's, they don't mind coming here. The only driver he lost he said he didn't like anyway," chuckled Marvin.

Bob heard Mookie dialing Peppi's. Pizza it would be. Just at that moment Esther and Dwight came into the apartment. Dwight peddled his tricycle right through the door, running it into the chair Marvin was sitting in.

"What do you say, honey," said Grandma. "Go ahead."

Dwight's big brown eyes slowly made their way up to my face. A Big grin broke out on Dwight's face.

"Thank you for my bike, Mr. Bob," said Dwight. Did you see how fast I can go?"

"Yes I did," I reply. "Will you promise to be careful and listen to your Grandma about riding and be very careful?"

"Yes, I promise," said Dwight.

"Give me five," I said.

Dwight reached up and gave me a solid high-five. Grandma urged Dwight to say good night to everyone and ushered him down the hall with his tricycle. Half way down the hall he turned his head.

"Mr. Bob," asked Dwight? "You don't have a puppy in your pocket, do you? I've always wanted a little puppy of my own."

"No, not tonight I don't," I said smiling. "I'll see what I can do, though. Sweet dreams, buddy."

Dwight rode his back into a room down the hall and disappeared. It was nice to make a little kid happy I thought. There probably wasn't much of that for many children in this neighborhood. I couldn't help but feel sad for a moment.

"Twenty-five minutes," announced Mookie reentering the room. "What's this I heard about some puppy?"

Chapter 29 of 47 The Dreamers

2009-10-23T14:28:00.000-07:00

Chapter 29 The Dreamers

I met Sergeant Jenkins three blocks from Beaupre Park and he gave me the old tricycle he had saved from when his son, Jeremy, was three years old. It was still in excellent condition for something over twenty years old.

"Sergeant Jenkins," I remarked in a surprised tone. "The bike looks almost brand new. This is awfully nice of you to give away your son's tricycle. This must mean a lot to you if you've kept it all these years."

"Bob, it's all right," replied Jenkins. "If some kid can get some use out of it now, that is better than waiting for what might never be. Go ahead, take it, and get to the game. We've got stuff to do."

I took the tricycle and headed off down the street to Beaupre. I hoped that Dwight liked the bike and that no one was offended by the gift. Sometimes pride can be a problem. I put his faith in that all would turn out O.K.

When Dwight saw me coming he took off running in my direction. His eyes were as big as saucers. He must have thought it was Christmas day. I placed in on the asphalt and placed Dwight in the seat. Dwight took off toward his Grandmother as if he was born on the bike. She bent over at the knees to catch him as he forgot to slow down and almost ran her over.

"This was very nice of you" said Esther. "Dwight hasn't been this happy in months. Now he can ride with the other children who have bikes, too."

She reached over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," she said again.

"You're very welcome," I said blushingly. "It's a gift from a friend of mine. I'll tell you about him someday. Maybe you'll even get to meet him. I hope so; I think you would like him."

"I hope so, too," she replied. "I'm sure I will."

"Hey, man, nice wheels for my kid," said Mookie as he walked over to greet me. "You're all right for a cracker," he added as he slapped me on the back. "Come on, we've got a game to play."

They took off and began lay-up warm-up drills with alternating sides shooting and rebounding. This lasted for about twenty minutes with Coach McKay breaking them up with the starting five to begin free-lance shooting while the rest rebounded. The last fifteen minutes everyone was shooting. Coach called them all over with five minutes before game time. The officials were standing across court at center. They were ready to go.

"O.K. men," said McKay. "Could we at least try some of our set plays, if only for the benefit of Mr. Lollar, here, and could we at least TRY and play some defense so that were not totally out of the game by half time? Let's go, give it up."

The players put there right hands into the center of the players circle and gave a "whoop" as they broke out onto the court. McKay looked at me.

I wish for once they would listen and just try some of what I show them. They do have some talent, just not enough to play one-on-one all night."

"Maybe tonight's the night, Coach," I said, trying to keep a positive spin on tonight’s game. "Maybe they will surprise you."

"It would be that," said McKay. "A big surprise."

The game began with the opposing dragons winning the tip, but as they tried to work the ball up court too quickly, Mookie stole a long side line pass and hit Marvin in full stride for an easy two points and the early lead. The crowd leaped to its' feet with excitement.

The dragons missed their first three attempts at baskets as the Knights were perfect, breaking out to early eight to nothing lead and the Dragons coach calling time out, throwing a towel down on the pavement in disgust. The Knights and their fans were reeling from excitement. After all, the Dragons were leading the league at twenty wins and only two losses.

Coach McKay reminded them not to do too much too soon. Keep looking for the open shot. There would be no need to crush anything the rest of the half. Let the Dragons feel the pressure to catch up. He reminded the Knights that defense wins games more than offense.

The Knights continued their assault on the Dragons. I entered the game with eight minutes left in the half and had the crowd and the dragons mesmerized with my passing and ball handling. I caused three Dragon players to loose their dribble and added two steals of inbound passes. I took only one shot, a three-pointer, which I made, but added five assists. The Knights closed out the half on fire with a lead of forty-eight to twenty-six.

The crowd couldn't believe it. Quite frankly neither could coach McKay. He walked over to the team as it cooled down at half-time. He was afraid to say anything, not wanting to jinx the team in any way. He just kind of stood there dumb-founded.

"Hey, Coach," said Mookie. "Say something. You look like you've seen a ghost or something," he added, smiling.

"Ghost nothing," said McKay. "Did you see that team out there, and where in the heck have you guys been?"

"Very funny, Coach," said Marvin. "We just decided to close out the season with a bang," he added.

"That sounds about right," I added. "This was nothing. Wait 'til the Dragons see us come out the first three minutes of the second half."

The team all looked at me like he was nuts. They may have thought I was, but I knew better. They were all wondering how they could play any better than they did the first half.

"What you talkin 'bout, cracker," said Marvin. "You been smokin some strange stuff before the game, or what?"

"No, not me," I said. "The way great teams put away their opponents is EARLY. We should put on full court pressure on defense and fast-break our offense for the first three minutes of the second half. Whatever plans they are making for a high percentage, patient offense, they will go out the window."

"If they stay as cold as they were the first half we could reel off another ten points before they know what hit them. If that happens they will be on their heals the rest of the night. They will never catch us as WE become patient and work the clock down," I conclude.

"Coach," said Mookie. "Makes sense to me. What do you say?"

"Sounds good to me to," said McKay. "You must work the press hard and be ready to intercept slopping, court-edge passes like you did to open the game. If they beat us down the court we will be the ones with egg on our faces, not them. O.K. Let's go and get loose for the second half.

Remember, if you don't have a good shot, kick it back out. That's partially how you did so well the first half. You guys shot over eighty percent for the half. Not too shabby," finished McKay.

The crowd cheered as the Knights retook the court for warm-ups. That never happened before. They all smiled at each other. They liked it.

The Dragons were warming up at the other end. They took turns looking at the Knights, most seemed intent on eyeballing Bob. They were probably wondering where this "Cracker" came from, anyway.

The second half began like I hoped with the Dragons unprepared for the full-court pressure they were seeing. The first seven times resulted in with either turn-overs or steals by the Knights. The additional fourteen points put the Knights up Sixty-four to twenty-six and another Dragon time out. The crowd was delirious with joy and amazement. I opened the second half on the court to lead the pressure and sank two three point shot that hit nothing but net and sent the crowd buzzing. One I made with a Dragon player draped all over me, but not foul was called.

I hoped that the second half was not going to find the Dragons taking out their frustration with a physical, nasty second half game. I was hoping to get out of this game with no trouble. That was not to be. I was soon to find out that these games were more than just games, to some.

Chapter 28 of 47 The Dreamers

2009-10-23T14:27:00.000-07:00

Chapter 28 The Dreamers

"I want you guys to go through about six set plays," said Coach McKay. "These are the same plays I wish you guys would try running during an actual game. Most of these are only variations of pick and rolls that only required some movement without the ball, something the very few of you seem accustomed to doing. I know most of you only want to play "Street Ball", but if you want to become winners in this league you will have to start playing as a team."

Bob tried to make the most of this short practice session and did his best John Stockton impression, with crisp passes, two of which went off the heads of Knight Players who were not paying close attention. Coach McKay loved it as it reinforced what he had been saying about the Knights not working the ball enough and getting easy baskets, like their opponents seemed to do all the time.

Practice broke up. I noticed that many of the players took a liking to me immediately and respected my playing ability and the fact that I didn’t shoot all the time and was willing to be a part of the team.

"Hey cracker," shouted Mookie, "come on over here a minute. Somebody I want you to meet."

I went over by the bleachers to where he and Marvin had been sitting. There was a much older black women sitting with a child, maybe three or four years old.

"Bob, this is my Mother, Esther, and my son Dwight," said Mookie. "Named him for Doc Gooden, the big league pitcher. We call him Baby-Doc."

"Nice to meet you, maam," I said. I kneeled down to be on the same level as the baby. "Hi, Baby-Doc," I offered while gently touching the child on the knee." The child gave me a big smile and then buried his face in his grandma's chest, faking shyness.

"Never thought I'd be seein that," said Mookie. "Baby Doc being' shy. That's a first."

"Do you come down to most of the practices," I asked of Mookie's Mom?

"I try and bring Dwight down as much as I can," said Esther. "Some times there are other children he can play with here at the park while the boys are playing ball. He just loves it outside."
"The apartment is pretty small and it doesn't take long to get freaked out up there," said Mookie." It's not good to be that cooped up all day."

"I don't blame you one bit.” "Most kids love to be outdoors. Does Baby Doc have a tricycle," I ask?

"No, not yet," answered Mookie. "Can't afford one just yet."

"Let me see what I can do back at school," I offer. "I Might be able to scrounge one up somehow."

"That would be very nice of you," said Esther. I know Dwight would love one."

With that, I take off back to campus to see what I could do about a tricycle for Baby Doc. As I make my way about two blocks away a car honked at me. I finally realized it was Ben who had been watching practice from a distance. He waited so no one would see him pick me up.

"Thanks Ben," I said. "I forgot you were keeping an eye on things this afternoon. We are having a game rescheduled for 7pm tonight. Coach just told the team, that is why practice was so short."

"You better call Jenkins and let him know, Bob," offered Ben. "I just heard on the radio that there was another shooting across town that appeared to be drug related. Two young kids gunned down on a street corner by a drive-by. The report said they got a brief description of the vehicle with two black men inside. You had better be on your toes; Bob, this town is going nuts right before our eyes."

Ben dropped me back at the dorm and I got up and put in a call to Sergeant Jenkins. Jenkins was out so I tried his personal car phone and got through. The voice on the other end said, "Ya".

"Sergeant Jenkins," I ask? "Yes, who's this?" It's Bob Lollar, Sergeant."

"What's going on, Bob?"

"The Knights have a game tonight at seven," I state. "It's a make-up from some time ago. Thought you should know so you have a little time to prepare. Ben also told me about another homicide across town he heard about on the radio. Does it have anything related to what we are working on?"

"Yes, Bob, we believe it could be related," replied Jenkins. "The two kids shot were players in the league. We're trying to interview people who knew them, but everyone in being very tight-lipped about it. Believe most of them are scared to death that they could be next. Knowing what a closed community this is, they are probably smart to be quiet for now and not be seen talking to us."

"Hey, Sarge," I ask? Know where I could pick up a tricycle for a four year old boy? One of the player's kids could use one."

"Think I have one at home," offered Jenkins. "It's in pretty good shape, too. I was keeping it for some grandchildren, but if you can use it that's fine. Meet you about three blocks from the park at 6:15 pm tonight. You can carry it the rest of the way."

"Thanks Sergeant, see you then," I reply as I hang up the phone.

I sat down in the chair at my desk and began pondering all that could happen tonight. Word of the homicide would be everywhere after the 6 o'clock news. It would be interesting how much talk at the play ground was about it, if any.

I put in a call to Father Spencer to fill him in on all that was happening. Father reminded me to be careful and keep him posted. I told him he would.

After I hung up I went off to take a quick shower and get something to eat before the game. I would have to go to the student center where they had a short-order grill. I sat alone and ate my burger and fries. For some reason my thoughts shifted about how many times I had done this very same thing at the diner back home. I thought of Gloria, her folks, and how totally different my and Gloria's lives were now. Different was the understatement of the year.

Chapter 27 of 47 The Dreamers

2009-10-23T14:26:00.000-07:00

Chapter 27 The Dreamers

"Hey, Ben," I said, as I had just called to find out if Ben was available this afternoon. Doing anything around four today?"

"What's up," asked Ben.

"I'm in the Knights and have practice at four today," I announce. "Thought it might be good if you could drive over to the court and park in an inconspicuous spot and keep an eye out, you know."

"No problem," replied Ben. "Maybe about fifteen after, though. I've got a lab that usually runs right up to four. I'll get there as soon as I can."

"Thanks," I said. We both hung up.

I made my way over to the cafeteria and sat at a table alone. I quickly ate and went back to his room. The phone was ringing as I entered the room.

"Bob, Sergeant Jenkins here," announced the voice at the other end. "Just wanted to let you know the surveillance team is set up on the third floor, across from Beaupre, the building has the Molina Bakery on the first floor. We have also set up shot-gun microphones on each of the corners of the court fencing. We are having this done right now with our people disguised as a city electrical maintenance crew installing new night illumination poles. We should be able to see and hear just about everything that goes on from now on."

"Isn't that a little extreme," I ask?

"No, the more I thought about Motown Matthews being around, the more I thought we should get into place quicker," stated Jenkins. "We have got to stay one step ahead. This is happening quicker than any of us thought."

"No problem," I said. "I called Ben and he is going to be hanging around the court in a parked car, just for some moral support."

"That's O.K.," approved Jenkins, "but our people will be there to. Take care. Call if you need something." Jenkins hung up.

"That's good," I answer. "I got to get some sleep before practice this afternoon."

I awoke to the alarm I set for 3PM and quickly went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth and dressed in the same clothes I had on this morning. I made the same trek to the court I had made earlier, only briefly stopping at a small grocery store for an apple.

I found Mookie, Marvin, and the rest of the Knights shooting at the far end of the court. They spotted me and motioned for him to come over. I did, bending over to go through the torn chain link fence to enter the court area. I looked around to see if the white BMW was around. I did not see it anywhere.

"Come on, cracker, hurry up," shouted Mookie. "Life expectancy is short around here, get the lead out."

I picked up my pace to a jog and was greeted by smiles by both Mookie and Marvin.

"Here's the guy we were tellin ya about," announced Marvin. sounding like he was introducing the team's "sleeper-selection" in the NBA draft. Mookie waved his hand and bowed with a sweeping motion and announced, "Cracker, the Chicago Knights".

Members of the team began mumbling various greetings with an occasional snide remark reaching my ears.

"Bob, what's your last name, anyway," asked Marvin?

"Lollar, Bob, the crackerman, Lollar," I said. "Anything else you need to know see my agent."

"Ya, like that's real or what," said a voice from the back.

"Shut up, Moochie," said Marvin. "We takin care of our boy here. Save your trash for the court."

"Ooo, somebody call my cardiologist, my heart just skipped a beat I'm so shook up," said Moochie.

"More like your gynecologist," announced Mookie. "He called to say your "late” again." The team gave it up all at once.
"Come on," I said. "I came here to play some ball not go over your medical records."

With that I moved down to the basket and began shooting. The others followed. They all took turns shooting and shagging balls for about fifteen minutes. A tall, thin black man moved onto the court with a whistle draped around his neck.

"O.K. boys circle up for a minute," said the husky voice. "Move in close for some announcements."

The team move into the center half-court circle around their coach. He looked around then finally fixing his eyes on me.

"You must be the guy Mookie called me about this morning," announced Dave McKay, the Knight's coach. "This team can use all the help it can get. This team of gunners and no defense could use a little talent and discipline for a change. You might even bring a little "divine inspiration" to this group of misfits, as well. God knows we may need more of that."

"Nice to be here, coach," I said. "Just want to play a little ball."

"That's about all this team does is play a little ball, once in a blue moon," replied McKay. Glad to have you aboard. "Now, listen up. Our game rained out last Friday is rescheduled for tonight at 7pm, right here."

A moan goes up from the group. Obviously, this was not great news to some.

"Coach, I can't make it tonight, I have night classes to finish my diploma," said one team member.

"No problem, Martinez," replied McKay. "That's more important. Does any body else need to beg off tonight?"

No one else responded to Dave's question. The game would be on at seven.

"We're only going to walk through our offense for Mr. Lollar here to get accustomed to our system before tonight," announced McKay. "Since we very rarely seem to actually RUN any of these plays during an actual game, they may be NEW to some of you as well. Mookie take the point. Gentlemen get the lead out".

Chapter 26 of 47 The Dreamers

2009-10-23T14:24:00.000-07:00

Chapter 26 The Dreamers

Mookie, Marvin, and I shot around for a little while longer. "I've got to get back to campus," I state. "I see you guys wearing sweat-shirts with a Knight on it. Is that some club or team you're on?"

"Ya," said Marvin, "we play for the Chicago Knights hoop team. Ya know, one of those teams that play in a late night league."

"You guys need some coaching help," I ask? I might be interested in helping if you needed some help.

"If you coach and you can also play, but not for more than ten minutes total of the games forty minute length," announced Marvin. "That way the teams cannot "sand-bag" a good player as coach and not take up a place on the ten-man roster. You still interested?"

I couldn't help thinking this was too good to be true. A spot opening up so quickly. Maybe these guys weren't so bad after all I thought.

"You've got a deal, I accept," I replied. "What time do you need me to come around for your next practice?"

"Practice is at four today," said Mookie. "Can you hang?"

"No problem," I said. "I'll be here. I hope the rest of the team will have no problem with you guys bringing a “cracker” along for the ride?"

Marvin smiled, "Once they see you shoot, they’ll think you must be Kunta Kinte's long lost son." We all started laughing. "See ya cracker," said Marvin as they headed to the other end of the court.

I grabbed my ball and started to head off down the street. As I got about one hundred feet past the court a white BMW 735 slowly pulled past and parked at the court. Mookie and Marvin slowly walked over to the car. Both boys stood back and seemed careful not to get too close or even touch the vehicle. Mookie glanced up to see me watching. He turned his back to me and put his hand behind his back, shielding it from the passengers. He motioned as best he could for me to get moving. I did just that.

As I got back to my dorm room I found the door opened and Father Spencer and Sergeant Jenkins inside with a man in some blue overalls, a leather tool belt, kneeling on the floor in the corner by the bed.

"Bob," said Fr. Spencer, "sorry about the intrusion. Phone Company, that’s all. Thought we had better get you a phone as soon as possible. Sergeant Jenkins took care of the speedy delivery. He’s almost done."

"Hey Bob," said Jenkins, noticing Bob's outfit. "Play a little ball today, did we?"

"Ya, I did, a little," I smiled, wanting so badly to announce my immediate success to everyone. "We'll talk in a moment." I pointed at the phone man.

"O.K. Father," said the phone man, "you're on the air," he announced. He quickly cleaned up his mess and left.

I looked out passed the door to make sure the coast was clear. Father Spencer and Sergeant Jenkins looked at each other.

"Bob, what is going on," asked Jenkins. "You are losing it already?"

"No, I'm in," I announce.

"In what," asked Fr. Spencer?

"The Chicago Knights," I beam. "I just went to shoot around over at Beaupre and two black kids were there, Mookie and Marvin, and they want me to assistant coach or something and even play part-time."

"You're kidding," said Jenkins with a look of amazement on his face. "How in the heck did you pull that off?"

"Don't ask me," I said. "All I know is I'm in and we have practice today at four. Sergeant, as I was leaving the court a white BMW pulls up and was talking to the boys. Mookie definitely wanted me out of there. Know why?"

"Yeah," sighed Jenkins, "Motown Matthews must be back. Big pusher in the area. We've arrested him dozens of times, he makes bail, locked up for a while each time, but is always back. Got more lives than any cat I know. Big trouble that one."

"Think Mookie or Marvin is working for him," I ask?

"Hope not," answered Jenkins. "We think he may be responsible for at least three of the homicides I mentioned yesterday."

"Sergeant, I got the impression they were being super-cautious," I offer. "They stood way back from the car, not too eager to get too close. Their motioning me away seemed to indicate they knew what kind of trouble had just pulled up. I'll try and find out more this afternoon."

"Bob, just be careful," stated Fr. Spencer. "We don't need to solve this case in one day, remember."

"I know Father, but I have to take advantage of every open door that comes along," I state. "I'll be careful."

"He's right, Father," chimed in Jenkins. "Just don't sound too nosey or ask too many questions at first. Let Mookie and Marvin do the offering. Most of these guys love to talk, anyway. They're like a gaggle of geese at a quilting bee. Each one's story has got to top the next. Don't worry, the info will flow."

Father Spencer and Sergeant Jenkins excused themselves to let me shower. Before he left, Jenkins gave me three special phone numbers to Jenkins' home, office, and private car phone. Jenkins pulled a small, hand-held portable phone.

"Bob, this is for you," said Jenkins as he handed me the phone. Carry this with you all the time in some short of gym bag or something. If you need me or Father, use it."

I took the phone, thanked him and closed the door. I moved toward the bathroom, placing the phone on the dining table. I go into the shower, sliding the curtain back and adjusting the water temp. I step in and let the stream hit me directly on top of the head. I made the water a little warmer and laid my hands against the front shower wall and just stood there half a sleep, half thinking about the white BMW. Were Mookie and Marvin peddling drugs? How much were they involved? I would find out soon enough.

Chapter 25 of 47 The Dreamers

2009-10-15T15:57:00.000-07:00

Chapter 25 The Dreamers

I woke up to the sound of footsteps outside his dorm room. As I laid there the noise level increased as voices were added to the mix. I rolled over to look at his mechanical alarm clock and noticed that it was nearly 7am.

I pulled the covers off my body and plunked my feet to the floor below. I wrested my elbows on my knees and ran both hands straight through my hair from front to the back of my neck. I noticed that the sun cast a shadow through the vertical rungs that made up the back of one of the chairs at the table. I realized that I needed to get moving.

I quickly showered, dressed in shorts, a gray athletic t-shirt, tennis shoes and pulled my old high school basketball warm-up pants to my waist. I grabbed the new ball Jenkins had given me the day before and headed out Beaupre where I was to try and get into a pick up game.

I worked my way off campus and walked the route through the older section of town. The streets were lined with the older, run-down store fronts of cleaners, pawn-shops, deli's, ethnic specialty shops, bakeries, and the like. The smells and the sounds could be found in any distressed municipality from Gary, Indiana to Detroit. The streets were lined with many old cars with multi-colored spray painted finishes, most of which never should be allow on the open road. Many of the cars had their owners sitting on the hoods or trucks conversing with the friends and neighbors.

I turned onto Smith Place where Beaupre was located. The courts were occupied at only one end with a couple of black players taking turns shooting free throws. The courts were encased in an old 10 foot tall very rusty chain-link fence. Many of the supporting cross-bars were missing with a number of tears in the fencing. One area had a 5-foot diameter section torn out. Each length of the court has old aluminum bleachers spray-painted a rainbow of colors. Underneath the bleachers were mounds of trash and garbage from the previous game. Neither of the rims on the backboards were quite level, feeling the negative effects of nine foot 10 inch slam-dunks from Michael Jordan wanna-bees.

The two black players saw me making my way onto the court, paused to give me the once over, then went back to their personal little free-throw contest. I did a little stretching and began banking lay-ups with alternating hands, working my way further out, and then shooting jump-shot from the free throw line. I never missed a shot.

I moved out passed the top of the key into three-point land and began sinking shot after shot. Each shot never touched the rim making a clanking noise as it rocketed into the chain-link netting that was standard black-top court issue complements of the City. The two players began taking notice of my strange luck of not missing one shot, stopping their own little match.

"Nice shooting "Whitey"," shouted one of the boys. "Spose we're sposed to be impressed or sumpin'," said the other. I just kept shooting, not responding to what they had said.

"Now we know you ain't Helen Keller," said one of the boys again. "We can tell by ya shootin you can see, you juz must be deef, or somethin," chimed in the other. "Or didn't your Momma teach you no manners to speak when you was spoken to?"

I turned but was very afraid that this conversation was never going to go in any positive direction. I was not sure how to respond. No one else was around but the three of us, as far as I knew. I decided to take a chance and be brave.

"No, I can hear all right," I answered. "And you're right, I can see, too. My name is not Helen, have never worn a dress. How about either of you?"

"Ooo, Whitey got a mouth," said one boy. "Too bad no brain."

The two boys started making their way down to my end of the court. The taller one was dribbling the ball about every third step. This looked like trouble. I turned and held my ball on my right hip watching as the boys got closer.

"I'm not looking for any trouble," I made clear. "I'm not walking away from any either. I came down here to shoot around a little, that's all."

The two boys began sizing me up as they got closer with each step. It became obvious to them that I was five inches taller than Mookie, the biggest boy, and that I was also well built, not just some tall "white-drink-of-water".

"You think you can just come into our "hood", shoot around, be rude to us, ignore us talkin to you, and that's all there is to it," said Marvin, the smaller boy? "Not this week, Homey," he added.

"I wasn't being rude," I replied. "I'm just not looking for trouble. You sound like you are," as I looked Marvin right in the eyes, never blinking and beginning to make Marvin nervous."

Mookie enters the conversation. "Listen, man, me and Marv want no trouble, just we don't see many "albinos" down this way. You a cop or somethin'? Been a lot of them 'round lately."

"No, I'm no cop,” I said, "just a student over at Moody. Decided to take a walk through the neighborhood and shoot some hoop. I didn't realize I needed ticket or a library card from Marvin, here, to play? Do I?"

"No," said Mookie, " We're juz careful who hangs around, that's all."

"Ya," said Marvin in a more normal tone of voice, "we just don't letter any "cracker" play here ya know. You don't play like no "cracker", though. Where yuz from?"

"Connecticut," I answer as I began shooting again, "and I have played some ball, was All-State four years ago, before the military service. Now, I'm going back to school to become a priest.

Mookie and Marvin look at each other for a moment and start laughing. I stop shooting and look at them.

"Listen, cracker," said Mookie, "unless you have some insane desire to meet Jesus real soon, don't come on to other "brothers" like you did to us. They will TAKE-YOU OUT in a New York minute. Just some friendly advise, cracker."

"Thanks, I'll think I'll take it under advisement," I reply.

"You can take it," said Marvin, "or you'll be takin it to the morgue, your choice. We're just tryin to be neighborly, ya know."

"O.K.", I said, "since you put it that way." I allowed a small grin to creep across my face. "Maybe the safest thing for now."

"Smart move, Exlax," said Mookie. "Guess we're going to have to take you under our wing before you need some pall-bearers. See the headlines? Cracker slam-dunked at Beaupre, details at eleven." They all start laughing.

I stop laughing. Mookie and Marvin do as well. I finally realize that's not that funny and they WEREN'T kidding.

Chapter 24 of 47 The Dreamers

2009-10-15T15:56:00.000-07:00

Chapter 24 The Dreamers

Sergeant Jenkins finished his presentation including the mapping out of their "infiltration strategy" in which I was to be a major player. The goal was to get me involved as a player on the Chicago Knights team, do my best to become one of the "guys" and see how much the players begin to "talk" and get as much intelligence as I can. If I am able to be-friend a couple of the newer players and determine if they trying to be "recruited" for any illegal activity, it would be a start.

Jenkins reminded everyone, "this could possibly take some time and that it is important that everyone was careful about what they said about the operation and who they said it to. It was important that, you Bob, maintain your cover as just a "Moody Student" looking to play some organized basketball and wanting to work with wayward youth. Nothing more and nothing less was to be the appearance."

Sergeant Jenkins closed out the presentation, "Bob, I hope your athletic skill is as good as everyone says they are. These kids may not be academically gifted, but they can play some mean street ball. In the "paint" it will be a war. Make no mistakes. For many of these kids, this IS their life, their fame, maybe even their fortune, we’ll have to find that out," he concluded.

"Where and when do you want me to start," I ask?

"Here is a new ball for you to carry to the "yard" tomorrow," said Jenkins as he tossed a brand new NBA synthetic covered ball to me. He also handed me a map of the area with the courts highlighted in yellow.

"Show up at Beaupre Center tomorrow just like you were going to shoot around," added Jenkins. "You should have no trouble getting into a game at first. Just take it slow. Things will happen fast enough."

The meeting broke up with Fr. Spencer asking Ben and I to come over to his office. We walked slowly over to the Admin. Building rehashing all that was said. Ben offered that he had some contacts with the Chicago Bulls as one of his high school teammates was now a player and could possibly get some tickets we could use help me become more "popular".

We made our way into Father's office and took seats in front of his desk. Fr. Spencer sat quietly in his chair for a moment, kind of starring off into space out the window to his right. He kind of startled himself back to reality, realizing he had guests, me and Ben.

"Sorry fells," apologized Fr. Spencer, "Didn't mean to go off like that. I was just thinking about the seven homicides Jenkins talked about and how such a seemingly good idea of Midnight Basketball can be turned into something bad by the devil himself. Bob, you must promise that you will be as careful as you can and don't pull some "Starsky & Hutch" stunt trying to save somebody. We need information, not heroes."

"Don't worry," I respond. "I am not looking for some posthumous medal or award. I would like to be around for a while. Besides, Ben here is going to keep me out of trouble. One look at him will make them think twice, I hope."

"Come on, Uncle," added Ben, "Bob will be O.K. Let's pray right now and ask God to take care of it right now."

Father Spencer led a very heartfelt prayer asking God to protect me and give me the spiritual guidance I would need to make the right decisions and keep me safe from all harm. He also asked for God's help for Sergeant Jenkins and his team and seeks a spiritual revival for all young people, especially for an opening of the hearts of the youth involved in this basketball league.

After the prayer, Ben and I left Father and when down the hall and got the rest of my schedule of classes and times. Western Philosophy-3 hours-8am-M/W/F: B. Applegate; Sociology 1 - 3 hours-9am-M/W/F: S. Miller; and New Testament 1 -2 hours-M/W: B. Close. I got the campus locator map so I would know where to go for class. Classes started next week.

Ben had class himself, and left me to head over to the Campus Book Store to get my books and the study supplies I would need. I made his my back to the room and got myself situated.

Other students were making their way in the dorm and greeted me. The campus was beginning to bustle with activity of the new school semester. As I went into my room I thought how sheltered college students were. Safe and secure, their parents spending tens of thousands of dollars for school, or partying, which ever was the case, totally oblivious to what was happening for all too many of the inner-city youth. They would take their liberal political philosophy and cry how the government should be doing more, but never get their hands dirty or really be involved themselves.

Spending a few tax dollars of other people's money would take away their "guilt" I thought. They didn't mind getting involved as long as it meant using someone else’s money or the time it took to earn it. I realized that what I was about to do should and could make more of an impact. It didn't make sense to spend millions subsidizing midnight basketball only to loose more youth than we save. There must be a better way. I hoped that I could part of making it work.

Chapter 23 of 47 The Dreamers

2009-10-15T15:55:00.000-07:00

Chapter 23 The Dreamers

Ben picked me up at 7:30am the next morning and we rushed down to breakfast. The menu was much like the ala-cart menu I was used to in the service. I took a large glass of orange juice, two eggs over easy on a piece of wheat toast, two slices of French Toast, and a cup of coffee with sugar.
Ben’s breakfast was considerably larger considering the personal “engine” he had to fuel. We sat at a small round table alone. “You going to eat all that yourself, or is your immediately family inside you coat,” I asked with a smile on my face?
“No this is just for me,” quipped Ben.
I had slept like a rock and felt invigorated and ready to tackle what was going to be the beginning of a great challenge and adventure. Ben began the conversation.

“My Uncle has been so looking forward to you getting here,” said Ben. “This idea of trying to help these inner-city kids has been driving him crazy. He thought he had a number of “candidates” for your task, but none of them ever seems to be the “right” one for him. It is hard to say why, though my Uncle is a great judge of character. He can be very demanding, but also very compassionate. As long a people give 100% he’ll walk through fire for them. Lazy people drive him crazy. Unfortunately, many of the people you are going to try and help are just that, lazy, and are followers not leaders.”
Ben continued. “Most of the instigators who form this core of this negative sphere of influence are just users and can only be defined a maliciously lazy,” added Ben. “I don’t mean to sound too judgmental, but there are realities about this you must accept. The trouble makers are more than just evil. People get hurt moving in on their “turf”. Make no mistake about that.”
“Ben,” I said, “I appreciate your concern. I don’t think I have some pie-in-the-sky notion about this program. I will keep a reasonable level of concern, but I can’t become afraid of my own shadow about this project. If I do, the paranoia will drive me nuts. I have to trust the Lord to keep me safe and go on from there.”
“Bob,” added Ben, “I just want you to succeed and stay alive while doing it, that’s all. This will be no walk in the park at times. I have asked my Uncle to let me help you if you want, and he has agreed. But, he did say that would be up to you, though. He is not going to tell you what to do or how to get the job done. Who you work with is up to you. He made that clear.”

“I will take all the help I can get, Ben,” I accepted. “Let’s eat and get to our first meeting. The sun has already beaten us to the punch.”
With that said Ben and I finish our breakfast and made our way across campus. Father Spencer and Sergeant Jenkins were already there, standing at the far end of the room in the sunshine, talking. Three priests were seated at a large nine-foot wooden conference table; one was sipping a cup of coffee poured from a white carafe.
As soon as Ben and I arrive Fr. Spencer brought Sergeant Jenkins across the room to be introduced. The room appeared to be some sort of multi-purpose room with twelve-foot ceilings, about thirty feet by forty feet in size.
“Bob,” announced Father Spencer, “I’d like for you to meet Jim Jenkins, Sergeant heading up the Youth division of the Metro Police. Jim, this is Bob Lollar, the young fellow I have be telling you about.”
We shook each other’s hand as we exchanged smiles.
“Good to meet you Bob,” said Sergeant Jenkins. “Father, here, has been driving me crazy to get on with this project, just waiting for Mr. Right to show up. I guess you are HIM,” as Jenkins warmly slapped him on the back of the shoulder.
“I’m not so sure about that,” I reply, but it is good to finally be here at Moody. I wasn’t quiet expecting to be spending half of my classroom time in the field, so to speak, but as long as you are my personal bodyguard, I feel better already.”
“In your dreams, preacher boy,” shot back Jenkins. “It’s much too dangerous out there in the playground these days. A pair of Air-Jordan’s and a 9 mm are all too available today. When they tell you that you need to be tough to “play-in-the-paint”, around here, they are not kidding.”
“All right Jim,” chimed in Father Spencer, “let’s not give the guy a heart attack his first day. What do you say?”
“I suppose you’re right,” softened Jenkins. “No need to send him off on the first flight out of Chicago, I guess.” Jenkins smiled as he motioned for everyone to head to the large conference table. “What do you say we get started?”
We all moved to the table and took seats. A three inch black binder with the City Seal and the circular wording, “Youth Division: Metro Police” was centered on the cover. Across the bottom it said: Confidential.

“Gentlemen, let’s get started,” began Sergeant Jenkins with a very business-like tone in his voice. The binders before you are for your eyes only. You are to share none of the information within this binder no one, not even friends, roommates, no one. Everyone in the Department who has access to this information has a security clearance and accepts the fact that this is sensitive information that “the street” would love to have. They do not need to know how much we know about them. We know considerably more than they would like. Plea bargaining does serve us well with intelligence. Most of it pans out to be true and verifiable.
Turn to page six.”
We all open our binders and did as Jenkins instructed. The page was headed: “Operation B-Ball”.
“What we have learned over the last few months,” Jenkins continued, “is that a number of key drug dealers and bookies have infiltrated the city-sponsored midnight basketball league. Twenty-four teams compete and it has become a web of gambling and drug trafficking. The pages marked ten through sixteen give bios on the kingpins of this activity along with the most recent photos of each.”
“We are not sure at this point how much the league’s players are involved, but we do know that much of the “action” is spectator-related and we have begun video-tape surveillance of every game over the last month,” continued Jenkins. “I need to also tell you that there have been 7 known homicides we believe can be directly traced to this activity. We know more are to follow. The money is now into the tens of millions of dollars. This is not going away.”
I sat almost stupefied as Jenkins continued his presentation. What had I gotten into I began thinking. Just listening to Jenkins made me all too aware of what this really was all about. This was organized crime all right, just missing the spaghetti sauce and a different and much younger set of players. There were no “fronts” like garbage or food service; this was all cash and small bills. Just lots of them.

I took a deep breath and decided that I was still committed to try and make a difference. I would surely find out just how much faith I really had.

Chapter 22 of 47 The Dreamers

2009-10-15T15:54:00.000-07:00

Chapter 22 The Dreamers

"I know that all that you have said, Fr. Spencer, has been heart-felt," I began, "but, I know that this IS where I'm supposed to be. My chance to work with kids in some way means a great deal to me. If this was the way God has intended to use me, so be it."

"I realize that I may be over matched in trying to save some small corner of the world. I have no degree in psychology or sociology. I've never worked in any kind of setting where behavior modification was the goal or concern, and in this situation you have so many issues working against you including some very negative business interests with drug trafficking and a powerful negative sphere of influence, I know it is going to be difficult, or someone else would have solved it by now," I state.

"I know this may seem over-whelming at first thought," added Fr. Spencer, "but I believe your tremendous athletic ability will be the ticket to acceptance in the black-top world most of these kids live in. It will be a challenge for you to fit in and for them to accept you, some or many may not, but we have to start by trying to save some of them, even one of them, at first. Every journey Jesus took began with that first step. This will be yours and mine. I promise to be with you every step of the way, “Father Spencer concluded.

"Father, I am most excited about this opportunity you have offered me. I don't expect it to be easy, but this is exactly the kind of challenge I have been looking for. This may be my chance to really make a difference somewhere, somehow. I hope it is. I have no delusions about my abilities or how difficult this task might be. It may be even better not to know how insurmountable it really is. If God has led YOU to this point, and the fact that I am even sitting here talking to you about it has moved the Holy Spirit in a remarkable way. I say let the pieces of this puzzle fall into place. I will be part of the way, not get in the way," I reply."

"That's great," beamed Fr. Spencer. "We will begin tomorrow with our first meeting with two of my associates and Sergeant Jenkins of the Metro Police Youth Division. He will give us an overview of the "projects" we intend to target first. These are rough neighborhoods Bob, nothing like what we are used to. Danger and the potential for trouble exist all the time. For many of these kids help is always too late where the police are involved. They can't help but arrive at the scene of the accident. I believe only we can be there BEFORE there is trouble. Sergeant Jenkins can be a big help to give us background on the "players" in the "hood", so to speak, and he can help us spot the preliminary signs of potential trouble."

Father Spencer continues. "Jenkins has photos of the "trouble makers" in the area that can help you be on guard a little more when you see them around, that sort of thing. He has also been given all the support he needs from the Mayor's Office to assist us in any way he can. The Mayor has been a big help up to this point and totally supportive. This plan has been kept under wraps for the most part up to this point. We don't need a nosey Press blowing any chance we may have for success just for them to get some scoop or story line. These problems are beyond hype and who gets credit. It is time for someone to start coming up with some solutions not just fund another government program. Twenty-five plus years of that is enough."

Father Spencer rose from his chair behind the desk. I rise to meet him sensing that our meeting was over.

"Plan on meeting back here at 8am tomorrow morning and we'll walk over to the meeting together," Said Fr. Spencer as we moved toward the office door. "Another student, Ben Murphy, is waiting outside to show you over to Miles Hall where you'll live. You should be very comfortable there. Good central location and probably the best food on campus. Ben will be graduating this year... one of the best students we have had. I don't want you to get the impression that I am prejudice or anything, just because he IS my nephew," beamed Father. You could sense there was great love and pride here.

In the reception area was this big strapping man, all 6 foot-five inches and easily 260 pounds. He could have passed for the late Dan Blocker from Bonanza fame. A big broad grin stretched across his face as he saw his "Uncle" Spencer. They hugged as Ben was nearly a foot taller then his "Uncle". This was going to take some getting-use-to, for sure.

Ben took me over to Miles Hall to get settled in. There was no problem with Ben able to carry more than his share of my bags into my assigned room. The room was much bigger than I could have hoped for. The room measured ten feet by 16 feet and was nicely appointed with walnut furniture, single bed with a bookcase built into the headboard, a large 7 drawer desk and two large leather overstuffed chairs. A refrigerator was tucked into the corner along with a small apartment-size electric range. A round 48 inch pedestal table was centered among 4 chairs. A small sink was found to the left of the stove. Little did I know that the most useful of these items were going to be the "frig" and the bed. I was going to be much to busy to think of entertaining, let alone do any.

Chapter 21 of 47 The Dreamers BOB LOLLAR

2009-10-15T15:49:00.000-07:00

Chapter 21 The Dreamers BOB LOLLAR

I arrive in Chicago, rented a car, and drive out to the campus for my 10AM interview on Wednesday. I have always been a confident person, but I still felt a little fear and trepidation as I realized that rejection could be just as well at hand as acceptance. I know that this was quite different from sports and athletic reputation. I know I will need all the Divine Intervention that is available.

As I make my way along the sidewalks of the campus I am most impressed with the impeccable care taken of the stately, ivy-covered brick buildings, tastefully flowered grounds, and the cleanly cut grass. It was clear that no one took short-cuts off the sidewalks here. This was a special place. I could not help but notice that everyone who was walking the campus walked at a calm but business-like pace. Certainly not running like a normal college campus with numerous students late for class. This was indeed, different.

I climbed the steps to the administration building for my appointment with the Dean, Father Spencer. Father Spencer has been the Dean at Moody for over 23 years. Most people could not tell you who his predecessor was; he had been there so long. “Father” was the title he affectionately earned.

Father Spencer came out of his office as I had been announced by telephone by the receptionist, Ms. Miller. Father Spencer was a short man, but well built, not the least of which portly or seemingly out of shape. He was well tanned with shortly cut hair in the old Princeton style. He came up to me with his hand extended and a warm smile. As I rose to greet Father Spencer he extended his hand to shake. Father Spencer took his left hand and clasped it warmly on the outside of mine.

"Bob", said Father Spencer, "it is so nice to finally get to meet you. I feel like I know you well already after going over all of the glowing recommendations sent to me on your behalf. I don't believe that I have ever had someone come here as highly recommended as you."

"Father," I returned, "it is very nice to meet you and finally be given the opportunity to attend your school. It is a great honor and privilege that I hope I can live up to."

"Bob, come into the office and have a seat," said Fr. Spencer. "Ms. Miller, hold all of my calls."

I preceded Fr. Spencer into a beautiful old office. The walls were all old mahogany inlay with columns and columns of built-in bookcases all the way to the nine foot ceilings. I thought to myself that this place could qualify for a mini-library in any small town, USA. I was kind of frozen in place as I scanned the entire room. I felt a presence in the room that was uncommon to me. I could only describe it as warmness, peacefulness, a comforting calmness that was most comfortable. It felt good to be in such an environment I thought.

Fr. Spencer and I exchanged thoughts on my life experiences, what the Moody experience would be like, and what my expectations might be. Then Fr. Spencer made a startling offer that took me quite by surprise.

"Bob," said Fr. Spencer with a most serious look on his face and tone in his voice. "As you are well aware all cities and towns across America are having a terrible problem with youth unrest. In many locations the term unrest is an understatement, to say the least," he continued. "Gangs, violence, drugs, and even murder are all too familiar to too many of these young people. They appear to be trapped by their own foolishness, laziness, greed, lack of respect for goals, adults, academic pursuits, themselves, and the church. There lack of respectable adult supervision and available positive role models only make the problems grow quicker and more become even more destructive."

Father Spencer became pensive for a brief minute as he collected his thoughts. He knew the task he was about to present to me was precedent setting for the Institute, but he had prayed long and hard about it for over a year. He was only waiting for God to supply the right vessel that might be the key to possible success.

I was not sure what was about to come but I had no special apprehension about Fr. Spencer or what he might be leading up to. He sat calmly with his legs crossed and his hands resting comfortably in his lap.

"Bob", continued Fr. Spencer, I want you to head up a special "Youth-Gang-Outreach-Program through the Institute. It will account for 8-credit hours each semester you participate out of the sixteen total hours you will carry. There will be no set curriculum that we will be adhering to. The beginning will be a visitation/outreach program with the cornerstone a "blacktop-ministry" initiative. Our initial goals are:

1. Establish an open line of communication between any of the youths that will let us in.

2. Profile them, their families, and determine what personal needs they have.

3.) Determine any level of danger they might be in either at home or at school.

4.) Identify any negative influences in their lives and work to eliminate them with the assistance of the office of Catholic Family Services, State Department of Youth, Youth Division of the Metro Police, and others.

5.) Help establish a positive home environment or assistance in re-location to a "positive" family unit."

"I know this is very brief and some what sketchy at this point," continued Fr. Spencer, "but you get the main idea. I have felt strongly for a long time that the failure here is not the government or necessarily the public schools, but the family and us heading up the Church. We in the Church may be the biggest failure of all. We, like the teacher's union have become too political and self-serving."

Father Spencer continued, "The teachers have taken care of themselves financially, but in reality done nothing to improve the quality of education or raise the students academic standards. Their liberal social agenda of condoms in the schools may be the most damaging of all. And, we in the Church have done little of the church's original mission of taking care of the widows and orphans. This may not be the original definition of orphans, but it sure qualifies in the "90's," he concluded.

Chapter 20 of 47 The Dreamers

2009-10-15T15:48:00.000-07:00

Chapter 20 The Dreamers

Friday was here, the day Bob Lollar was coming home for a 2-week visit. The team had started out the season with all wins and was higher than a kite. The Tavys were back together, Gloria and I were getting along well, to say the least. We were all beginning to wonder about the Becky/Bolton connection.

The Lollars, including Becky, were so looking forward to seeing Bob again. Hoping to find out just exactly WHAT his plans are for the near future. Bob was being flown in by Flight School friend, Jake Murphy, who was originally from Boston. He was commandeering a military jet for some needed air time and was putting it to good use bringing Bob home to Hartford.

Bob and Jake drove down in a rental car so Jake could get back to Bradley Airport and Boston later that afternoon after lunch. Mary and Gus kept going to the front door what seemed like every five minutes since 10 AM. It was now 11:45 and the rented Lincoln pulled in the driveway. They ran to the car as the screen storm door banged against the frame.

"Bobby, Bobby,” shouted Mary with Gus trailing right behind her. She threw her arms around his neck as he barely made it out to the passenger seat and seemed to squeeze the life out of him.

"Mom, Mom," said Bob laughing. "I'm going to be home for two weeks...if you let me breathe, that is."

Mary started laughing as tear streamed down her face as she caressed Bob's cheeks with her thin little fingers. God, I thought, does she love that boy or what? Gus moved in giving Bob a firm pat on the back, then squeezing the top-back of his shoulder blades. "It's good to have you home son," said Gus. "We sure miss you around here."

I moved slowly down to the car while this as a going on. "You must be Bill," said Bob as he extended his hand and gave me a firm welcome. "It's good to finally meet you," Bob added. "I'd like for you all to meet Jake Murphy."

Jake moved around the car removing Bob's luggage and placing part of it on the driveway. "How ya doin," said Jake to everyone, and no one in particular. "Guess you happy to see this lug of a Pilot, or what," said Jake? That was the understatement of the year.

"Let's go inside," said Mary. "Lunch is already and we can talk as we eat. Bill and Gus need to get to the ball park soon, anyway," she added, taking charge.

We moved into the house and kitchen began positioning ourselves around the table. It immediately became apparent the for the next two weeks this table was going to be about 3 feet too short with all the company about to descend upon the Lollar house hold to experience the "great return" of Bob Lollar, star athlete/officer pilot. As if the events of this last week had not been enough, already.

Bolton and Becky came into the kitchen with Becky giving her brother a big hug. "Oh, Bob, it is so good to have you home,” said Becky warmly. "Seems like I haven't seen you in years, not just the 9 months it has been," she added.

"Nice to see you to, Sis," said Bob right back. "It is so good to be home again."

We all sat down and began filling the room with small talk, Gus next to Bob, constantly rubbing his shoulder, his way of showing the deep affection he had for his son. You could sense the love and how much he truly missed Bob being gone.

Mary finished putting items for lunch on the table as we began to eat. "Bob, would you say Grace for us," asked Mary?

"Sure Mom," said Bob. "Dear Lord, thank you for bringing us all together again today. Bless this food and all who partake of it. Give us strength to face our futures and the opportunities ahead. Help us care for one another and remember how important family and friends are to all of us. We ask for you blessing in the name of our Lord, Jesus Christ, AMEN," concluded Bob.

Wow, I thought to myself. I never heard any young person pray like that with such conviction and sincerity. I knew then that Bob Lollar was a complicated person, not just some Bible-thumping loony. He looked at me from across the table and gave me a broad, warm grin. I was thinking of him like he as an older brother who had always totally mesmerized a younger sibling. This WAS going to be very interesting, very much so.

Bob filled in everyone as to his plans over lunch. "I've already enrolled at Moody Bible Institute in Chicago for September and am definitely headed for a career in the Ministry," stated Bob.

"Mom and Dad," continued Bob, "I know this may be of some surprise to you, but I never felt more positive about anything in my life. The Lord seems to be telling that he wants me to work with kids somehow, those in trouble at school and with the law. I don't know. I'm not sure what the Master Plan is, but it just feels so right," he concluded.

"Son, were proud of you," said Mary. "You have always succeeded at what you did and were totally committed to it all. If you feel that God has called you to do this, you HAVE to do it. You can always count on our support. The Family will always be here. Remember that."

"That's right, Son," said Gus. "We'll be here if you need us. We'll miss you, but you can be sure we'll be out to "Cub-Land", won't we Bill," said Gus as he was trying to secure me as his Chicago Tour Guide well in advance. That Tour Guide was definitely ME.

"No problem," I chirped in. "Couldn't have you Connecticut Crackers getting lost in the Windy City, now could I. I might even take you to see Wrigley Field, the most beautiful ball park God ever built." Bob smiled at my weak attempt at religious humor.

Geez, I thought, maybe God doesn't even like baseball. Maybe HE thinks it is just another stupid, time wasting, man-made human experience. Maybe HE has Bob doing what is important and gave us this game to keep us somewhat preoccupied so as not to do more damage to ourselves than we already have. What do I know? Such philosophical thought is well beyond me at this point.

"I suppose you think there is Ivy on the walls of heaven as well?" asked Bob with a big grin. "Maybe God prefers the Beautiful Facade of Monarch Stadium. They’ve have certainly won more World Series than the Cubs, I believe. I might be lead to think that maybe God as spent MORE time in Monarch Stadium than in Wrigley Field, or at the very least, sent a lot of Angels to look out for the Yanks. God knows they have had some characters playing for them who need some Devine Intervention."

Don't ask me if God cares who really wins the games, though," said Bob. "I am really curious about the issue of "free will" and trying to understand just how much the great theological scholars believe God manipulates our live for his purposes. I'm not convinced he is a manipulative God. The devil, on the other hand, is quite another story," added Bob with great conviction.

The room had grown sullen and quite and the conversation took this serious turn. Bob could tell we were all being taken aback by his remarks.

"I'm sorry," said Bob sheepishly as he looked around the table at everyone. "I didn't mean to go off the deep end. It is just that the intellectual side to this issue is as interesting as the spiritual side, to me anyway, I won't bore you any more," he added.

"It's O.K., Son," said Gus, breaking the ice for all of us. "Don't mind us; it will just take us some time to get used to having Preacher in the house, that's all. We could probably all use it."

Gus was right about that statement I thought. No truer words were ever spoken.

"O.K.,” said Bob. "What does everyone have planned for today? What would you like for me to do?"

The room began to start buzzing again with chatter. Back to normal, at last.

Plans were made for Bob and Jake to come to the 5 O’clock game tonight, but Jake had to be in the air by 9PM, meaning he might get to see 5 or 6 innings before he left for Hartford and Boston. Bob insisted he take Jake back to Bradley. Jake tried to talk him out of it get him to stay with the family, but Bob insisted that after all Jake had done to get Bob home it was the least he could do. Bob, as usual, won the argument.

"Bill, let's you and I go for a walk," announced Bob. "I want to go down and see old man Bolling’s at the Sports Locker and say Hi. What do you say?"

"Sure, that’s fine with me," I reply. "I hear he is a great guy, older that some of the dirt around here."

"Mom, Dad, Bill and I will be back in about an hour, O.K., asked Bob seeking approval more that permission?

"Go ahead Son,” replied Gus. "Take your time. George will be glad to see you, I know."

Bob and I head out as Jake moves into a lawn chair in the front yard with a glass of Mary's lemonade and the New York Times. "I'll guard the fort while you’re gone Bob, if I can stay awake that long," added Jake.

"No problem," said Bob. "You've got to be exhausted after this past week you put in."

As we began our walk Bob told me about Jake. "He has flown over 60 hours this past week with training and some classified air time," said Bob. I don’t know what it was about only that my "Secret" security clearance was not enough to let me know what Jake's "Top Secret" missions had been.

"Jake is as close to a "Top Gun" as I will ever meet," added Bob. "It must be somewhat exciting for Jake, but Jake had made it clear that he couldn't and wouldn't start a family until THIS part of his career was over. Jake didn't want a wife and his kids to go fatherless and husband-less some day. He had seen enough of that. Jake is a real Class act. Most people would be more selfish than that."

We moved done the driveway and hit the sidewalk. Bob continued the conversation.

"I talked to Mom last night," began Bob. "I wanted to talk to you about Gloria now that Mom has told me the two of you are getting along pretty well, getting close and all."

I couldn't tell right away if this conversation was headed for trouble or not. Was he going to be mad at me for moving in on HIS territory and HIS girl? Or, did he not care? I was feeling somewhat uneasy and very apprehensive.

Bob continued. "I want you to know that I am very happy you and Gloria are together. I hope it works out for you."

Thank God, I thought to myself, trying not to let my relief be noticeable. Dodged a potential Scud Missile there I knew.

"I care for Gloria very much," added Bob "but, it just never seemed to be in the cards for us. I don't know why. I never really understood how we just could never make that final push or commitment to each other. I know it is probably my fault. I have never been real good at showing real affection in a man/woman relationship sort of way. I know I care, it is just that the physical part is hard for me."

You could tell Bob was very serious and sincere in what he said.

"I began to guess that maybe that is what God really intended for me, anyway," stated Bob matter-of-factly. "The scripture states that he knows us in the womb. Seems unbelievable doesn't it. That someone could know you before you are even born, take a breath, open you eyes. That seems far-fetched to a lot of people.

Bob continues, "The real truth is that this country has truly lost it spiritual and moral conscience, convictions, and most all its' leadership. That is the legacy we must all live with," concluded Bob with much sadness in his voice. "The truth is," added Bob, "that there are a lot of Church-Goers in this country, but a very low percentage of real Christians. How sad is that?"

You could tell how much he was hurt by America’s lack of spirituality and how deeply moved he was to talk about it and do something about it, if he could. This guy was certainly wiser that his years would indicate. Bob was a most interesting person. Being a friend to him would be a challenge for sure.

Here was a guy truly wanting to tackle the issues of today and I'm more worried about going 2 for 5 tonight's game. Boy, did I have some priorities to rearrange in my life. It would just have to be later.

For what ever reasons Bob Lollar had, he seemed to have a handle on where be believed his life direction was supposed to be. Whether he was feeling the true "Devine Inspiration" that seems to be the motivating force in one's choosing the ministry as a career, or more as a way of life, only Bob can know for sure. There was no doubt he was committed.

I felt happy for him in that he was now at peace with himself about it and seemed to put his recruiting nightmare behind him. He seemed to have made that conscience decision to turn a negative into a positive.

"Hey, Bill, " shot Bob, "what about you? You are still some kind of a mystery man to most of us. Tell me about your family and how you made your way to the Nutmeg state."

"Not too much to tell," I responded. Grew up in a medium sized town west of Chicago called Hastings Mills, Illinois. The town was mostly a blue collar community with the Chicago, Burlington, and Quincy Railroad having a terminal and a Round House there for heavy maintenance work. The town had about 50,000 people in, but now it has more than doubled that number. It now has the same serious problems any large city in the country has," I added.

“My Dad suffered from the complications of Polio when I was seven. He spent the last year at home in a rocking-bed since there was no more they could do with a prolonged hospital stay. He had spent a long time in an Iron Lung to help him breathe," I began. "I remember spending hours and hours at the hospital when I was four or five just visiting my Dad. I know I couldn't understand what had happened or what was wrong with my Dad. I remember sitting at the head of his Iron Lung just stroking his hair and listening to music with him, kind of like a D.J. would play records on the radio. Dad was a big Jazz fan. I have kept a number of his of 78's he had in his collection. Many of the area radio stations who heard of my Dad being one of the first totally paralyzed polio victims would send him free copies of albums they got from record labels. Those, a black and white Admiral 17" T.V. and some Friday night Pinochle games were his only sources of entertainment."

"I don't ever remember my Dad being depressed or overly sad about his situation," I added. "I remember as a kid trying to convince him that he "could move" if he would just "try a little harder". He would always try for me because he knew it was impossible for a young boy to understand anything like this. He seemed to be a very positive person. He spent time in Korea during the war in the Army. Was working in a gas station and worked learning to repair television when he was stricken."

"It must have been difficult for your Mom," offered Bob, "a young family now with no real Father. How did your Mom do it?"

"She couldn't," I responded. "Mom never finished High School so her income/job opportunities were severely limited. She never earned more than a dollar an hour and I remember one job she had washing dishes at a small manufacturing company around the corner from our house in which she earned fifty-cents an hour. Her parents moved in with us and took care of all of the financial obligations while Mom just became a full time house wife again.

Vyra and Joe helped us keep a small, manufacturing business that did fairly well and kept us all very comfortable. Many other family members worked in the business as well, so the business was important to a lot of us related to the Alcorn family. Without the business things would have been quite different for me and my two sisters, that’s for sure."

"My senior year in high school my dad, mom, and my two sisters were killed by a drunk driver. One of those times life seems to make no sense…no sense at all. Even though I had some bonus offers to play baseball I had to stay home and do my best to keep the family business going. There were many middle class families counting on our company. I was lucky, though, in that I was given a "second chance" this time with the Monarchs as they spotted me at one of their open try-out camps. I was afraid I was never going to get to see if I had what it took to play in "the Show". I am not about to blow THIS opportunity," I concluded with great conviction.

"I'm sure you'll do it, Bill," said Bob with a convincing smile. "You seem like the kind of person who is committed and gets the job done. You'll make it. I'm sure of that. Dad thinks you're the real thing. He has never been wrong about a ball player that I know of. He spots the flakes right away. I don't know what he "sees", but he does have a sense about talent. But, in your case, not many people give up "their" dream and make the potential sacrifice you did for your family. I'm impressed. People like you deserve a "second chance".

Bob continued. "I just wanted to tell you that I am fine with you and Gloria. I am real happy for you and want only for Gloria to be happy, have a family, and have her dreams fulfilled by some guy who will love her and treat her right. You could be that guy, if you wanted to...if she wants you to. I just hope it works out for you two. Besides, it then gets me off the hook for some to the dumber stuff I did and the smarter stuff I failed to do," added Bob with a big grin and smile that broke in to a laugh. God knows I will always feel a little bit remorseful about our relationship. But, that is history."

We had made our way to Bolling’s Sporting Good and stopped out front as Bob just gazed a the store-front for a moment. he remarked at how, as a small boy, how big the store seemed to him and how many hours he had spent choosing balls, wooden baseball bats, and trying on ever Rawlings, Wilson, McGregor, and Spaulding glove at least a hundred times. They almost got worn out just sitting on the shelf he thought. What a charmed childhood he realized he had.

"I've made plans to go out to Moody Bible next week," said Bob. "My previous post Chaplain, Father Malone, has made arrangements and sent a letter of recommendation on my behalf. It is not going to be easy to get accepted since I am going about it in a rather unorthodox manner, but a positive result is all that ultimately matters to me. I hope that the people making the decisions have an open mind and an open heart."

Chapter 19 of 47 The Dreamers

2009-10-15T15:47:00.000-07:00

Chapter 19 The Dreamers

I wish you luck,” I say to Chris as she sits quietly in the car seat. We were sitting in the player’s lot at the ball bark. It was about 5:15pm and we could see Jon’s car in the lot. I told Jocko who was with me so Chris would have not problem getting through the player’s entrance.

She gets out of the car and turns to look at me through the passenger window. “What are you waiting for,” she asks?

“Maybe I should just wait here,” I offer sheepishly? Chris sports a big grin.

“I don’t’ think so slugger,” she adds with a smile. “If I need a ride to the morgue you can help carry the body out, unless it is your body and I’ll help the players carry YOU out.”

“Very funny,” I add. “Now you’re a comedian?”

“Yes, a very nervous comedian!” “Come on let’s go,” she adds.

We made our way up the corridor leading into the lounge before the locker room. As we get there I see Beth Mason standing there almost like she was waiting for us. She tells us Dave called her and told her what was going on. She gave Chris a warm hung and reaffirmed that she and Jon were just friends, nothing more, and that Beth was so glad she decided to come. She told us to wait here and she would go get Jon, jut telling him someone was here to see him. She left and went into the locker room, whether she embarrassed anyone or not. I guessed everyone was dressed as not major noised came out form behind the doors.

We waited a few minutes and heard steps coming toward the double-spring loaded doors. Jon comes through. Chris is sitting off to the side and Jon sees me first. He looks at me and I look at him. I then motion over to the arm chair where Chris is sitting. He stands their dumbfounded for a moment. Chris rises from the chair. He stands there like he is frozen, but I can tell he is not as tears begin rolling down his face. Chris smiles at him and rushes over to him and throws her arms around his neck as they embrace and kiss like a sailor just getting off his ship with his best girl waiting for him. They stop as he puts both of his huge hands on the side of her face, tears still evident as he looks into her eyes. Her eyes are now filled with tears as well. They kiss warmly again.

I leave them there as it was clear they didn’t need my help anymore. Whew, not trip to the morgue. What a relief.

When I finally show up for the game, Jon just smiles at me in the locker room. That was a major accomplishment. I guess Jon was really a man of few words.

We win our 7th game in a row. 6 to 4 and the New Bedford Owls make us work a little harder. Jon goes 2 for 4 with 2 doubles, one to right and one to left. I go 3 for 5 with another 2-run homer, and Reggie Bonds hit one homerun and is intentionally walked 3 times, but Jon made them pay for two of them, so who cared. Jon was constantly looking into the stands all night. I guess he thought it might have been a dream or a mirage. Chris’s being here was certainly not. Bolton kept giving me this goofy grin all game long. Man, was he wacked.

I woke up the next morning to the sound of happy conversation coming from the kitchen. Mary had made up the study for me as my new bedroom since Bob would be home. It would take me a week to get over this week I thought. We had another game tonight at 7:30pm. Gus told me Dick would be at the ballpark before 3pm if I wanted some extra hitting. I told him I was passing today. I mistakenly walk right into the bath room with out knocking and a screech comes out like I’ve never heard before. It was Becky and I apologized for my lack of manners, profusely. She was a pretty little thing, just like I’ll bet Mary was when she was young. Perfect skin, dark brown hair cut short, gently curving around her face. She needed no makeup for sure.

“Listen, Bill,” she said, matter of factly. “Honestly you are just like Bob and Gus, just barging in to the bath room with out knocking. You men are all alike she said with a sweet smile and ear-to-ear grin. Now get out and let me get beautiful, will you?”

I try and save myself by telling her she already is, but she isn’t buying it, I don’t think. She gives me a kiss on the cheek and pushes me back out the door, locking it this time.

I finally get to shower and shave, dress and head out to the kitchen, finally.

“Good morning, Bill,” says Mary. How is our world traveler today?”

“I’m doing well today,” I reply. “My last recollection is that all went well last night at the game and with Chris and Jon. Bolton comes in the back door, much to my surprise.

Dave, what are you doing here,” I ask? He doesn’t even see me and goes right over to Becky and give her a kiss on the cheek.

“Well, I’ll be,” I state in total shock. “How long as this been going on,” as Becky has her arms around him and her cheek resting in his chest?

“Not long enough,” said Dave with great determination.

“Enough you two, sit down and have some breakfast,” which Dave does immediately as he takes a place right next to me and jabs my right arm with his left, pretty hard. He has a smile as wide as a football field and he just stole the other team’s playbook. What a piece of work I thought.

Becky poured everyone some juice as Mary bought pancakes to the table. Dave, of course, was the first to dig in. Becky came and sat right next to him at the table. Gus just shook his head, but we all knew that he really like Bolton. There was a lot of Gus Lollar in Dave Bolton. Maybe that was what Becky saw in Dave. I realized that I was happy for them. Becky might be just the thing for Dave, a real grounding influence. Maybe opposites do attract after all. I thought.

I told everyone that I had put Chris and Jon up at the Marriott last night and had a limo at their disposal for last night and today, but I was drawing the line after that. It was strictly going to be Dutch treat for them from now on.

I know I got a decent signing bonus, but enough was enough.

Chapter 18 of 47 The Dreamers

2009-10-15T15:45:00.000-07:00

Chapter 18 The Dreamers

“Come on in, Mom,” said Chris trying to hold back as much surprise as she could. “What are you doing out so early?” Her Mom came in and set down two, tall, but slender boxes on the floor.

Liz Milton moved toward her daughter and grabbed each the other with their hands at the upper arms and faked kisses by brushing each side of their cheeks against one another. How’s Rodeo Drive I thought.

“I could be asking the same of you,” questioned Liz. “Oh, I didn’t realize you had company.”

“Mom, this is Bill Alan and Gloria James from Connecticut,” said Chris. “They’ve come out to see me from Connecticut.

“That’s nice,” answered Liz half heartedly. “Where’s Doug?”

“He’s off to work already. Some important meeting or something,” Chris continued.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming out to see Doug and you could have made this trip for me,” asked her Mom? “I hate getting up this early.”

“You are a very handsome couple,” compliments Liz Milton. “Have you been married long?”

“We’re not married,” Mrs. Milton. “Just very close friends,” I add.

“Chris, you should have called me,” said Chris’s Mom, still upset at having to get up so early.

“I didn’t know until yesterday,” said Chris. “Bill and Gloria came to talk to me a about Jon.”

“What about Jon?” “Is he alright,” asks Mrs. Milton?

“Yes, Maam, he is fine. I play with Jon on the Monarchs team in Connecticut,” I add.

“Oh, another ball player,” she adds. “I’ll bet you’re good too, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” chirped in Gloria right a way. “He is and has really made a difference on the team already, they are 6 and 0.” Gloria is beaming.

“That’s nice,” said Liz Milton. “I’ve never been one much for sports. Too sweaty I think. Too barbaric for me.”

“Mother, listen, this whole thing with Jon is just a big mistake. I should have believed him,” stated Chris. “Bill and Gloria came out to tell me that the phone calls and letters were all lies about Jon just to get back at him for that college prank thing with his sister Cheryl. He was telling me the truth all the time. He was not going out with that Beth girl at all.”

“You’re kidding,” said Liz Milton with a real tone of amazement in her voice. “Well I have to admit I believed it all along myself. I guess I wasn’t being very fair either. I wanted Chris to marry some lawyer not traveling baseball player, although some of them do make quite good money, don’t they,” asked Liz?

“Yes Maam, we can,” I add, “but you can’t think about the money while you’re playing. It will make you crazy. You just need to play and the money will take care of itself.”

“I guess that makes sense,” said Liz. “How long are you out here for?”

“We need to get to the airport for a 6:40am flight back as I have a game tonight,” I add.

“You came out here all this way for one day just for Chris and Jon’s sake,” Liz said quite amazed. “Well, I am impressed.”

“Thanks,” said Gloria knowing that Chris had just saved her a ton of embarrassment by not spilling all the beans. “It was important for this to be done and fixed. I…we were glad to do it, weren’t be Bill?”

“Yes we were,” I add with a big smile to Gloria.

“Well, what are your plans now,” asks Liz?

“We need a ride to the Airport and I guess Chris needs to make some plans to come out to Connecticut as soon as she can, I guess,” I offer. “Don’t you think, Chris? Can you give us a lift?”

“I wish I could come today,” she said with great excitement. “Mom, could you watch the baby for me?”

“Sure I could,” offered Liz Milton. “But I have a better idea if I can convince Gloria?”

“What is that Mrs. Milton,” asks Gloria with great curiosity?

“Gloria why don’t you stay our here for a couple of days, we can do girl stuff together. Have you been to California before,” Liz asks?

“No,” said Gloria wondering what she was about to get into?

“Chris why don’t you fly back with Bill and I’ll be happy to buy Gloria a ticket and send her back on, say, Friday.” She turns to Gloria. “I’ll take you downtown and show you where all the upper-crust shops and I know some swell easting places. You can stay out at our house. It will be fun. What do you say,” she asks as if this is the plan of the century?

“Would you be willing to do that for me, Gloria,” asks Chris? “It would really mean a lot to me.”

“Yes, why not,” said Gloria knowing that was the least she could do for all the trouble she had caused. “It would be fun to stay out here for a couple of days.”

“Gloria, thank you,” said Chris and she when over and they embraced warmly. “Thank you so much. I hope we get to be great friends.”

“Me to,” replied Gloria. “Me to.”

“Well that’s settled,” said Mrs. Milton. “Move those lamp boxes over to the plants over there, will you Bill,” she asks? Doug can deal with them when he gets home. Now you two go get your things as we have stuff to go, and Chris, you and bill have a plane to catch.”

With that Gloria and I go fetch our things. I reach into my wallet and take out 10-one hundred dollar bills and give them to Gloria. She is shocked and refuses them at first. I remind her that she just might need some money traveling with “Mrs. Rockefeller” and that I did not feel right leaving her here with little or no money, and besides I said it is really a bribe to make sure she came back to Connecticut. She kisses me warmly and puts the money in her purses.

“Billy, thanks,” Gloria offers warmly. “I do love you, ya know.”

She head out with Liz and puts her bag in the trunk as Chris grabs mine and throws it in the back seat of her Saab. I go over to Gloria and give her a warm, tender kiss, reminding her to have a nice vacation. I told her to take advantage of her good fortune, but I expected to see her on Friday or Saturday at the latest. She agreed and kissed me warmly again.

“Have fun at the Lollars and have a great rest of the week,” she adds. “Tell Dave Bolton thanks for me, will you,” she asks?

“No problem,” I reply. “See you soon.”

With that Chris checks Doug’s front door and make sure it is locked and we follow Liz Martin’s Mercedes down the drive and out onto the road. We can see she and Gloria are just chatting away. Chris said that Mom would have Gloria knowing where all the stars lived and show her the time of her life. I just might not see Gloria again she kidded. That I assured her would not be funny. I think she already knew that.

Chris said that they would probably end up back here at Doug’s place for part of one the days to help him decorate. Liz seems to think that most men are decorating-challenged. I think most are I thought.

Chris called the University and told someone about her plans and asked them to reschedule her events through Friday. They seemingly agreed as she hung-up quickly.

This whole trip was turning out better than I could have ever hoped. We still had a big hurdle with Jon, but how could he ever be mad over this turn of events? I thought to myself that I would be glad when today’s over and I know Gloria and I are finally in the clear. I would know by the time tonight’s game started, that was for sure.

Chris called Doug on his cell phone and told him of the remarkable change in plans. She also let him know about the lamps Mom had brought out to the house and how all ended well with her, surprisingly. He was surprised as well.
He said he would try and make sure Mom didn’t drive Gloria totally crazy. I was more worried abut the look Doug gave Gloria at the airport. Who needs all these complications and worries, I thought. Don’t these people know I’ve go ball games to win? Really important stuff! Really!

The ride to the airport was one of the most excruciating trips I had known. Just when Gloria and I had come to an understanding of our true feelings about each other, we were separated. I was disappointed to say the least, even though I knew it was for a good cause. If I had been driving I would have probably chased Gloria and Liz down and called the whole thing off. It is a good think I was the passenger.

“Bill, are you alright,” asked Chris? “It’s you and Gloria, isn’t it?”

“It’s OK,” I reply in a somewhat rejected tone. “It’s just that…well…we…we’ve just begun to be totally honest with each other. With all the Lollar baggage that has come with this relationship I guess were doing quite well for knowing each other for all of less than a month.”

“Getting Gloria to come out here was a big step for her,” I add. “I hope you know that.” “It was important for you and Jon, and just as important for Gloria to make this right, own up to her mistake.”

“Bill, do you want to go get her,” Chris offers? “I can turn this Swedish machine on and we can catch them, if you want?”

“No, Chris,” I offer emphatically, “that is not necessary. This is your day, Jon’s day. It is important for this to be done now. I’ll see Gloria on Friday or Saturday. I’m fine.”

Chris is quiet for a moment. I can’t imagine all the things going on in her head, Jon, the baby, her Mom and Dad, school? This had to be tough on her too, but a very exciting time a well to put all of their lives back together.

“Bill, I do love Jon very much,” she started. “I never really stopped loving him. Not seeing him seemed like the right thing to do, but it still hurt. The baby is his too, you know. I jumped back into school so fast, mostly to fill my time and try and help me forget about it. How could I? Baseball kept him captive so there was not much he could do about coming out here to see me, either. Maybe he thought it was futile coming out here after how I talked to him. I don’t know?”

“I wish I knew how he was going to react when he sees the two of us when we get back,” I asked? “I know he has no clue what Gloria and I have been up to. He might have been very mad at me sticking my nose in his business.”

“Bill, the worst thing that can happen is that he can tell me to catch the next plane back to California,” said Chris as a point of fact. “If he did we wouldn’t be any worse off than we are right now. I really don’t see that happening. He was really hurt by want I did and by what Gloria did. I think he stills loves me and wants to be a part of our lives, me and the baby. It would be worse to sit here and wonder, what if?”

We arrived at the airport with little time to spare and rush through the terminal to our gate. We had just 10 minutes to spare. That was cutting it way to close. We did make it. That was all that mattered.

As we sat in our seats I called the Lollar’s home to check in.

“Hello,” said the voice at the other end. It was Mary.

“Mary, this is Bill, I’m calling from California!”

“Billy, what are you doing in California,” with great surprise in her voice? “You’ve got a game tonight, you know! Bill, what’s going on?”

“I’ll fill you in when I get back. Is Dave there by any chance?”

“Why yes he is. He and Becky are sitting right here at the kitchen table having breakfast,” she added. I forgot it was 9am there.

“Can I talk to Dave, Mary,” I ask? She agrees and hands the phone to Dave.

Dave answers, “Billy you better get back here on time. Is everything alright?”

“Everything is great. I have Chris Tavy with me right now; she is flying back with me on Gloria’s ticket. So far so good. Is Ben still on to pick us up at LaGuardia,” I ask?

“Ya, I talked to him already today. I’ll call him again when were done just to reconfirm with him your still on time. That was nice you giving him a little something for his trouble, too bad he lost most of it to me in the card game.”

“I told him not to do that,” I said laughing. “You guys.”

“Listen, I’ve go to go as we are about to taxi out for take off. Find out where Jon is going to be about 5-6 tonight so we can drop this bomb on him when we get back, OK?”

“No problem,” says Dave. “See you soon.”

With that we both hang up. Chris asks if everything is OK and I assure her it is. I apologize to Chris for being so tired after spending a night in Doug’s recliner listening to music. She understands and tells me to sleep as much as I need. She brought the nicest leather attaché I had ever seen and began looking at some paper she brought with her. I felt relaxed and relieved at how this had worked out. As we got airborne I fell fast asleep and didn’t wake up until we were two hours from NYC. I slept through the noon meal and everything. The flight attendant came back when she saw I was awake and asked me if I would like my meal now. I thanked her and said that would be very nice as I was starving. Chris just smiled at me. She just went back to her papers. We had about three hours until D Day.

Chapter 17 of 47 The Dreamers

2009-10-15T15:44:00.000-07:00

Chapter 17 The Dreamers

Dave’s friend was standing by the Cessna at the city airport at 8:30PM. I couldn’t believe we were really doing this red-eye flight... He said it would be alright to leave my car there as it was locked at night. The pilot, Ben Bozutto, said that when we get in Tuesday he would be at La Guardia waiting for us right were he dropped us off. He has someone waiting for us who will drive up over to the TWA gate. Some service form a total stranger. He said that he and Dave had a little friendly card game planned for tonight. I reminded him to take it easy on Dave as minor league player didn’t make much money. He was quick to tell me that Dave had more his money than he did of Dave’s. He just hoped to get some of it back tonight.

I took an envelope out of my pocket and handed it to him. “No listen,” he said. “I can’t take this from one of Dave’s friends,”

“Yes you can,” I said. “I don’t expect you to be doing this just for the fun of it. This is a big help to us.”

Ben relents and stuffs the 5-one hundred dollar bills into his coat.

“Thanks,” he said with a grin. “I’ll try and not to give all of it to Bolton tonight.”

We get situated in the plane and latch our seat belts. We take off into a foggy early morning sky, but it was sure dark. All you could see was dim little flickers of lights on the ground as we headed out over Long Island Sound. This would be a big improvement of the 2 hour plus drive or taxi ride on Connecticut Limousine Service from New Haven. I told Ben if I ever made it to the NY Monarchs some tickets would be in his future. This sure beats driving.

We get to NY in plenty of time and find our seats in First Class with John, our flight attendant, helping us with our bags. He asked us if we would like something to drink before we took off, but he added they would be serving us breakfast once we were airborne. I told him we were fine for now.

Gloria got settled in as I found a copy of the fresh Monday NY Times as they made sure they were on the Red-Eye flights. Gloria was paging through the Sunday Times inserts left in the seat pouch; the Times Magazine Section and the Book Section. I found that the NY Monarchs lost another one, making it 4 in a row and the press was really hammering them for their sloppy play.

John offered each of us a book to read on the flight as he admitted that today’s Cheech and Chong Movie would probably not be our cup of tea. He apologized as he was not the one who picked it. Not much culture there I thought. I took the copy of “Presumed Innocent” by Scott Turow and a copy of the Sporting News of course. Gloria took “Bonfire of the Vanities” by Thomas Wolfe. I read that one and liked it very much. John remarked he seemed to prefer periodicals and that he was impressed we took books. Gloria remarked that she would have to read it to me and I was a “jock” and still had trouble with the bigger words, as she put it. He and she laughed. I didn’t. She told him I played for the AA Monarchs in Connecticut and that we were unbeaten. John said to look out as I might find myself in NY pretty soon, maybe even just swap whole teams. He thought the ones in NY now were playing more like minor leaguers anyway. He wished us well and said he’d be back with our breakfast after we got airborne.

We pushed back from the gate and made sure our seat belts were fastened. I leaned over to Gloria and gave her a kiss. We held hands as we taxied out to the runway. She placed her book in the pouch on the seat in front of her and just tried to relax.

The take off was smooth and I loved the sensation of climbing higher and higher, thinking of all the thrust it must take to get this big hunk of metal into the sky. I’m not sure that believe all the physics involved in making that happen, but I’m glad some pretty smart people figured it out.

Gloria looked out her window as the city looked magnificent from the air at this time of day. It looks so beautiful that sea of twinkling lights, row after row, obliterating the pain and anguish that many in a city this size feel everyday.

We moved across west New Jersey climbing to 28,000 feet. Gloria decided to try and catch a few winks. I grabbed the paper. The Monarchs had lost four in a row, three in a row to the Orioles after splitting a short two game opening series with the Red Sox. Billings had pitched a 7 hit shutout in their only win. The Sporting News was a week behind and had nothing on the opening week. It was still interesting to look at the predictions and what really transpired since opening day. Jean Dixon should have been a sports writer. She would have no better luck handicapping these teams. Everyday would be a humbling experience as those who picked the Monarchs to win it all and watch them fall under .500.

There was a short blurb on our team in the Eastern League section from Red Dodge:

Our team has the potential to contend for the title this year. Whether we live up to that time will tell. We have a good group of kids, including a surprise or two, and if we don’t lose too many players to the big club we could do quite well.

We’ll what do you know, I thought. Red thinks we just might have something. Cool! It would be tough on Red, I thought, to be leading the league at the All Star break and then loose players like Jones, Bond, Tavy, maybe even Meyers. Como, and Morse to close out some games. That could devastate our little City team. I knew George would waste no time if his team looked bad by early July, but still were not too far out of it. George had little patience for failure. The Next issue of The Sporting News would be interesting.

Gloria had fallen asleep. I went ahead and ate my breakfast and ordered some coffee and orange juice. I was alone again. Not really as I looked at this angel sitting next to me. She slept for almost 2 hours and woke up in time to have some breakfast. She still looked very tired, beautiful but tired.

It was a peaceful flight as we landed at LAX in Los Angeles. We retrieved our baggage from the overhead compartment and moved through the portable ramp linking us with the terminal gate. As we enter the TWA baggage carousel I spot a young looking man, tall, thin, with a receding hairline that doesn’t match his face. He is wearing jeans and a USC T shirt and boat shoes with no socks. He is holding a sign that says “Alan” on it. I take Gloria by the elbow and gently move her in Doug’s direction.

“Doug Milton,” I say just a little loudly, to get his attention. “I’m Bill Alan. This is Gloria James.”

“Good to meet you, Bill,” replies Doug, but hardly looking at me as Gloria as caught is full attention.

“Doug, I’m over here,” I state as dough finally makes eye contact with me. He reaches out to shake my hand.

“This is Gloria, Gloria James,” I repeat as Gloria reaches out her hand to Doug. “Gloria, I think this is Doug Milton, but be careful, this is Disneyland you know!”

She shakes his hand, thanking him for going to all this trouble to pick us up and all. He tells her it is no trouble at all.

“He doesn’t look too suspicious to me,” add Gloria. “I think we’ll be alright in his care.”

“It’s too late now,” I add. “We’re here and this is it.”

“OK, you two,” said Doug. “A ride with me sure beats walking, trust me.” He smiled warmly at both of us.

This way Doug states as we head out to the shuttle area to be transported to the short term parking lot. This ride is only a couple of minutes long. The next one will be longer.

We get to the lot and Doug ushers us to his red, BMW 325 four-door sedan. He opens the trunk with his key fob and reaches for out bags. He places them next to his golf clubs and three tennis rackets. He unlocks the doors and opens the front door for Gloria to ride up front. I was not surprised. I hop in the back and get comfortable. Doug starts the car and we pull out to the parking attendant booth, he hands her $3 and we head out on our way at last. He takes the lane that says Route 1 north where there is little traffic to contend with.

“I sure wish you had more time to spend out here is California,” Doug begins. “There are so many places I think you would enjoy seeing and so much we could do. Maybe before you leave tomorrow I can at least drive you around for an hour and show you a couple of sites you might like.”

“I’d like that very much,” said Gloria looking back at me for permission. “Bill, could we, if we have time?”

“If we have some time that would be fine with me,” I approve. “Doug’s the boss.”

“Listen, let’s not get too upset about what has happened,” said Doug. “What’s done is done. “I think trip out here to explain things to Chris and make amends is admirable. If they can get back together that would be fine with me.”

“Well, something like that would be nice,” I add. “That may be expecting a little too much all at once. I think if we can get Chris not to pull a gun on us or pull all of Gloria’s hair out that would be a start.”

“Real funny, Bill,” says Gloria sarcastically. “I’m getting nervous just talking about it. You’re just making it worse.” Gloria doesn’t even turn around as she talks.

I lean forward and tap her on the shoulder. “I’m just kidding with you,” I offer feebly. “Doug may have this right on target.”

“You don’t know how close I came to backing out of this trip anyway,” she adds looking at me.

“That would not be happening,” I add matter of factly. “I do know where you live, you still might be in your pajamas and this just might be a kidnapping.”

“Really,” said Doug? “I would pay to see that!”

“I’ll bet you would,” I reply.

“Alright, you two, knock it off,” states Gloria emphatically. “There will be no pajama parties for either of you. Get over it!”

“Oh well, Doug, I tried,” I add with a laugh.

“Anyway, Chris is really pretty tame,” Doug adds. “You’ll really like her I think. Pretty level headed really. You’ll see.”

We speed up the highway with just the beautiful hum of the BMW engine filling the interior of the car. Floating just about the engine purr is the sound of Steve Winwood: Take It as It Comes. Was that apropo or what?

“I live in Topanga, just a little north of the airport,” Doug states. “I have a friend in the construction business who built some condos out there. He gave me a deal on one that I couldn’t refuse. I ended up buying two of them. One I plan to rent out as soon as I finish decorating it. You know carpet, paint, wall paper, that sort of stuff. I should have it ready in a couple of weeks.”

“Doug, what do you do for a living,” I ask? “I got the feeling over the phone it was NOT in the legal profession.”

“You’re right there,” said Doug with a laugh. “I’m a salesman for a custom sheet metal manufacturer in Riverside. We make all kinds of metal boxes and brackets for different kinds of companies. We even make some parts for the M-16 rifle in your neck of the woods in Hartford, CT. I did over a million dollars with them in M-16 parts. War is not always bad you know. That WAS a joke.”

“Do you ever get to Connecticut often,” I ask?

“I went once last year to check on a new part they wanted us to make for them,” Doug continued. “The buyer for Colt is a great guy and loves to play golf as much as I do. We played at Tunxis Plantation out in Farmington. Lots of interesting shots. Very nice. If you play I’ll give you his number and you can link up, literally. He comes out here more often as he really like some of the courses I play better. It’s his dime to get here, though.”

“Your work sounds pretty interesting,” I add. “I guess it is pretty profitable?”

“Depends on a lot of things,” Doug replies. “The competition is tough. Some times another company wants a job so bad they keep lowering their price just to take it off the street. That is a very bad way to sell anything. When that happens we just walk away and wait for another opportunity. Some customers trust us so much they don’t even go out for bid anymore. We like profit, but we are fair as well. The more our customers sell the more make as well so it pays to be smart and competitive. Often stuff we loose comes back to us for poor quality from the guy who won the job or he just can’t deliver on time. We are good at what we do”

“Sounds like you really like it,” Gloria adds. “It must be great to have a job you really like?”

“It sure beats a real job,” adds Doug laughing. “Kind of like your, uh Bill?”

“I wondered when that was going to come out,” I reply? “NO athlete jokes, please.”

“OK, I’ll take it easy,” says Doug. “It’s just because guys like me are jealous you know.”

We pull onto route 27 and see a sign that says “Topanga 4”. Doug moves the accelerator as he down shifts to hit the exit at a slightly slower speed. We turn and head up a two-lane asphalt road, with no houses to be seen close to the road. The beautiful sound of the engine was super. I could really use one of these Beemers I thought.

Doug pulls into the driveway of a beautiful two-story contemporary duplex. His driveway is on the left. This visual effect is as though one is looking in a mirror as the two car garage joins the houses in the center. There are beautiful coach lights on each side of the garages and on the front of each house by the front door. It appears as though the wood as been left rough and just stained a light sand color. The trim is done in a dark brown. I have always preferred contemporary style houses myself. I loved this place. I think Gloria did too. She just stood there speechless.

“Doug, if the inside is anything like the outside, I will be truly impressed,” I said. “I would love to own something like this. Wouldn’t you Gloria?”

“Are you kidding,” she said. “This is one of the nicest homes I have ever seen. The view and land is spectacular,” she added.

“Come on inside,” said Doug as he grabbed our bags out of the trunk of his car. “I know you must be exhausted. I show you around and let you get settled.”

We moved inside into a beautiful tile covered foyer with a spiral staircase off to the left. Doug said it went to a loft room where he had a little recording studio. There was also a second bedroom with a full bath down the hall from there. I excused myself and Doug showed Gloria the rest of the downstairs. He had an 8 channel Yamaha mixing board with every type of recorder made including an old 3440 Teac open reel recorder. He had a number of Shure microphones, an old Crown DC 300 A amp, a Bryston amp and pre-amp hooked up to a pair of JBL 4312 monitor speakers, a pair of keyboards from Yamaha and Korg, and 2 computers, an HP and an Apple with some ProTools boxes on the floor below. Two very nice Martin guitars where on stands next to the wall.

I stopped drooling over the gear and joined them downstairs. I went in the direction of the voices and found them in the kitchen where Doug had poured three glasses of Coke. He looked up as I came in.

“I don’t think I’m going back,” I decided. “I’d love to have a set up like your recording studio upstairs I say,” flattering Doug. “When I get moved into a place of my own…”

“No problem,” said Doug. “If you want some help with gear let me know.”

We sat on some stools at the island-table to have our drinks and marvel at the view out across his deck. The back of Doug’s house was mostly glass with good reason. The sloping back yard stopped at a tree line about 200 feet back from the house. I’d bet the sunset is spectacular out here.

“Sometimes I just come out here late at night and sit, just looking out into the night,” said Doug. “It is so peaceful out here. I love the night quiet. Some people are afraid to live out here as there are some bobcats in the area, but when there is no moon it is so black you can hardly see your hand in front of your face. Some nights there are so many stars in the sky it is almost scary.”

“Chris is coming out here around 2pm,” said Doug. “I took the liberty of tipping her off a little bit. She was a little surprised someone from Connecticut would come all the way to talk to her. She didn’t say no, which I thought was a great sign.”

“You’re a little bit of a daredevil aren’t you,” I offer. “You could have really blown our cover.”

“I think I know Chris pretty well,” adds Doug. “She is not totally unreasonable.”

“Come on, I’ll show you your rooms and you can unpack when you want,” said Doug. “Gloria come on down here and you can have the downstairs room. It’s bigger and has more privacy. Bill you can have the room upstairs off the studio and you can listen to music as you like.”

He takes Gloria down the hall and gets her off on her own. He comes back sown the hallway.

“Come on up stairs,” says Doug as he motions for me to follow. “I bought this new Jolida tube CD player I’ve dying to listen to. $900, but I hear it is worth every penny. The salesman threw in two new CD’s: David Sanborn and Jennifer Warnes. Don’t know either one, but hear they are very good. I think she won some Grammys maybe.”

Within 10 minutes we have Sanborn playing his brains out up in the loft. That CD player through the JBL’s was something. He said the old recorders were his Dad but was not going to part with them as they all worked great. He also had an all tube MacIntosh amp and preamp that powered another set of JBLs. It was near the best sound I’d ever heard. My Dad had an older Mac integrated amp, but it was not like this. It was good, but not this good. I could tell I was not getting much sleep tonight with these toys sitting around.

The phone rings and I hear Doug answer it. I sense it is Chris. He comes back to the loft.

“Chris can’t come until tomorrow morning, but she is still coming,” said Doug. “She got caught in a bio lab she just can’t get out of.” “I told her tomorrow would be fine. She’ll be here by 5am, so be ready.”

We listened to music long into the night. Doug had another pair of JBL 4310’s down in the living room that faced the deck so that he could sit out there and still hear his tunes. Very nice. This was turning out to be a great visit to California. More resting than I thought. I could sense that Gloria was having a very nice time as well.

I awoke to the smell of fresh coffee. It was coming from downstairs. I then realized that I had fallen asleep in the LazyBoy in the studio listening to music. Stereophile magazine was lying open across my lap. I slid forward closing the recliner and went into the bathroom down the hall in the bedroom I was supposed to sleep in. I threw some cold water on my face, stripped and jumped into the shower real fast.

I took the fastest shower and shave on record and quickly got dressed and went down stairs. I found Gloria in the kitchen.

“Don’t you ever take a day off,” I ask? She was pulling a carton of eggs from the fridge. She jumped and almost dropped the eggs on the floor.

“Don’t you ever knock,” she asked getting her breath. “You want me to have a heart attack or something,” she adds?

“No, and I don’t like my eggs scrambled by the drop-kick method either,” I inform her. I go over to her and take the eggs from her hands and give a warm, tender kiss, as good as I know how to give early in the morning.

“Well that’s better,” she says. “I think my heart will be fine now,” she adds. “Just as long as you don’t intend to break it later on.”

“Not me,” I said matter of factly. “Not in a million years.” \

“Please, it’s too early in the morning for this conversation. Go sit down and drink your coffee and I make your breakfast,” Gloria instructs. “If you don’t do as I say I’ll kiss you again and turn you back into a frog.”

“I’m sitting, I’m sitting,” I plead. “I’d rather be your prince any day.”

I sit quietly and look at the beautiful, morning view off the deck. I could get used to this in a hurry I think. I just needed to get traded to the Dodgers and I’d be all set. Like that was going to happen.

I hear Doug coming down the hall from his room. He is all dressed in a very nice suit and tie. Business is calling. Gloria offers him some coffee which he accepts. He joins me at the counter.

“Hey Bill I hope you didn’t mind me leaving you upstairs last night. I tired to wake you, but you were really out,” Doug said. “That is chair is pretty comfortable, especially when you’re really tired. I’ve slept their many a night myself.”

“No problem,” I reply. ‘Looks like you’re prepared to make some big bucks today?”

“Ya, I’ve got a client we have been trying to land for two years and he has agreed to meet me this morning,” Doug admits. I’m thinking he has some current supplier problems as he has kept me at bay for quite some time. We’ll see what today brings.”

“You want some breakfast before you take off,” I ask?

“I’ll be glad to make you something, Doug,” Gloria offers. “It would be no trouble and take only a minute. After all you are doing for us it is the least I can do.”

“No, I’m fine. You guys go ahead and eat,” says Doug. “This is more that I usually do any way. Chris will be here in an hour. I hope all goes well. Here’s my cell phone number if you need me.
Gloria drops some scrambled eggs onto my plate. She puts the pan into the sink and heads off to get dressed. We really don’t have much time.

Doug offers to fill me in a little bit on Chris and Jon. It seems that Chris and Jon met at a beach party three weeks before he left to join the Monarch’s A team in Florida. They hit it off right away. Here was this rowdy, fun loving guy and here was Chris Milton, little Miss Prim and Proper. Chris never fooled around in high school with anyone She dated a couple of guys off and on, but nothing serious. She was valedictorian of her class and always planned on majoring in Micro-Biology. She was a junior at USC when they met.

She took 12 hour in summer school that summer, and then carried 20 hours of classes the fall semester to graduate early so she could be with Jon in the spring. Now she was working on her Masters Degree. Doug thought she might end up being a professional student if Jon made plenty of money playing ball. He really thought she would end up doing research most likely. Jon was a great letter writer and wrote her at least twice a week when they were apart. I think Jon knew what a catch Chris was and they got married before he went to Connecticut last year. That is why none of this made any sense to Doug.

I told Doug that Jon was playing very well and doing all the things to get to New York. His personal life is a mess and he thinks everyone or someone has be out to sabotage his marriage, so he stays completely away from everyone, and mostly dislikes me just because I am staying with the Lollars and what happed between his sister and Bob Lollar. Doug heard about that. Gloria had just come back into the kitchen looking as great as ever.

As Doug finished speaking the door bell rang. He got up and it was his sister, Chris. He ushered her into the kitchen and introduced us.

“Chris, I’d like you to meet Gloria James and Bill Alan,” stated Doug. “Bill, Gloria, this is my sister, Chris.”

We all shook hands and took places at the kitchen bar. Doug excused himself and headed out the door.

“Gloria and Bill, why don’t you tell me what this is all about,” She asked. “I know you didn’t come out here for a day and a half on a lark. It must be important for you to come see me.”

“Chris, maybe I should begin by telling you that I play ball with Jon on the Monarchs and Jon has been in a foul mood ever since I showed up,” I began. “The fact that I was living with the Lollars didn’t help. I was the new kid in town and the Lollars were kind enough to take me in was great for me. I just didn’t know all the history I was getting into. It was quite a mess as you know. Now I know.”

“Listen, Bill and Gloria, I’m not in the habit of discussing my personal life with strangers,” said Chris. “I think you can understand.”

“Chris,” began Gloria. “We’re here because of me and what I’ve done to you and Jon. I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry and ashamed I am for what I’ve done to you and Jon. I know you think that Jon was unfaithful to you and that was because I am the one who made you believe that. I am the one who called you anonymously, and wrote you those letters actually tell you lies in order to get back at the Tavys for taking my love away, Bob Lollar.”

Tears were rolling down Gloria’s face. She could hardly talk.

“You’re not kidding, are you,” said Chris. “You made those calls and wrote the letters? Why?”

“I was so mad at Cheryl Tavy for what happened on that college recruiting trip that I was beside myself. I had dated Bob Lollar since Jr. High school and we were so in love, at least I was,” Gloria went on. Cheryl Tavy ruined all that. Bob left school, never went to college, joined the Air Force and left me home to fend for my self, just like I was spare baggage or something. She blew my life up right then and there.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Chris. “I’m beginning to understand.

“Your husband, Jon, thought it was a big joke, everyone should just get over,” Gloria continued. “Cheryl Tavy got to. Bob and I did not; at least I didn’t get what I wanted. So I decided to get even with him, not even thinking about you, which was terribly wrong. I was so stupid and that is why were are here, at Bill’s prodding to get me to get this off my chest and try and make amends if possible.” Gloria still had tears coming down her face.

“Gloria, I’m so sorry Jon treated you that way,” Chris said with great sincerity. I knew the story and just never thought anyone had really gotten hurt. I can see how you were, though. I am so sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am,” replied Gloria. “You’ll never know how sorry I am for causing you all this grief. It was very selfish of me.”

“Maybe,” said Chris, “but I can sure understand it.”

“You are sure taking this well,” I interject. “You’re making this too easy on us. Don’t you want to throw something?”

“Not really my style,” said Chris with a big smile. “So Jon really didn’t do anything with, a, Beth I think her name was?”

“Nothing, just a little lunch, a very harmless lunch. They were just friends as she worked in the Monarch office,” said Gloria fessing up. “It was totally harmless, honest.”

“Oh, Gloria, if I had just gone back and really talked to Jon about this, face to face, probably none of this would have happened anyway,” admitted Chris. “I was thousands of miles away and could have given him the benefit of the doubt, but I didn’t, all because I was listening to my mother tell me to drop the louse right away. She didn’t want us to get married anyway. She wanted me to marry some lawyer like she did. How stupid of me.”

Chris pulled a cigarette out of her purse and laid it on the counter. She reached out of her purse and pulled out a Derringer and just looked at it. Gloria and I were getting very nervous. Chris sounded so sincere and calm. Now this.

“Chris, what are you doing,” I asked very nervously? “You could put that away you know?”

“Why would I want to do that, especially after what Gloria has done,” she replied with no expression on her face? “I think she is about to get what she deserves, don’t you?”

With that she pulled the trigger and a flame jumped out from the top of the fake gun that was really a cigarette lighter. She picked up her cigarette and lit it.

“You should see your two faces,” said Chris laughing? “This was the best one ever.”

“Why, you almost gave us heart attacks,” I said. “I was about to jump you off this bar stool, you know!”

“That would have been even funnier, us rolling around on the floor over a cigarette lighter, don’t you think,” she replied, still laughing?

“The color is coming back into your face, nicely,” added Chris. “Yours too, Bill. Well, what do we do now?”

With that, a car comes into the drive way. Chris goes to the door and looks out. Oh, it Mother she tells us, not too happy about it.

“She knows I’m here now,” says Chris. “This should be fun. And you thought this was going to be easy, didn’t you?”

Chapter 16 of 47 The Dreamers

2009-10-15T15:41:00.000-07:00

Chapter 16 The Dreamers

With about an hour to go before game-time I walked out to our bullpen and sat down on the bench. I tried to clear my head of all the distractions of the last few days. It was harder than I thought. I hadn’t been in town very long and so much had happened. If most of the weeks in this long season were going to be as complicated like this one a heart attack might be unavoidable. I can see why some players choose to be loners. I couldn’t be that way. I needed friends. I wanted friends. I just can’t believe that only worrying about yourself and dealing with just your own little problems is being a responsible adult. There has to be more.

If my father’s friends hadn’t been around when he was first stricken with polio I don’t know how my mother could have handled it alone. I realize now that my Dad had some truly great friends. After Dad came home from the hospital he and his friends picked up there weekly, Friday night pinochle game. Jimmy Murphy and his musician friends would come over and have jam sessions right in our living room. I can remember Stan Kenton coming to the house and playing right in our living room. I still have Dad’s collection of old 78’s of Arthur Godfrey, Rosemary Clooney, and Billie Holiday. Dad sure loved his music. That was something I inherited from him.

He finally got to come home from the hospital when they realized that they could do no more for him there. A rocking bed was put in the house to help him get to sleep. The people with the March of Dimes were of great help to my family. My Father’s life and then the terrible accident. It was amazing how and where my mind was wondering.

I sat there gazing out into centerfield. I might have the Milky Way for all I knew. I was just starring out into space. Dave Bolton came down and plopped himself down on the bench hard, jarring me out of my trance.

“I need to loosen up a bit,” I state. “I’m going to run a little bit in the outfield. You can join me if you want.”

Dave and I both got up and started jogging in the outfield, nearly reaching the center field fence. Neither of us spoke the whole way out or back.

“I sure hope everything turns out alright in Disneyland. Gloria’s coming with,” I announce to Dave.

“You’re kidding,” he responds. “Ah, maybe it is good she goes and helps straighten out this mess herself. I guess it makes sense, but we have a ballgame to win, that is next week.”

“You’re right,” I reply as I start doing some stretching exercises trying to loosen up my back and shoulders. “You’re right, I need to be focusing on tonight’s game, not that.”

“I do have to wonder how Chris Tavy is going to take all of this,” said Dave with concern in his voice. “You think about it, this could get real ugly next week. If she still loves Jon, she is going to be disappointed in herself for not believing him and giving him the benefit of the doubt. If not, she could care less about him and just be real mad a Gloria for being so selfish. Have you decided where you will meet once you get out there?”

“No, I tried calling Chris’s Mother three times and each time she refused to discuss this matter with me or even tell Chris that I was calling,” I told Dave. “There’s got to be more to this than I know. Why wouldn’t she even discuss it with me? I then tried tracking down her younger brother, which wasn’t easy either. I’ve called all the possible numbers, but they were not the right ones. I’m going to try after tonight’s game. This is going to be more difficult than I thought with little family help from the Tavys.”

“I think I may know of a connection,” said Dave. “Have you tried the Miltons in LA? You need to start soft tossing we have less than 40 minutes ‘til game time.”

“The Miltons…in LA,” I ask with amazement? “There must be hundreds of Miltons in LA, wouldn’t you think?”

“The Miltons you are after is Milton as in Judge Henry Milton,” said Dave. “Go on, you’ve got ten minutes at the most.”

“I’ll be right back,” I say as I have already started back to ward the dugout. Don’t start without me.”

I dash into the clubhouse and hit the phone.

“Operator, give me Los Angeles. I’m looking for Judge Henry Milton, do you think he is in the book,” I ask somewhat out of breath? “I’m in kind of a hurry.”

“Yes, here it is, 323-445-5678, did you get the down,” asked the operator? “I can connect you if you like?”

“Please do, I am in kind of a hurry,” I reply. “Hello,” says a male voice on the other end.

“Hello,” I say, “this is Bill Alan calling from Connecticut. Is this the Milton family that is related to Chris Tavy, Jon Tavy’s wife?”

“Yes, this is Doug Milton, I am Chris’s brother, but you know they are getting a divorce don’t you,” said Doug matter of factly. “What do you want from Chris/”

“It is a little hard to explain over the phone,” I reply. “I was hoping to come out to California and try to explain, in person. This whole thing between Chris and Jon is a big mistake. Someone did a very malicious thing that needs to be corrected, if it can. It is very important for Chris to know some things and then decided if she still wants a divorce. I am hoping you will be open minded enough to help me with this.”

I quickly fill Doug in with some of the details in hopes of enticing him to help Gloria and I pull this off.

“Mom can be a piece of work sometimes as she didn’t want Chris to marry an athlete anyway,” said Doug. “I’ll help any way I can as I always like Jon; he was always nice to me. Call me tomorrow on my cell and give me your travel plans. I’ll clear my schedule for next Monday and Tuesday and pick you up and be your taxi service. I make arrangements for you to meet up with Chris without telling her anything. How it goes is strictly up to you as I still have to live here after you leave.”

“Doug, thanks for all your help,” I state, thinking that I may have found the key to my success. “I am flying out to California next Sunday evening with the one who caused all this trouble. We would like to see Chris and explain what happened and try to straighten this whole thing out. Jon has not been handling this well as he bit my head off the first day I met him.”

“Mom can be really impossible at times as well,” replied Doug. “Dad’s a Circuit Court Judge and my brother, Jim, is an attorney who is handling the divorce. He usually does what Mom wants. I can’t really say what Chris’ true feeling are as we haven’t spend much time talking about her personal life. She is pretty busy with school.”

“Doug, thanks you’re a life saver,” I say with great appreciation. “I will call you tomorrow and give you the details. Listen, I’ve got to go as I have a ball game to pitch tonight. I play with Jon on the Monarchs.”

“Hey, well have a great game,” said Doug sincerely. “Hope Jon hits one out tonight.”

“So do I,” I repeat. “Thanks again Doug, I really mean it. Talk to you tomorrow.”

I quickly put the receiver back down and rush back out to the field. Bolton is waiting, but he is not too happy about it.

“You’ve got 20 minutes to get loose,” said Dave pretty irritated. “Rookies,” he said disgustingly.

It didn’t seem to take very long for me to get loose in the bullpen. It had been a rather warm April day with the temperature reaching almost 90. Now, the temp was 82, at least that is what Mike Adams said the bank display had read on his way in. Usually most bank displays have an accuracy of plus or minus 50 degrees. The warmth of the night would help keep my back loose. Within about 25 pitches I felt very good. I told Dave I had enough and went over and put my Monarch jacket on and made my way into the dugout. I spotted Jack Meyers sitting near the home plate end of the dugout. He had a couple of three ring binders next to him with a couple of loose sheets sitting on top. I sat next to him.

“Bill, how do you feel,” asked Jack? “I wish it had been this warm on the night I pitched.”

“I know what you mean,” I replied. “It’s tough to get really loose when the temp is in the 50’s. It sure didn’t seem to bother you, though. I not sure feeling good with be enough tonight.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Jack with a smile on his face. “You’ll do just fine. Listen, about the hitters, let’s go over a few hand signs I’ll be using to help you know how to pitch them.”

“Sure, go ahead,” I reply.

“If I give you and Dave a closed fist, that means stay with hard stuff, fastballs and sliders,” begins Jack. “An open hand means he is more susceptible to off speed stuff. If I hold my hand close to my chest that means stay inside. On top of my head means that the hitter has a tendency to chase high, hard stuff. Pretty simple actually.”

“It is important for you to remember these signs and Bolton may be setting up and giving you a target different than these signs,” adds jack. “We do that early on to make sure the batter is not sneaking a peak where Dave sets up. Hit mitt position may be just a decoy. Watch for the last spot Dave touches with his throwing-hand, that is where he really want the pitch. We don’t like PEEKERS. When you and Dave are on your game and guys try to peek, they’ll swing and miss by a foot. If your sliders real good tonight that may happen anyway.”

“I never liked to peek myself,” I add. “I just like to react to what I see. Guessing wrong can be a real bad thing.”

“Bill, I agree,” replied Jack, “but many players here with take any advantage they think they have. Just work on maintaining good control and putting the ball in the right spot.”

“Dick and I had a long discussion about that, or I should say I had a long listen with him,” I add.

“Ah, he showed you his can-0-rama did he,” stated Jack? “Sometimes it makes more sense when you see it than just talking about it. He is right on though. Stay out of Dick’s Red Zone and you’ll be just fine.”

Red decided to bat me ninth to take some of the pressure off. He had Del Ray playing third again, batting 8th in the lineup.

Ross Jones CF
Mike Adams 2B
Jon Tavy 1B
Reggie Bond RF
Scott Andrews SS
Dave Bolton C
Chris Miller LF
Del Ray 3B
Bill Alan P

I felt good about this game and especially about the way this team was playing. We had been playing great defense. The infield had turned 7 double-plays in the first 3 games. Chris Miller and Ross Jones had made some great catches in the OF. Even Bolton had been catching well compared to last year when he only threw out 30% of the runners trying to steal. 40% is what coaches look for. It is not always, and usually not, just the catcher’s fault. He was 4 out of 7 so far this year, very good. Everyone came by me in the dugout and tapped me on the knee and wished me luck.

The Monarchs took their positions on the field to the roar of the crowd. I slowly climbed up the dugout steps and walked leisurely to the mound. I could feel the excitement in the air as my stomach started to knot up a little. I got to the mound and reached down and picked up the baseball in my right hand. I just looked at it a second. I hadn’t realized the umpire was standing right behind me with three other baseballs in his hand.

“Hey, pitch,” he said, “is that one all right to start the game with or is one of these YOUR lucky ball?”

“Let’s hope all of them are lucky,” I add with a big smile. “This one is OK.

“From what I hear, you don’t need much luck,” replied the ump. He turned and went back behind home plate.

I reached down and picked up the rosin bag to dry the palm of my pitching hand and then began the little excavation work most pitchers do right in front of the pitching rubber. Not too much. I loosened it just enough to get an edge of the rubber to give me something to push off from. Dave is crouched behind the plate and I motion to him, start a slow wind up and throw my first professional warm-up pitch at about 75 miles an hour. After my allotted number of throws, Dave guns it down to second and we’re ready for the real deal. Del gets the ball at third and moved have way to the mound, throws me the ball and winks. “Go get-em, kid,” he says. “Just you and Dave tonight.”

Bolton crouches behind the plate and pounds his fist into his catchers’ mitt. The umpire yells, “Play Ball!” This is it as the batter digs in.

I stand with my right foot on the top left area of the rubber, my left foot slightly ahead. I hold the ball tightly inside my glove, resting it on my left thigh. I bend slightly to get Dave’s sign, a fastball down. I rock slightly back, putting my hand in the glove, rotating the ball slightly to get my two fingers running across the four seams. I finish rocking back, my hands go over my head, I turn slightly and bring my left knee up to my waist, I turn and open my hips, thrust my chest toward the plate as my arm goes behind my back, then in an arc over my shoulder behind my right ear as the muscles in my shoulder quickly increase my arm speed and whip it as hard as I can toward home plate, all the time keeping my eyes on Dave’s glove. I release the ball toward home plate as I bend fully at the waist. My right foot comes around and hits the ground to my right as I get set to possible field a ball hit back to me. It is now out of my hands and up to the hitter.

The ball rockets to home plate right where Dave asked for it, knee high on the outside black of the plate to the right-handed hitter for the Cubs. The ball snaps into Dave’s mitt. “Stee-rike ONE, yells the umpire. Dave fires the ball back to me. And I turn to the roar of the crowd and walk back up to the top of the mound and look at the scoreboard that now reads: 0-balls, 1-strike, and 0-outs. To the left is the radar-gun display: 98 it says. The crowd is really going crazy. I guess I really did get loose quickly in the pen I thought.

“Come on Billy,” yells a fan in the first row behind the dugout. “2 more, big guy,” he screams. The crowd is chanting: Bill-lee, Bill-lee, Bill-lee. I feel somewhat embarrassed, but it sure felt good to be on the mound again. I look into the dugout and see Meyers just clapping his hands with a smile on his face.

I get another sign from Bolton, same thing on the inside this time. I throw another rocket to the plate right where he wanted it. The batter jumped back a little as he thought it was inside. It wasn’t. “Stee-rike two,” bellowed the ump. The crown rises to their feet wanting a strikeout real bad. The noise level is crazy now.

I realize I must really be pumped as Meyers holds up a sign in the dugout that reads: 99. Get out, I thought. I look up at the scoreboard and it says the same thing. I turn around and look in and get another sign from Bolton. He wants a curve ball, inside again. It makes sense as the Cub batter was leaning back on the last inside fastball. I’ll really make his knees buckle this time.

I rock back and fire a curveball that starts straight for his left shoulder and then darts down three feet and to the left about 5 inches, just across the inside black of the plate. The batters knees do buckle as he rocks back in fear that it just might be a fastball. It’s too late for him to even start a swing. “Stee-rike three,” yells the umpire with a big pull of his right arm to the side and back, almost like a martial arts fighter. The crowd goes nuts as the batter walks back to the dugout shaking his head. Bolton fires the ball down to Del Ray and the infield flips it around and back to me on the mound. Someone behind the dugout brought a supply of 1 foot square signs with capital K’s on them and put up the first one on the fence in front of them.

“At a boy, Billy,” yells red from the dugout. “26 more he yells,” with a big grin on his face. Ya, right, I think to myself! Who is he kidding?

The next batter takes a called fastball strike and then pops up my second pitch, a curveball, to Adams at second base for out number 2.

The third batter brings me back to reality as he hits my first offering on the line to left field for a single. That calms the crowd down a little bit.

“No problem, Billy,” shouts Dave out to me for encouragement. Dave hold up two fingers and yells, “Two outs, be alive out there!”

Now from the stretch, I check the runner at first and throw a fastball just off the plate. “Ball,” says the umpire. I still had some hop on it as the scoreboard reads 97. I know enough to settle down as I do not want to go 2 and 0 to the Cub’s clean-up hitter, Logan. He hit 34 homers in A last year.

I go set and delivery a sharp breaking curveball on the outside that Logans swings and misses at. “Strike one,” yell the ump.

I throw a 99 mile an hour fast ball on the next pitch; letter high, that Logan can’t catch up to and swings wildly at. “Stee-rike two.” The crowd is on it’s feet going wild, sensing an inning ending strikeout. The chanting begins again.

I go back to the mound and toe the rubber and look in to get Bolton’s sign. I go to the set position and check the runner at first. I break my set as the runner takes off for second as I deliver a fastball on the inside at the knees that Logan swings over the top of for strike three. The place erupts as Bolton rolls the ball out to the mound and head to the dugout. The ump yells, “Strike three.” He pulls of his mask as he stands tall and walks toward fist base and looks back at me with a little smile.

The crowd beings chanting “YOU, YOU, YOU, YOU,” taunting the Cubs’ hitter. Typical fans I thought. I needed to pinch myself. This was too surreal.
As I make my way down the dugout steps Tavy is standing right there and I half suspect he is going to congratulate me, but he says nothing. He just looks the other way. Shoot! Would it have killed him to say something to me? Go figure.

Ross Jones picks up right were he left off the other day. He sends a ground single right up the middle on the first pitch and then steals second on the next offering. This is looking too easy I thought. Mike Adams draws a walk, putting men on first and second with no outs for Tavy. If this keeps up we would have a number of guys with close or more ant 100 runs batted in a piece.

“Hey Reggie,” I offer, “Is Tavy going to leave you anything to drive in?”

“I hope not,” he replies. “I’ll get mine, don’t you worry,” he adds with a smile.

“I don’t know if I want to hit after both of you. I think the bases might always be empty,” I add.

“You got a problem with that,” he shoots back?

“No, I guess not,” I add. “Get me a big lead will ya,”?

“I have a sense you may not need it,” he concludes heading to the on deck circle.

Tavy turns on the second pitch from the Cub hurler and sends a rocket into the right field corner for a double. It is hit so hard that Adams has to stop at third with Jones scoring and giving us a 1 to 0 lead. Reggie is now up with no outs and men at second and third.

The Cub manager comes out to the mound for a little chat. He does like what he has seen so far, but has no one up in the bullpen. No one is even stirring down there.

Reggie kept it up as he launched a rocket, high and deep or the center field fence that seemed to take forever to land. The Cubs’ center fielder just stood at the base of the wall looking up, like it as a 767 jumbo jet, or something. It was now 4 to nothing before the Cubs knew what to think. Not even ten pitches had been thrown.

I took the lead into the second. I pitched well again, giving up a one out single after another strikeout. The next batter it a short-hop hard ground ball to Del at third that somehow found its way into his glove as he olayed-it and turned it into yet another Yankee double play around the horn. The crowd was hoping and hollering now, big time.

“Hey Del, open your eyes next time,” yelled Jay Morse.

“Got any feelings back in your hand yet,” said Jack Meyers laughing.

“Feeling,” said Mario laughing even harder, “he got no feelings, man, he is one cruel dude!”

The dugout was roaring now as Del came into the dugout and at the bottom of the stairs took a bow. “Thank you very much for your support,” Del replied. “I’m looking for a gold glove this year, just so you’ll know.”

“More like Dr. Strange Glove, you mean,” said Bolton. Everyone was just grinning and laughing, feeling pretty good about what we were doing.

“I could have made that play in my sleep,” Del announced seriously,

“You just did,” said Mike Como as another roar came from the dugout. Gus and Red are just shaking their heads at each other. Del just waved his hand at Mike and went and sat down.

We failed to score in our half of the second, but I did manage to hit a single to right field in my at bat. Jones hit a grounder to short forcing me at second for the third out. It still stood at 4 to nothing, Monarchs.

The first Cub batter in the third grounded out to Tavy unassisted. Their next batter, Rogers, hits a Texas-Leaguer just over the head of Adams at second. Cub’s shortstop hits a fastball down and away just to the right of second base that Mike Adams drives and snares backhanded, scrambles to his knees and flips to Scott Andrews as he is crossing the bag who fires to first for a spectacular double play. Scott is upended by the running coming in hard, crashing hard to the ground, but gets up unhurt. It is the kind of picture that every photo journalist wants to get and put on the front page of the sports section. The inning ended in unbelievable fashion. The fans erupt again, giving Adams and Andrews a standing ovation.

Adams starts off our fourth with a double into right center just beating the thrown from the Cub’s right fielder with a head-first slide. Tavy grounds out hard to the second baseman with Adams moving to third. The Cub’s catcher goes out to the mound to talk with Reggie coming up. I would have been surprised to see them pitch to him, and they didn’t, giving him a free pass and bringing Andrews to the plate. The crowd could sense something as they started getting real loud.

Scott took the first pitch for a ball low and away. You could tell the Cub pitcher didn’t really feel comfortable at all. The next pitch was a curveball that stayed flat and right over the plate, belt high that Scott got all of sending it high and deep toward left center. Adams and Bond took off with the crack of the bat as the Cub left and center fielders tracked the ball into the gap. The ball crashed into the top of the wall, missing being a home run by 4 inches at the most. The ball bounds back toward the infield as Scott speeds into third with a stand up triple and the Monarchs now leading 6 to nothing with just one out.

The Cub manager as seen enough and makes his way to the mound, motioning to the bullpen for a new arm. The fans continue to go nuts. Adams and Bond get high-fives as they come into the dugout. Red give Andrews a pat on the butt, turns and claps as he heads back to the coach’s box.

Bolton adds a sacrifice fly from the new pitcher and gives us a 7- nothing lead.

I go back out in the top of the fifth and strike out the side on 12 pitches the last one, looking, making it look so easy, which is was not. I’ll take it any way. I come back in the dugout and Red come over to me.

“Listen,” he said, “You’ve only thrown 41 pitches in five innings, but this is your first start. I’m not looking to give anyone else some work this early, but you let me know if and when you feel gassed, OK?”

“No problem, Skip,” I reply putting my jacket on and sit down next to Meyers who pats me on the right thigh.

“Man, you are smoking out there,” said Jack. “Everything you threw that inning was 96 or over. You must be loose.”

“I just told Dave to give me a target and let’s get on with it,” I said. “Until they hit, I’m just going to bring it, spotting it all over the strikes zone. Next inning I’ll mix in a slider or curveball or two just to keep them guessing. I think our offense has them a little disheartened right now.”

“That may be, but you are not cheering them up either,” said Jack with a big smile. “Keep it up.”

Gus brings me a bottle of Disani water and I take a big swig. He doesn’t say a word, just smiles and throws me a towel. We go out 1-2-3 in the fifth and I head back out to the mound.

Dave comes out to the mound as we start the sixth. “What do you want to do this inning,” he asks?

“Let’s start everyone off with a breaking pitch, but I’m going to try and throw it for a strike. I hate starting out behind in the count if I can help it,” I conclude. “Just show me where you want it.”

I am forced to work a little harder in the sixth as I don’t seem to get some calls close to the black. I get two more strikeouts on 3-2 pitches. The last batter fouls off 8 pitches on 3 and 2 before grounding out to Andrews at short. I picked up 25 pitches that inning alone, way more than I planned. Now it wasn’t so easy after all. We still led 7 to nothing.

I got a single leading off our sixth. The pitcher was paying no attention to me and I got insulted and stole second on the 1-1 pitch to Jones that was called a ball. Everyone was shocked, I mean everyone. The crowd was cheering, but Red was just shaking his head, probably wondering what I was thinking running with a 7-0 lead. Maybe it was a bad thing. I sure wasn’t trying to show anyone up. I just got caught up in the moment. Jones singled to center sending me home with our eighth run of the night. Not to be outdone, he stole second on the first pitch to Adams. He was looking for the stolen base title. I was not. Adams popped out to the catcher.

Tavy then hit another homerun over the left field fence, just inside the fair pole, proving again that his desire to pull everything was gone, hopefully for good. That made it 10 to nothing and meant another pitching change for the Cubs. The crowd was really in a festive mood now. I think they were in shock that this was a real Monarch team, one to be taken seriously.

Reggie, Andrews, and Bolton greeted the new Cub pitcher with straight singles with Bond scoring and giving us an 11 to nothing lead. Chris Miller hit a slow tapper up the third base line that no one could get to loading the bases for Del Ray.

Del swung so hard at the first pitch he fell down in the batters box. The crowd started laughing like crazy. Red was not too happy about that and called time and came trotting down the third base line and put his hands on Del’s shoulders while taking to him. Del shook his head in agreement to what ever Red was saying.

Del got back into the batters box and took a good level swing and fouled the next pitch straight back up the screen behind home plate. Now he was behind 0 and 2. He tapped the dirt out of his cleats and dug back in. The next pitch was a sharp curveball, low and away he laid off of. He looked out at the pitcher as he leveled his bat over the plate with practice swings three times and got set. The next pitch was a fastball right down the middle that he met with a smooth, level swing that sent the baseball screaming high to right centerfield that just seemed to keep carrying and carrying out into the night.

The Cub outfielders turned and watched in amazement as it sailed on to the rising grass mound behind the fence where some children whet scrambling for it. The crowd erupted as Del ran the bases as fast as he could. 15 to nothing with Del’s first-ever Grand Slam homerun. All the Monarchs rushed out of the dugout to greet him at home plate. He is lucky he didn’t have brain damage as much as he got hit on the head all the way back to the dugout. There was a joke in there some where, but on a night like this everyone left it alone.

That was how it ended as I pitched the 7th inning and got two more strikeouts to end my night on the mound. Our bullpen kept the shutout in tact and we win 15 to nothing in my first start. The Monarchs were now 4 and 0 and seemed unbeatable…at least for our first four games anyway.

The locker room was a mob scene with spirits never being higher high fives and hand shakes and back slaps all around. Everyone came over to my locker to congratulate me on my first start and win. Dave came over and I thanked him for calling a great game. “What did I do,” he said? “You were unbelievable most of the night. We just might have some team.” With that he patted me on the back and went back over and joined some teammates at his locker. Del Ray was over talking to the sports reporter from town and smiling as big as he probably ever had. I felt happy for him. Once guys know they are nothing more than part time players, moments like this are really special. He deserved it.

“Bill, you’ve got some friends waiting for you out side,” informed Gus as he headed for Red’s office. “Great game kid,” he said.

I quickly showered and dressed, but the sports reporter snagged me before I could get out the door. Scott Henderson was his name.

“Well, Bill,” he began, “this must have be quite a thrill for you?” “You sure made it look east most of the night.”

“I can assure you it is not easy,” I replied. “The Cubs are a good hitting team and I just got lucky and caught them on an off night. The bus ride from Pittsfield and their 14 inning win Sunday may have set them back a little bit.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Henderson. “You were near 100 miles per hour all night.”

“I felt good coming out of the pen, but you never know until you get to the mound what you’ll have,” I conclude.

“Any comments,” he asked, “about the death of Curtain, the Pirates pitcher?” “Now that we know he was sick and full of cocaine it kind of takes you off the hook, doesn’t it?”

I was more than a little angry at that question. “I was not aware that I WAS on the hook!” I state firmly. “It was a terrible accident that no one could plan, least of all me. Yes, he had some medical issues he should have addressed, but I mostly feel for his pregnant wife whose child will now grow up without a father, and Curtain’s parents. I feel for all of them. This is certainly not about me!” I storm out of the locker room leaving Henderson still writing.

“I didn’t mean anything by what I said,” he shouted. But it was too late, I was gone.

I find Gloria, Becky, Mary, and Mrs. James all waiting for me in the tunnel. Gloria reached me first, jumps in my arms, and gives me a huge, wet kiss. I open my eyes and see everyone starring at us with big smiles. I raise my hand and point my finger in the air indicating I’m going to need a minute. I did.

“Gloria, we have company,” I offer.

“Oh, they can wait,” as she give me a big hug. They all start groaning.

“Come on, Gloria,” says Becky. The guys probably starving and not for your love, either,” she add laughing.

“It’s not good to sap the strength of the star player, you know,” said Gloria’s Mom, much to the surprise to everyone.

“Really,” chirped in Mary. “Come on Gloria, she added. “Give the boy some air, will ya?”

“All right, all right,” she agreed, “but just for a little while.” They all start laughing. We head out into the night and go over to the Lollars to get something to eat.

This was some night alright. You can’t make this stuff up I thought.

We got over to the Lollars and I excuse myself for a moment and call Doug Milton in California. I make my way down the hall to the study and close the door. I dial the number and wait.

“Hello,” said the voice.

“Doug, it’s Bill Alan from Connecticut again,” I state.

“Bill, well, how did it go tonight,” asked Doug?

“Fifteen to zip,” I replied. “It was unbelievable to say the least. Jon had a great night with a double and a homerun. We could do no wrong.”

“It sounds like you couldn’t either on the mound,” Doug adds.

“I caught them on a bad night, I guess,” I offer.

“Baloney,” replied Doug.

“Listen, do you have some paper to write on,” I asked?

“Sure go ahead,” replied Doug ready to write/

“Gloria and I will be leaving NY at 10PM, and arriving at LAX at 11:40am your time. The Airline is TWA. We’ll be leaving at 6:40am on Tuesday and arriving back here at 4:46 in the afternoon. That day will be a killer as I have a game that night,” I conclude.

“No problem,” replied Doug. “I’ll take care of the transport you’ll need. I’ll find out what Chris’s schedule is we’ll get you guys linked up some how. I sure hope this works out.”

“So do I,” I add with some trepidation. “All we can do is try at this point. I really appreciate your helping us out here. Without you this would not be happening, you know.”

“Please don’t remind me,” said Doug with a little chuckle. “I may not be doing such a good thing for any of us. I’m just the willful accomplice.”

“Doug, thanks again and see you next Monday,” I finish.

“No problem, se you then,” Doug concludes and hangs up the phone.
As I came down the hall Gloria met me half way.

“What were you doing down there,” she asked?

“I made our travel arrangements with Doug Milton, Chris’s brother out in California. He is going to meet us and be our taxi service and get us to Chris for our meeting. He is going to keep it quiet with Chris’s Mom and Dad for now,” I state.

Gloria’s nervousness was showing, but I could hardly blame her for that. This trip would be the hardest thing she would probably ever do. At least I hoped it was. I couldn’t help but think about the first time I saw her at the diner. I was hooked in an instant. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. I could have a worse fate then being Gloria’s husband. I could feel a tinge of jealousy thinking that Bob had been her true love before I came along. I wasn’t exactly chopped liver, but I couldn’t help but wish that I was her only love, ever. I was not about to give her up now, Bob or no Bob Lollar. He had his chance. What if Bob was coming home to claim his prize…Gloria…but once he found out we were together decided, out of respect decided to not make any moves. Well, that would be just fine. What if? What if? What if? I must be losing it!

It’s always crazy to chase a girl who is in love with someone else. I learned that the hard way in high school with Fran Thompson. Freshman year, I was so in love with her and she broke my heart into a million little pieces, left me crying in her driveway like a love-starved puppy. Oh well, that is history. This is turning out much better. Re-unions were tough seeing Fran with a guy I played football with. She still looked great and always said hi to me. Trying to kill me again I thought. I’ll never forget her seeing the hurt in my face, the day she told me it was over, but it just didn’t matter to her.

“Bill, are you alright,” said Gloria, grabbing me by the arms. “I thought I lost you there for a minute. Sleeping on your feet were you?”

I guess I was and didn’t know it. “Let’s go back and get something to eat. I am starved,” I said.

She grabbed my arm and we headed back to the kitchen. She laid her head on my shoulder as we walked.

The Dreamers Chapter 15 of 47

2009-09-06T15:17:00.000-07:00

Chapter 15 The Dreamers

I drove Gloria back to the diner, but refused her invitation for a free lunch as eating was the last thing on my mind at the moment. I kissed her very warmly and held her in my arms for what seemed like an eternity.

“Bill, you OK,” she asked?

“Promises me that you will never keep secrets from me, of any kind, no matter how bad they are, will you promise me that,” I ask in my most serious tone. “NO secrets, ever”!

“OK, I agree and promise, really Bill, what is going on,” she asked?

I told her that I didn’t want this to happen to us, terrible secrets being keep from loved ones. I needed her to promise me this one thing. She did and kissed me warmly once again. “I think I’ve learned my lesson,” she said with a wry smile. “Look at the mess I’m in already.”

I could see her point. I reached out and touched her sweet face. “I’ll see you later,” I finish, getting back in my car.

“See you first,” she replies. She head into the diner to get ready for the lunch crowd.

Gus and Mary were home when I got there. Gus told me to try and get some rest if I could. I informed him that Dave Bolton had left me some sheets to go over at the ballpark on the Cub hitters. If Dick was around I might even take some hitting under the stands again.

Gus informed me they were going back over to the Dodge’s and help set up some lunch with them for the Curtains.

I went up stairs and kicked off my shoes before lying down on the bed. I started browsing through some magazines that I had bought: Stereophile, Absolute Sound, Time, and G.Q. I soon realized that I was not really interested in reading any of them. I dropped a CD of Robert Silverman’s Beethoven’s Piano Sonatas from his 32 Sonata boxed set from Stereophile Recordings and closed my eyes, hoping the music would put me to sleep.

I was awakened by the telephone down the hall. I looked at the clock which read 2:58. I quickly jumped up to answer it.

“Hello,” I answer, “the Lollar residence.”

“Well, hello,” said a deep, resonant voice at the other end. “Who is this”?

“This is Bill Alan,” I reply with some trepidation. I really didn’t need any more surprises today. “I’m a guest of the Lollars,” I add. “The Lollars are over at the Dodge’s. I can give you the number if you like”?

“Bill, we finally get to meet,” said the voice. “This is Bob Lollar. I just wanted to tell Mom and Dad that I still coming. Guess we’ll finally get to meet in person in a few days. I’m looking forward to it.”

“So am I,” I add.

“I hear you are really tearing up opposing pitching from what Dad tells me,” he adds. “Good for you. They needed someone after last year. Dad says you are the real-deal. I hear you can pitch some as well.”

“I can throw a little bit, I guess,” I add. Bragging is not one of my strong suits.

“Well, from what Dad says, it is more than a little bit,” Bob adds. “Well, listen, just tell the folks I called and I’ll see you all soon. Take care.” With that he hung up, not waiting for a reply from me. Must be counting his cell phone minutes I thought.

I went back into the room, took out some paper to write Gus and Mary a note bout Bob’s call. I needed to get to the ball park. I put on my shoes and took the note and put it on the kitchen table. I stopped off at McDonalds and polished off a Number 1 and took the last of my Coke with me on the ride to the park. Not quite the training meal I needed, but it sure tasted good, which is a bad sign of my dietary habits. Schindberg’s car was in the lot. Jocko was manning the parking lot as usual.

“Hey, Jocko,” I said warmly. “See anybody suspicious lately around here? Any Cub spies?”

“You kiddin,” said Jocko with a laugh. “I’d zap’em with my special ray gun the Boss gave me. “This place is secure.”

“Thanks, Jocko,” I add. “I knew there was a reason I was sleeping so well at night.” With that I wave and drive up to the player parking and go inside.

Dick is sitting in the training room going over some papers. The newspaper is sitting next to him, with the sports section torn apart. What else would you expect in a baseball club house? The rest of the paper looked untouched.

“Bill,” said Dick as he saw me walk in. “Bolton left you some info on the Cub hitters for the game tomorrow. Said he was off to Vermont I think.”

“Thanks Dick,” I reply. “Ya, he is picking up Becky Lollar from college for me. Some day off, huh. I was supposed to be going somewhere my self, but this Curtain thing put that off until next week. “

“Ya, I heard about the Curtain thing on the radio,” Dick added. “Cocaine, who would have thought that would be a part of it. This is going to make all of our lives difficult for a while,” he said shaking his head. “The league is not going to take a player going undetected for drugs without a big investigation into this random testing that is supposed to be going on.”

I hadn’t thought about that. Well, for those of us who have nothing to hide it will just be inconvenient, but if someone was helping Curtain cover up his drug use that would be something else again. Dick was right.

Dick hands me the computer print out of the Cub hitters, including ones just up from the rookie league and Class A. A couple of rookies have made the big jump to AA, just like I did. They would be worth looking out for.

“Hear you and Gloria are back together. Good for you,” adds Dick. “She is some beautiful girl. You guys belong together, just like Ken and Barbie.”

“Alright, watch it,” I said jokingly. “I never asked for a modeling career, just to play baseball. I’m not looking to be on the cover of GQ or anything.”

“Don’t worry,” said Dick. “It will happed whether you want it to or not. Comes with the territory.”

“Can we just go hit some balls and make this a productive afternoon,” I ask? “Unless you want to become my agent?”

“I can assure you,” Dick responds, “it would probably pay more that this job does. This one does come with more job security. Once you get old and wrinkled you’ll be yesterday’s news, kid. Then where would I be?”

“Come on, we’ve got work to do,” I conclude. “We’ll deal with this agent thing later.”

We start walking down toward the hitting cage. I am looking over the Cub hitters as we walk.

“Don’t worry about memorizing everything on those sheets,” states Dick. “Meyers will be charting your pitches for you tomorrow night and he will feed Bolton info on how to consider pitching each batter. You will have final say on pitch selection, but usually this info is pretty accurate about player’s tendencies.” We walk into the cage area and close the door.

“Come over here, I want to show you something I made that might help you,” informed Dick. It was the strangest contraption I had ever seen.

I move around a plywood structure that has opened vegetable can stuck in holes drilled out to the same diameter as the cans. It is 4 foot by 8 feet tall and is held up with a 2” x 4” frame, slightly tilted back. There is a green and red Christmas light in the back of each can and wires running all over the place. The cans fill the center space of the plywood, about the perfect size and position of a batter’s strike zone. The vertical edges are over the black rim of the plate area. The top and bottom edges are near the knees and the letters of a 6 foot 2 inch player. The entire strike zone is fill with these cans and can be turn on and off at will. It is truly amazing.

“Bill, stand back a little bit and I’ll show you what I have created,” states Berg. “You should like this.”

He flips on rows of red lights that are near the center of the normal strike zone. “These areas do not belong to you if you are the pitcher. They belong to any good hitter in just about any league. You might get by throwing a pitch in this area, but only if you throw 95 MPH or more, or if the batter is taking all the way. This is the area where 20 game losers go to die. If you want to join them, just pitch in this area most of the time.”

He turned off those lights and turned on 3 rows of green lights on the outside edge of the strike zone and across the top near the letters.

“These belong to you most of the time,” he continues. “The bottom left here is where sliders kill most hitters. A good fastball can live here to. Across the top is where you can walk-the-ladder on a hitter and most can’t catch up to good, high, heat. The most good hitters can do is foul off these pitches. You can just turn it around for a left-handed hitter. Remember though, each hitter has certain pitches they can handle and each hitter is different. You must play to their tendencies and weaknesses if you intend to win most of the time. Control is absolutely essential if you intend to make it to the SHOW and stay there. Honesty, most pitchers just throw so hard and rarely can spot most of their pitches unless they take a lot off, then it is just batting practice. Control is the key. If you can pitch to these spots that these individual cans represent, with something on it, you can succeed. If not…? You must pitch to the count, the situation with runners, and the number of outs. Lack of control just makes this all just a game of chance.”

“I never thought much about it, at least not like this,” I stated with some amazement. “You’ve really done your homework, haven’t you? I know about pitching up and down, in and out, but not on such a precise table such as this.”

“Bill, most pitchers at this level know this stuff,” Dick added, “but then they loose their concentration or are just cocky enough to think they can get by on their physical skills alone. They start to think some of those red areas belong to them, but they don’t, usually. This is the biggest mistake they make here in double A ball. They are here because they have talent, but never really start using their head. Macho men become history up here.” Dick continued.

“Meyers, Como, and Jackson seem to have started to get it. Morse just has lightning stuff right now. He will have to become smarter if he intends to get to the Big Apple. He is coming around, though,” adds Dick. “If we score more runs then you can try and become more aggressive as not all mistakes fly out of the park. Singles and doubles can make your life just as miserable. Hitters can get real stupid as well, and often do help pitchers out by swinging at stuff way out of the strike zone and guessing. That is a big plus for you.”

“I think I am getting the message, loud and clear,” I state enthusiastically. “Now, if I follow these rules and still get shelled, you’ll take the blame, right?”

“R-i-g-h-t,” added Dick! “That’s the way it works around here. I always take the blame for hitting slumps and pitcher’s mistakes that leave the park with motors on them. Sure! And pigs fly!” We both start laughing.

“And besides,” adds Berg in his worst God Father impersonation, “Now that we’ve had this little chat there will be no need for my boys to come around and give you a little pep-talk, you know Vinny Bodda-Boom Badda-Bing and Luigi Ta-veee-geee. People who don’t follow the rules end up as part of the New Jersey Turnpike. To get your attention my boys have a motto: A rubber hose leaves no lasting marks. Capisch?”

“I think I get it,” I reply. “Make sure the boys know I understand and I don’t need no stinkin visit from them, OK?” I join in the fun. “We’re just one big happy family here. No problems.”

“Can we get in some hitting, now,” I ask? I may need to drive in some extra runs for myself tomorrow.”

“OK, let go,” said Dick.

We finished hitting practice round 5pm, clean up our balls and gear and head to the locker room. It was kind of eerie being the only ones at the ball park. I was starting to get a little nervous thinking about pitching my first professional game tomorrow night. Dave left a message on the clubhouse phone saying he picked up Beck alright and should be home by 8pm or so. I would be getting to meet another Lollar in a few hours. I ride by the diner only to find out that Gloria had gone home a little early as it got slow around 4pm and the night girl came in early. I drove over to Gloria’s house. Mrs. James answers the door.

“HI Bill,” said Mrs. James, “come on in. Gloria is upstairs taking a shower and will be down in a minute. Can I get you some lemonade or some iced tea to drink?

“That would be nice.” I reply. “Lemonade if it’s no trouble?”

“No trouble at all,” she replies sweetly. “Come into the kitchen with me will you?” I follow her into their large kitchen.
“I hear you and Gloria are taking a little trip, to California she said,” stated Mrs. James. “That will be nice for the two of you.” She continued to prepare our lemonades. I knew then that she did not know the real reason for our trip at all. Maybe it was just as well. What did I know at this point? I’m leaving the sleeping dog lie as it were. We sat down at the kitchen table to have our lemonade. I could hear Gloria coming down the stairs in the hallway.

“Gloria,” I began, “your mother was just telling how glad she was that we were gong on our little trip next week to sunny California. She was also right about us having lots to talk about on the way out and back.”

Mrs. James had not idea what I was implying and as Gloria entered the room she had no intention of spilling the beans about why we were really going. My voice only hinted at how disappointed I was that Gloria was still not coming clean with her mother about this trip.

“Bill, it is obvious you are becoming upset with me, again” said Gloria. “Please don’t. Mom, I have something to tell you about why were are going to California. I am going to apologize to someone form something malicious I have done. I have caused great harm to a number of people and need to make it right, if I can. Bill has offered to take me there. It really was his idea anyway. It is something that I must do.”

“Gloria,” said her Mom with great concern, “What could you have done to anyone? We don’t know anyone in California.”

Gloria had a hard time holding her head up as she told her Mom about Bob’s recruiting nightmare, the whole story about what she did to Chris Tavy, everything. She told her Mom who much all of this hurt her and how she let her feeling for Bob get in the way make her do something very stupid. Gloria’s Mom was having a hard time believing it.

“Oh, Gloria,” said her Mom in a pained voice,” this must be so awful for you. Are you sure you can and want to do this?”

“Mom, I have to,” said Gloria firmly. “It is the right thing to do, no matter how embarrassing it is going to be. The hardest part will be if Chris and Jon can ever forgive me. That is the big unknown. I may be unable to fix this. I do know what a broken heart feels like. I know how you must have felt when Dad died. ”
Gloria kneeled down at her Mom feet and put her head in her lap. Her Mom gently stroked her hair.

“Mom, don’t feel bad about this,” said Gloria. “I know Dad’s dying was tough on you. He meant so much to both of us. We can work this out with Bill’s help. I love you very much. I’m so sorry.” Tears were streaming down her face.

I left the two of them alone as I walked into the living room. I looked out the front windows and saw what a beautiful day it was outside. Kids were riding their bikes down the side walk. The lady next door was playing with her dog. Across the street the old man was cutting his grass, what little grass he had, with one of those old rotary lawnmowers that had no motor. You could see how each push was hard, but it was the last remnant of his younger, muscular days. I knew it was important to him to do that job. Just like Gloria and I had to do ours. I let myself out the front door. I got into my Taurus wagon and headed over to the Lollar’s. It would be nice having a night off I thought. I was kind of glad the Disneyland trip was next week. I’ve had enough excitement for one day.

When I got to the Lollar’s house I saw Dave’s truck in the driveway. I went in the back door just like always and found Dave and Becky in the living room with cold drinks in their hands. He went early as a surprise to all.

“Hey, Billy,” said Dave taking charge, “come on in and meet Becky.

“Nice to meet you,” I said waiting for her to reach out her hand, the gentlemanly thing to do. She did. I’m sorry things have been so crazy since you’ve been home.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Becky. “Dave has told me so much about you and what a great player you are. I guess you have been through a lot?”

“Well, only believe about half of it and I paid him to say the rest,” I add laughing. “You know Dave, not one to miss out on a buck.”

“Alright,” said Dave. “I didn’t tell many big fibs about you, but I will take the $20 anyway.” He and Becky started laughing.

“Just put it on my tab, will ya,” I add.

“No problem,” answers Dave, “but I am keeping track. As much money as you’ll be making you’ll never miss it.”

Mary and Gus show up about a half an hour later and they are so happy to see Becky. We talk for about 30 minutes more about all Becky’s been up to. Mary heads out to the kitchen and informs us it is going to be simple eating tonight: macaroni and cheese and a big green salad which is jut fine with us. They insist that Dave join us, which he does and he is not one to miss a free meal.

I give them my note from earlier about Bob’s phone call and that only adds to the excitement of the evening. Becky asks about Gloria and Dave is only too happy to inform her that Gloria and I am an item. Becky is very pleased as she likes Gloria very much and seems to have given up on any chance that Gloria and Bob would come to anything, you could tell she, Mary, and Gus were all pleased. Now if Bob would just fall into place all the pressure would be off. Maybe.

We talked long into the night, but by 10 O’clock I had had enough and asked to be excused and when up stairs to get a good night’s sleep. I said my round of good-nights and told Bolton I had gone over the sheet he had left on the Cub hitters. I thanked him for it. I wished everyone a good night.

I slept until after 1PM the next day. I couldn’t believe it. I had never done that before in my life. It was a good thing we had a night game. I stuck my head out in the hall way to see if the coast was clear and quickly went into the bathroom, shaved, showered, and rushed back into my room to dress. I got down stairs and found Becky at the kitchen table.

“Hey, sleepy-head,” she said smiling. “Can I make you something to eat,” she offered.

“Oh, I can’t ask you to do that,” I reply. “I think I’ll just head over to the diner and get a quick bit and see Gloria anyway.”

“Would you mind if I tag along,” asked Becky? “I’ll try and not get in the way,” she added with a wink.

“You are more than welcome to come,” I said with a big smile. “Let’s go.”

We head out to my car and go over to the diner. When we get inside Gloria rushed over to us and nearly knocks Becky to the floor. They hug, twirling around in a circle like a couple of school girls. You would have thought no one else was in the diner. Maybe we weren’t.

“Billy, where did find this little girl,” asked Gloria? “Was she hitch-hiking or something?”

“No, Dave picked her up Thursday at college to come home for this weekend,” I reply. “They got home earlier than we thought. Once Bob gets here the family will be all back together.”

“I think you and Billy being together is just great,” says Becky. “How do you get so lucky and get all the handsome ones, anyway?”

Gloria looks at me with a warm smile that only she could give. “I am very lucky,” she says to Becky with all the sincerity she could muster. “I am luckier than you’ll ever know. I think this one’s a keeper, what do you think?”

“I think you are right,” said Becky with a big smile. “If you throw this one back I’m taking him, so you better hold on tight.”

Gloria come over to me and puts her arms around my neck and warmly whispers in my ear, “I’m never letting you go Bill Alan, never.” She gives a warm kiss on the cheek.

“You guys want something to eat,” asks Gloria? “Come sit over here and I get some menus for you.”

We follow our orders and make our choices. We eat a nice lunch with Becky filling me on some other bits of Lollar info I was unaware of. I finally realize it is after 2:30pm and excuse myself as I need to get ready for the game tonight. I kiss Becky on the cheek and thank her for a nice time and give Gloria a warm kiss before I leave.

“Knock’m dead tonight Billy,” yells Mel from back in the kitchen. “The pressures on to go 4 and 0 tonight you know.”

“Thanks, Mel, I really needed you to remind me,” I shot back. “Don’t worry, I don’t think I’ll give up more than 10 runs, but with our hitting we should win 15 to 10 anyway. See Ya.”

With that I am out the door and hop into my car and head out to the ball park. It seemed too early to go the park, but I was getting to nervous just to sit around anymore. I went out to the mall and just walked around for over an hour. I left and went over to the local stereo shop, Distortion Limited, and asked the salesman if I could just look around. He said no problem, but asked me to come into one room they had set up, strictly 2-channel stereo, and my kind of room. I didn’t really care for this new surround-sound that many were calling: surround-a-clown. Pretty funny. My dad had all tube McIntosh audio gear that sounded so good to me. His collection of vinyl was to die for. It was mine now along with his old Thorens 125 turntable with an SME 309 arm on it. The old Shure Type III cartridge still sounded OK to me, but then…

Then Walter, the sales guy, took me in this room and showed me this new SME model 10 turntable with this stunning open plinth. It looked like something out of NASA. I could see my face in the side of the platter that was so thick. He took out Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue LP and it was all over for me. He let me know that it sounded so good partly because of the
Acous-Tech Phono Stage that it played through and that it probably cost more than my Dad’s old turntable rig by itself. The cartridge was an Ortofon Kontrapunct B, a grand by itself. I knew then how much I missed home and listening to records with my Dad. I told him I’d be back. It was time for me to get something to listen to for my self. I put his business card into my wallet that I somehow new was going to much thinner very shortly.

In the locker room the guys were getting dressed slowly and milling around, shooting the breeze. Some were walking around in the sanitary hose, stirrups, pants on but jerseys opened. Some were drinking juice or water. I move over to my locker and began taking off my shirt when I feel a tapping on my shoulder. It was Reggie.

“Good luck tonight,” said Reggie. “I don’t want to jinx you or anything, but have a great game tonight.”

“Thanks Reggie,” I reply, “but don’t worry about any jinx. I don’t believe in jinxes any way. Just don’t tell Bolton as we don’t want to burst his bubble about his eliminating the Voodoo curse from the team. He needs to know he has something to do with this team’s winning.” We both start laughing.

Reggie slaps me on the back. “You’re really something, man, you know,” he says laughing as he walks away.

As I sat down red stuck his head out of the office. There was the usually noise floating around the room, so Red spoke loudly.

“Alan, after you get dressed come into my office,” he said in a business like fashion. A chorus of “OOOOOZZZZZ” when out like I was told to go into the Principal’s office at grade school.

I nodded that I would. I got dressed a little quicker than I normally would have, curious about what Red wanted.

“Bill, sit down,” Red instructed. “I just got a call from Doc Martin and the final results from the autopsy, double checked by the staff at Yale. They were right; Curtain had enough cocaine in him to kill a horse. The town and State Police are going to work together on the case. They want to find out where he got the cocaine, who sold it to him, and if any Pirate players are involved. I talked to Skip McCormick half an hour ago. He told me he had no idea anyone on his team was doing drugs. They do random, independent testing just like we do, but never turned up anything before. He said he would have never suspected Curtain anyway. The team is staying right here in town for a few days. Their game will be made up at the end of the season if they need them. They started interviewing every player on the Pirates this morning. What I am telling you is his death is not your fault at all. He should have never made it to the mound or pitched as long as he did. He was a walking time bomb and you just happened to be around when he went off. The Police will get to the bottom of this. The drug dealers are the ones who killed him. His doctor at home should have pushed the issue of Curtain telling his family about the tumor. His own fear killed him.”

“Don’t worry about me, Red,” I state. “I’m alright with it now. I still feel bad for Sharon Curtain and the family. Keep me posted on anything else you hear. Are the Curtains still taking the body back to Vermont tomorrow?”

“As far as I know,” replied Red. “I didn’t hear about them wanting to keep the family here any longer. How do you feel about tonight?”

“I feel good skip,” I offer. I feel good. I slept until after 1pm today. I never thought I could get that tired in my life. I guess this has been one hectic weekend.”

“Good luck tonight,” said Red. “I know you’ll do well. Now, get out of here and let me get some work done, will ya? You might want to address the team with what we know just to stop any crazy rumors that may start.”

Red give me a big smile as I get up and head out the door, back to my locker. Red sticks his head out of his office and addresses the team.

“Boys, Billy has something he wants to tell you,” he announces.

I stand up on the chair from my locker. I glance around the room as the players wait for me to say something.

“We learned today the Chuck Curtain, the Pirate pitcher that died, had a massive brain tumor. He and his doctor kept it a secret from everyone including Chuck’s wife. He refused numerous attempts by his doctor to seek treatment and testing or even consider surgery. The autopsy revealed that it was not cancerous and most likely operable. Worse, they found a huge amount of cocaine in his system and a major investigation is forthcoming as to how and where he got the drugs. Because of this we are all going to come under more scrutiny, even us, and every team in this league. I don’t know many of you well, yet. I want to ask you that if anyone is using drugs now, please stop, see Red and get some help. You will want to come forward now rather than be found-out. Red has an open-door policy. Take advantage of it before it is too late, like it was for Curtain. His manager had no reason to suspect him or anyone. This is a very sad day for the Pirate Organization all the way up the chain. We owe it to each other to care enough to help our teammates. I can sense what a special team this is. Let’s not blow it. I guess that’s about it.”

I get down from my chair as the players go silently back to their lockers and finish getting dressed. A hush fills the normally lively locker room. The room remains silent. I hear red clear his throat behind. I think the silence got to Red.

“Gentlemen,” said Red. “I know this may be unsettling to you, but we still have a game to play, Bill’s first pro-start tonight. He’s going to need great performances out of each of you tonight to get through it. Try and stay loose, just like we’ve been the last three games we’ve played so well in. Jones you are on your own again tonight. Get on often and run like the wind. I think will try some more hit and run tonight, especially after the third inning if the game is close. We may have to manufacture some runs tonight. Smart base running and timely hitting wind most games, not so hopped up strategy. Play good defense and throw to the right base from the outfield. I hear this Cub team is much improved. OK, Boys, let get ready to go get’em.”

The spirit of the team picked up a little, but was still mulling over all I said. Who ever said baseball was a simple game played by men with a lot of little boy in the them wasn’t around to se the game today. Complicated men have made the game complicated now. Maybe it is more about survival than success. I needed some success tonight. I was looking for my life to get simpler. Maybe after next week it could.

The Dreamers Chapter 14 of 47

2009-08-30T17:56:00.000-07:00

Chapter 14 The Dreamers

Gloria goes to tell Mel she is leaving for a while. We head out to my car after she changes clothes in Mel’s office. She threw on a pair of blue-jeans and a light blue turtle-neck top, she looked so beautiful. It was hard to imagine the mess she had caused, but I could somehow begin to understand how upset she would have be to have her dreams dashed due to some prank. Truly amazing.

At the hospital we find Gus, Mary, Red, Skip McCormick the Pirate Manager, Emma and Joe Curtain in the waiting room. Sitting next to Emma was a most attractive young, woman who beginning to show her pregnancy. It must be Sharon Curtain I thought. They were all sitting on 2 sofas in the waiting room. As Gus and Red spot Gloria and I coming down the corridor, Gus comes to meet us half way.

“Gus, have you heard anything from Doc Martin,” I asked softly? The marble floors and concrete walls make sound travel too easily. Mary had stopped her conversation with Emma Curtain and came to meet us.

“What we know is that he was in Intensive Care, but on the critical list, and everyone thought he was stable. They knew he had some brain tumor, that was the dark spot they saw on the X-ray, but they were hoping he would get stronger vital signs before they undertook such a grueling operation. He never did come out of the coma. Doc said he was sure there would have been vision damage even complete blindness in his left eye. The funny thing is that no one knew about his brain tumor, not Joe, Emma, or even Sharon, his wife, that’s her sitting over there next to Emma,” finished Gus.

“Can you believe it,” asked Mary? “No one knew about his brain tumor. How could that be?”

I excuse myself and walk to the Curtains. I introduce myself.

“Excuse me,” I begin. “I’m Bill Alan of the Monarchs, and I just wanted to say how sorry I am for what has happened. I never wanted anything like this to happen; I even hate it when someone gets hit by a pitch. Please believe me when I tell you how sorry I am.”

“You’re the boy who hit the ball, aren’t you,” asked Emma?

I look down to the floor in shame. “Yes, maam, I am,” I admit to her and their family.

“We wanted to talk to you sooner, but didn’t know who you were,” she added softly. “We want you to know we hold no ill feelings toward you or any of the Monarchs. Please don’t carry this burden around with you for the rest of your life. IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, NOTHING MORE,” she said firmly. “You need to believe that right now.”

“She’s right,” said Sharon Curtain as she reached out and touched my hand. “Please don’t blame yourself for this. We know you could not plan this or stop this from happening. I was just a freak accident.”

She looked warmly at me as tear started to well up in my eyes. I did my best, but one rolled down my cheek. Sharon was quick to wipe it away with her soft, little hand. “Hey,” she said, “It was just an accident, OK?”

“OK,” I said. “If there is anything I can do for you, just say the word. I gave Sharon a piece of paper that I had written my name, address, and phone number on. I also included the Monarch’s contact information who could always track me down. “Please, call me if you need anything, really,” I conclude. I squeeze Sharon’s hand and as I rise up I reach out to meet Joe Curtain’s out-stretched hand and we shake warmly. I nod to Emma who went back to be seated with Sharon. I go back over and re-join Mary, Gus, and Gloria.

“They started the autopsy about two hours ago,” said Gus. “They decided to perform it right here rather than move the body. The Monarch’s owner heard about it last night and called the hospital administrator and is paying for all the arrangements, including the autopsy. He will also take care of Sharon Curtain once this is settled. If the best doctor was in Bangladesh you can bet George would have him here pronto. He is funny that way. He has asked us to keep him informed all the way.”

As we were talking Sharon Curtain came over to us and tapped me on the shoulder. “Can we go for a little walk,” she asked? “We need to talk.”

With that we made our way down the hall, walking very slowly. I was getting somewhat more nervous with every step. I didn’t know if I was up to this or not. What kind of bomb shell was she going to drop on me?

“As the news of Chuck’s accident reached me from Joe and Emma,” she began, “I started to make arrangements to come here. I called my folks in Florida, and Chuck’s brother and sister in Arizona and California. I then called our family doctor, Dr. Franks.” Sharon paused for a long time with a serious look on her face.
“He came over to the house right away and he dropped quite a bomb on me,” she continued. “Seemed Chuck had gone to see him over these awful headaches he was having. Chuck even complained that he would lose the feeling in his arm once in a while. He refused Dr.’s offer of running some tests to see what was causing it. Doc then told me that Chuck even admitted that he would black-out once in a while. It always happed when he was alone, so no one else knew. Chuck made the Doc swear not to tell a soul about this. He never did.”

“Why would he want to keep such a secret from you,” I asked?

You see, Bill,” Sharon went on, “we lost our first child, a son we named Barry, five months ago. It was that sudden infant death syndrome, you’ve probably heard about it where children just stop breathing in their sleep. Well, anyway, it was really tough on us for a while. I guess especially me. I was mad at God, mad at the doctors, just mad at the world I guess. I just couldn’t understand what I could have done that was so bad to deserve this happening to my child. I went to Church every Sunday, even Wednesday nights once in a while. I’ve never been with any other man, Chuck was it. I think that is why Chuck never told me. He was afraid I couldn’t handle it, I guess. So he never did tell me. Doc did tell me that Chuck was afraid that if they performed surgery he might not be able to play ball again, he feared that something would go wrong during the operation. Doc Franks told me he desperately tried to convince Chuck with the great advances they’ve made it could probably be removed successfully, but Chuck was not buying it. Chuck was always great for putting things off, anyway.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing from Sharon. “I’m so sorry,” I reply to Sharon. “What a terrible mistake, all of this.”

“Bill, the reason I am telling you this is that I don’t want you to go through the rest of your live carrying ten tons of guilt about this,” added Sharon. She stopped walking, turned and looked me square in the eyes. She reached out and threw her arms threw mine and around my chest, burying her head in my chest, starting to sob.

“Sharon,” I begin as I put my arms around her trying to console her, “don’t worry about me. I am more worried about you and this baby you are about to have. My problems are small compared to what you are looking at. I think you would agree.”

She released her arms from me and pulled back to look at me. “I’m not worried about any of that she said. Chuck has $2 million of life insurance so money is not going to be a problem, no father for my child is, but there are many other people with worse problems than mine. I will be able to afford to deal with mine and I have a loving, supportive family behind me. Many single moms don’t,” she concluded.

“You are taking this better than I ever thought you would,” I add. “I guess all you know and have gone through has brought you to this point.

“What you must understand, Bill,” Sharon went on, “is that one day Chuck could have fallen over dead in some gas station wash room from this tumor he would not deal with. Whether it was a hit baseball or nothing at all, it doesn’t matter. Problems never go away. We must deal with them the best we know how and get on with it. Chuck couldn’t do it and so here we are today. He probably should not have been out on that mound pitching. He always complained about these wicked headaches, but kept telling me it was just migraines. We know now it wasn’t.”

We talked just a little longer and Sharon gave me another hug, which I returned. We made our way back to the families waiting for us. They still had not heard anything.

Joe Curtain spoke. “I think we’d like to go get some lunch if that is all right with you folks?”

With that the Nurse came over and asked if we could join her in a private room off the main corridor. The Curtain family headed off, but Sharon turned to see us all standing still. She motioned for us to follow.

“You all come with us,” she stated. “There is no reason for you not to be with us. There are no secret here. She motioned again for us to follow, which we did. We entered the room with the Nurse, Doc martin, and another Doctor.

“My name is Dr. Rosenbaum,” he began. “I am afraid I have some rather startling new for you. Chuck Curtain had a very large brain tumor. The sad part was that I truly believe that it was operable and it was not malignant, which would have made any surgery less dangerous. The size of the tumor would have caused him terrible headaches, and might have even caused occasional black outs, or at the least severe dizzy spells. Did Chuck ever complain to anyone about this?”

Sharon filled the Doctor in on what she had told me. He just stood there, shaking his head. Emma and Joe were shocked. Emma started crying uncontrollably. Joe held her tight. Everyone looked at each other.

“Well,” Doctor Rosenbaum continued, “that was only part of it. The autopsy found a huge amount of cocaine in his system. I am quite surprised he could even make it out of bed let alone pitch in a baseball game!” he concluded.

Everyone in the office was stunned. The silence was broken only by Emma’s increased sobbing which was muffled by her face being buried in Joe’s chest. Sharon Curtain didn’t move or make a sound which kind of frightened me. I guess my chauvinism was expecting her to fall apart. Skip McCormick moved up near Sharon and put his arm around her shoulders. He was visibly upset.

“Sharon, I don’t know what to say,” Skip began. “I really can’t believe it. We are drug tested all the time. Not once did he test positive for anything. How can this be?”

“Well, there is no doubt about it,” said Dr. Rosenbaum. “We double checked everything. It was definitely cocaine.”

“How soon can I begin to make arrangement to transport my husband’s body back to Maine for burial,” asked Sharon?

“We can have him ready by the morning if that will be alright with you,” replied Doc Martin?

“That will be fine,” replied Sharon.

Mary went over to Sharon and Emma.” “Let’s go back over to the Dodges and get some lunch. I think Emma could use some piece and quiet. A little rest might do us all some good,” she concluded, coaxing them to move into the hallway.

With that, Mary and Sharon moved down the corridor arm in arm. The men all shook the doctor’s hands and thanked them for their efforts. We were all so numb, not really believing what we had heard. I felt prepared, but not for this kind of news. His death was one thing, but his medical condition and cocaine use were something else all together. This is a game of pulled muscles not Last Rites. I couldn’t help of thinking of Sharon and her baby as Gloria and I made our way down the hall and into the elevator. It was a very quiet ride to the ground floor. None of it made any sense. At least not to me.

The Dreamers Chapter 13 of 47

2009-08-24T13:39:00.000-07:00

Chapter 13 The Dreamers

Red decided to scratch me from tonight’s game. I can’t say whether he was right or wrong for doing it. Emotionally I was pretty low, but I thought all the talk from Dick was going to help. Honestly, I was not that disappointed when he told me. The season was only two games old, but it seemed like a hundred games had gone by. I felt sluggish even though I hit great in the cage. Maybe I’ll get to pinch hit or something.

Scott Andrews came up to me as I sat in from of my locker, tapped me on the shoulder and told me Red wanted to see me in the office. Gus and Mario joined him there.

“Bill, I know you saw the line-up card tonight without your name on it,” Red started. “I think tonight it is the right thing to do. We still made need you to pinch hit or something. You’ll be back in there on Tuesday when you take the mound for the first time. I have decided that you will pitch Tuesday night’s game, just as we had planned. Neither Gus, Mario, nor I feel that an extended period of time off is an answer. I’m going to put in Del Ray, our back-up catcher at third for tonight. But if the game gets close I will probably put you in for defensive purposes. Our pitchers deserve a better fate then Del Ray at Third base. I think you would agree.

Marion and Gus started laughing. A smile broke across my face even though I knew it was bad to think poorly of a teammate. What Red said was true, having seen Del try and take infield practice with us. It was hard to see someone who was such a good defensive catcher look so lost in the infield. He did have a strong arm and was willing to take anything off his body to block the ball. But, just the same, he was considered dangerous and a liability.

Red, I understand,” I reply. “I am a little down, but working with Dick was a big help. I’ll be ready to do what ever you want. I appreciate all that you are doing. I really do.”

“It might be good for you to get in a little throwing off the mound in the middle innings, just don’t leave too much of it there. We have a game on Tuesday remember. Is that OK with you?”

“That’s fine with me,” I reply. “Anything else?”

“Go shag some balls in the outfield and get in some running,” instructed Red. “I think you’ve had enough BP for the day. And another thing, I just want to say how sorry we all are, but trust everything will work out fine. ”

The Pirate players were all wearing the number 23 on their sleeve in memory of Curtain as I made my way out onto the field. This season would be tough enough for them I thought. Chuck Curtain had a lot of friends on this team. Some had been promoted from their rookie league team in Florida with him. Others had just arrived from other teams.

Don Jackson, our starting pitcher, got through the first inning giving up only a lead off single that was erased in a double play. Adams, Andrews and Tavy too care of that.

In our half of the first Jones doubled to right center on the first pitch. He stole third. Mike Adams hit a foul pop that the Pirate catcher made a nice play on sliding into our dugout, but came up with the ball unhurt.

Tavy hitting third, stroked a line-single into left field, going the other way again, scoring Ross Jones with the first run, giving us a 1 to 0 lead. Reggie Bond hit a tower fly to the warning track in left that was caught that almost made it 2 to 0, and Scott Andrews struck out to end our half of the first.

Through the fourth inning the teams traded base hits, but could not score any more runs. We still led 1 to 0 going into the fifth.

The Pirates mounted a threat in the top of the fifth. Jackson walked the lead-off hitter. The next batter tried to lay down a sacrifice bunt and dropped the ball just to the left of the mound. Jackson came off the mound, but did not hear Bolton calling him off. As he tried to make the play himself as he reached down for the ball his cleats didn’t dig in the ground and he crashed down on the seat of his pants. He tried to get up and make a throw, but it was too late. The Pirates had men on first and second with no outs. Mark Moran, their clean-up hitter was up and the Pirate bench started to heat up with some chatter. Jackson knew he was in a spot and now he knew that bunt play was Bolton’s all the way, but it was too late to worry about that now. You could tell by the way he was firing the ball into his glove 3 or 4 times as he waked up to the top of the mound. Bolton patted him on the butt, shouting encouragement on his way back behind the plate.

Jackson knew he had his work cut out for him. He had to be careful pitching to Moran. He couldn’t afford to walk him as Moran hit 35 homers in A last year. Michaelson, their big catcher was on deck and was no easy out either.

Jackson threw the first pitch fastball way outside in the dirt with Bolton making a great play to save it on his knees. Bolton got up and took a couple of steps toward the mound and said something to Jackson as he threw the ball back. Bolton got set as Jackson looked for the sign. He took a deep breath, exhaling very hard. Jackson went set, looked at second, and threw a fastball right down the middle that Moran got all of, depositing it in the next county, just foul. The crowd gave the largest collective sigh of relieve I had ever heard. As soon as the ball left Moran’s bat Red took his hat off and slapped in against his leg real hard. The ball was hit so high and far you would have thought it was a rocket launch at Cape Kennedy. The Pirates could have been leading 3 to 1, but it was nothing but a long, loud, strike one.

Jackson threw Moran nothing but off-speed stuff from then on, striking him out on wicked curveball in the dirt at Moran’s feet. He also got Michaelson on an easy pop to short, and got a fly ball to left for the third out. The crowd went wild as Jones squeezed it in left-center field. Jackson took his hat off and wiped his forehead as he walked off the mound. That was a close one. Amazing what a difference one pitch can make in an inning.

“Billy, grab a bat and hit for Ray,” stated Red from the bullpen telephone. “This one run lead is making me nervous. Get something started for us, will ya.”

I walked down from the pen along the left field foul line and picked up two of my bats and my helmet. As I climbed down the dugout stairs I stuffed my soft hat in my right back pocket, inside out. I dropped my bats onto the on-deck circle and pushed my batting helmet onto my head. The batboy handed me the pine tar rag and the rosin bag. I used a little of both on my bat handle. I picked up the weighted bat and began to get lose as I was announced to the crowd. A big roar went up as my name was announced. Reggie was kneeling down next to the circle. Reggie had a big grin on his face, like he always does. Those white teeth of his could nearly blind somebody.

“What are you smiling at you big lug,” I said? “You know something I don’t?”

“I’ll always know something you don’t,” said Reggie. “You rookies don’t know anything,” he said with a little laugh. “Now go up there and don’t embarrass your whole family.”

With that I smile back and make my way to the plate. I stepped into the batter’s box and smoothed out the dirt as I found my footing and began to dig in. the Pirate catcher, Moran, winked at me.

“Doesn’t get any better than this, does it kid,” he said. “Getting paid to play a kid’s game, who would believe it?”

“Play ball,” the umpire shouted as I took my practice swings over the plate. I tried to relax as I looked out to the mound. For a moment I saw the ball jump off my bat and hit Curtain in the face. I asked for time and jumped out of the box.

“You all right, kid,” asked the Ump?

“Kid, shake it off,” said Moran. “Get back in here and forget about last night. It’s over. Time to play another game. Come on, let’s go.”

I looked at him and the umpire as they were waiting for me to get set again. He was right. Let’s get on with it. I looked at Red who was clapping his hands in the third base coach’s box. “Come on Billy, hit your pitch,” said Red.

I can do this I said to myself. I get back in the box and start my routine all over again. I take the first pitch for a called strike, fastball right down the middle. I should have swung at it, but I couldn’t.

My teammates were cheering me on from the dugout, chanting my name. The crowd was getting louder with every passing second. The second pitch was on the way, a fastball inside. I turned on it and hit a rocket just inside the bag at third. The Pirate third baseman dove, but came up empty as I approached first base. I rounded the first base bag and the ball rattled around in the left field corner and I cruised into second base standing up with a double. The fans erupted chanting my name. “Bill-lee, Bill-lee, Bill-lee!” I put my hand on me knees as the tears streamed down my face. The second base umpire called time.

“You alright kid,” the umpire asked?

“Ya, I’m fine,” I reply, quickly wiping the teas from my face before I look up. “I think I’m going to be OK.”

We went on to win our third game in a row as Dave Bolton hit a towering home run to dead center driving me in and giving us a 3 to 0 lead. Later in the inning with Bill Marshall batting for Jackson in the eighth, he walked. Jones toped a little roller off to the side of the mound for an infield single. Adams hit a liner to second with both runners just able to scramble back to first and second. That brought up Tavy with Bond to follow. The fans were going nuts.

Tavy took the first pitch curve for a strike. He stepped out of the box and took a good long look at Red at third. Red had no play on as he did not want to take the bat out of Jon’s hands. He stepped back in and dropped the end up the bat in the middle of home plate. He then rolled his wrists and made big circles with his bat ala Willie Stargell. The pitch arrived as Jon met it with a nice level swing and lined a one-hop single to left. The left fielder charged hard and made a perfect throw home, but Red had held Marshall at third. The bases were juiced and Reggie Bond was coming to the plate. We were about to break this game wide open.

The Pirate manager signaled for a new pitcher, but it made no difference. Reggie deposited his first pitch way over the right-center-field wall, a mammoth homerun that must have traveled nearly 500 feet, clearing the bases and giving Reggie his first Grand Slam of the year and the Yankees a 7 to 0 lead.

Morse closed out another game with a perfect ninth inning with 2 strikeouts and the Monarchs won 3 in a row. The locker room was joyous to say the least. You would have thought it was Times Square on New Year’s Eve. Everyone was congratulating each other. Even I became so caught up in the clubhouse excitement that the previous day’s events lay dormant in my mind.

The team showed a lot of character tonight. Don Jackson brought me over a cold Coke and thanked me for my getting the team started and giving him some breathing room. I told him the way he pitched the one run we had was all he needed, which was true.

“You pitched a great game, tonight,” I said to Jackson. “Did you feel good out there?”

“Are you kidding,” he said with a smile. “I left the bullpen with nothing. My curveball was flat; everything I threw Bolton warming up was way high. I was surprised when I survived the first inning, but then it came to me in the second. I’ll never figure it out. This is some crazy game, isn’t it? Nice hitting.” He shook his head as he got up and started to go over to his locker.

Bolton called a great game for Jackson. Catchers never get enough credit for keeping pitcher in a game. He knew he wasn’t sharp, but kept on him the whole time, getting him to keep the ball down, hoping it would eventually come to him.

“I guess it was just what the doctor ordered,” said Jackson as he just got up from his chair next to mine. He looked at me and wanted to take it back as soon as he said it.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “What a stupid thing to say right now.”

As soon as he said the words he wanted to take them back, but it was too late. My mind started tracing back to last night’s game. Chuck Curtain, Doc Martin, Emma and Joe Curtain…I needed to get dressed and get to the hospital and find out what is going on I thought. What am I doing sitting here gloating over a baseball game?

“Bill, I’m sorry,” Don rushed to say as he reached out touching my shoulder. “That was sure stupid of me. Sometimes I forget to engage my brain before I speak. Don’t let me spoil this celebration for you and us.”

“Don, it’s OK,” I reply getting up out of my chair. “Hey, we all need to get on with it, don’t we? It’s all going to be alright somehow.”

Don noticed a little smile coming back on my face. I could sense how relieved he was by the way some nervous laughter escaped from his face.

“Ya, that’s right, Bill,” said Dave, “things will work out fine, you’ll see.”

As he excused himself to clean up and go meet his wife I could see how much pressure last night was putting on all of us, too afraid to say the wrong thing. Even those not directly involved couldn’t remove themselves from some level of pain and sorrow, but tonight this celebration was just what the team needed. This young season was off to a great start. I felt happy for Red, Mario, and Gus. They deserved a winner for a change. I was going to be apart of it.

I was one of the last players to dress and leave after the game. Mario came back into toe locker room to tell me someone was waiting to see me. I asked him who it was, but he said I’d find out soon enough. I pulled my dark blue knit shirt over my head and just ran my fingers thru my very damp hair to put it in some order. Who ever it was would just have to take me as I was tonight. I kicked most of the other things into my locker floor and threw my uniform and towel in the laundry cart. I put on my black leather coat and headed out through the double-doors to the corridor leading to the parking lot.

There was Gloria waiting just outside the doors. I didn’t know quite what to say. As soon as she saw me she raced over and threw her arms around my neck and squeezing me like she would never let go. I immediately threw my arms around her, holding her tight, pushing my face hard into her warm neck. It felt wonderful. I don’t know how long we stood their holding each other, but it could have lasted forever a far as I was concerned.

In a while Gloria loosened her grip from around my neck, just enough to draw her head back enough to start softly kissing my cheek near my ear. She began moving around to my face and began gently kissing around my lips in a circular pattern. I let her do what she wanted. It was very nice. I just stood there enjoying it all. Then she moved right onto my mouth and gave me the warmest kiss I think I have ever had in my life. The passion I was feeling started to make me more the aggressor as I joined in to this remarkable kiss. Our breathing became labored and neither of us wished to stop. Our cheeks became very moist. I pulled back from the kiss to see that tears were streaming down her face. She placed her fingers across my lips.

“Please don’t say anything,” she said softly. “Can we just be quiet for a while?” She kissed me warm and passionately again. How could I say no to that?

She pulled back and brushed her hands across her cheeks wiping the tears away. I smiled and put my arm around her shoulder leading us to the exit, not saying a word. I did not want to say anything stupid and spoil this moment.

We got into my car and I just started driving with no particular destination in mind. I got on I-91 north heading toward Hartford. At the Capitol exit I moved off the interstate fond a parking spot at Bushnell Park Green. I got out and opened the door for Gloria. We walked back and forth around the part, holding hands, but still not saying anything. I found us a bench and we sat for awhile. I put both of my arms on the top of the bench back, looking up at the sky. I had to break the silence.

“I can’t tell you want a pleasant surprise it was to see you waiting outside that door at the ballpark, waiting for me,” I said to Gloria who was starring at the ground. “I really need someone to take to tonight. If I could have picked someone it would have been you. I wanted to call you but didn’t feel right about it after our last meeting and all.” The sounds of the birds fill the silence as I finished talking.

“I heard what happened in the game, and then, about, well anyway I felt for once in my life it was my turn to be there for somebody,” Gloria began. “My mother has been telling me how stupid I was for turning you away. She said she could tell how much I really loved you, and you me, and that what I was doing just didn’t make any sense. If Bob Lollar really cared about me things would be different already, but they are not, because he is NOT. He probably never will be. She told me that I needed to understand that he is history, not the future, and that I needed to wake up and see it for what it was. My letting you go could be the biggest mistake of my life.”

She leaned her head into my shoulder, her hair touching my cheek. She stayed there for about a minute, then raised up and looked at me.

“I know I may be way out of line here, especially after sending you away like I did,” she continued in a soft voice. “But, I do realize now that I do really love you and how much I care for you. Sometimes I get confused, but I would like another chance if you’ll have me back,” she asked sheepishly?

I moved toward Gloria and kissed her as warmly and passionately as I knew how. She kissed me back with just as much passion and feeling.

“I would like for us to start over,” I said warmly. “I do love you and care for you very much. Where this will lead I can’t say for sure, and it sure isn’t going to be easy with the Lollars and all, but we can make this work if we both want it.”

A smile broke out across Gloria’s face. What a beautiful, perfectly wonderful face she had. So radiant, so innocent, so stunning, I thought to myself. I was one lucky guy.

“I think we should start heading for home,” I offered. “It’s getting late and some people will be wondering where you and I are. I have another important stop to make when we get back to town. I think it would be best if I make it alone,” I conclude.

“I understand, said Gloria as she kisses me warmly again. “Let’s go home.”

The twenty minute ride was peaceful as he sat next to me hugging my right are very tightly the whole way home. The console was certainly in the way, but we’d be alright.

The Chicago Symphony was playing on NPR. I really had not desire to change the station. It might be better if no lyrics were being sung tonight. This was more than I had hoped for. This only happened in fairy tails, didn’t it?

I dropped Gloria off at her house and I kissed her good night in the car. We promised to talk tomorrow. I couldn’t wait. It felt good to have someone to care for and that cared for you as well. I needed to feel it right now more than ever. Then I thought about Sharon Curtain and how she would need for someone to be there for her. I couldn’t even imagine how she was feeling right now. Would she ever be happy again? Could she ever be happy again? Would she want me to come to the hospital? Mary would know what I should do.

As I pulled into the drive way only a small light was on in the kitchen. I went in the back door like always. I could see the flickering lights from the TV set in the living room. Gus was fast asleep. Mary seemed to have already gone to bed. There was a note on the kitchen table:

Bill, Doc Martin has Mel Brinkman assisting in the Autopsy on Tuesday.
He feels there is something strange about Curtain’s death. He will be starting early Tuesday and should have all the results back by late Wednesday. He’ll keep in touch as soon as he knows anything.
They also found out that Sharon Curtain is expecting their first child.
She is due in tomorrow. Try and get some rest.

ps I hope it works out for you and Gloria. Mrs. James called.
Love, Mary and Gus

Curtain is dead? How can that be, I thought? Oh. Man, this is worse than I could have ever imagined. Their family must be devastated. What is Doc Martin speculating about? This whole thing is freaky enough with out some new twist, I thought. I just wanted it to be over. That’s all. Just over. I headed up stairs, mentally and physically exhausted. I must have laid on the bed for an hour before falling asleep.

I woke to tapping on the bedroom door. It was Gus.

“Hey, Bill, you awake,” asked Gus softly?

“Yes, Gus, I’m awake,” I reply. “What time is it?”

Gus opened the door and came into Bob’s room as I sat up in bed. Gus plopped himself at the foot of the bed.

“Ja sleep OK last night, Kid,” asked Gus? “Ya came through list night like a champ. I told Mary all about it, your double to ignite the team and all. Did you see the note on the kitchen table?”

“Yes I did,” I replied. “It makes no sense, though, to me at least. What do you think Doc Martin’s looking for or suspecting?”

“Not a clue here,” said Gus, scratching his head. “Beats me. Doc will tell us when he knows something for sure. Don’t worry. Come on down when your ready and Mary will have some breakfast for us. Sure hope is works out for you and Gloria. ” With that Gus started to head down stairs.

“Gus, I think I’ll grab something down at the BlueLight if you don’t mind,” I state quickly before Gus got to the door. “I think Mary will understand.”

Gus turned and winked. “I think she will too,” said Gus. “I really mean it when I say I hope it works out for you two. Anyway, Mary and I are going over to the Dodge’s and see if there is anything we can do to help. If you need us you can try and reach us there.”

“Please tell the Curtains how sorry I am,” I ask. “I hope they really know how sorry I am.”

“Don’t let Gloria wear you out. Your pitching Tuesday night you know,” added Gus with a smile. Mary and Mrs. James will surely come out for that. Remember what I said. You don’t what the headlines to read: LOVE INTEREST SAPS STARS STRENGTH. ROOKIE GETS BOMBED! Details on the 11 O’clock News!” Gus is really laughing as he leaves the room.

“Gus you have really weird sense of humor,” I add. “I won’t let her put Kryptonite in my shorts or anything. It would be nice to pitch in the big Metropolis one day.”

“Who knows, Kid, anything is possible,” finished Gus halfway down the stairs.

I take a quick shower and head over to the diner, feeling good about seeing Gloria again, but still very sad about the news of Curtain’s death. I arrive at the Bluelight and spot Bolton’s truck in the parking lot. I park next to him and head inside. I find him and Reggie Bond at a booth in the right corner and head over to say Hi. Reggie spots me coming down the isle.

“Hey, Billy, have a seat man, we just got here ourselves,” says Reggie with the big smile of his.

“Reggie, Dave, how you guys doin,” I respond as I take a seat. “Some game last night.”

“Ya, we broke a few windows didn’t we,” smiled Reggie. “At least me and Bolton did. Gonna have some breakfast with us?”

“Thanks, but I have a pretty lady waiting for me over at the counter,” I tell Reggie half embarrassed. Not that you guys aren’t great company, but let’s face it, she’s got much better legs than either one of you.”

“How do you know about OUR legs anyway,” asks Bolton? “You been checking us out in the shower or something? I thought there was something funny about you. I don’t think Reggie’s your type, though. He likes partners that can dance, cut a rug, know what I mean? I don’t think you’re the dancing type.”

“Lucky for me, ay boys,” I jokingly respond. “Reggie, looks like you’re off the hook. See ya! I got me a gal to go see.”

“Make sure you let Reggie know if it doesn’t work out,” said Dave laughing. “He could always get you dance lessons.” Now Reggie is laughing as well.

“That’s OK, you go see your girl friend, girl friend,” said Dave laughing harder now. Bond has already lost it. “Ok you guys I’ll quite. Truce. I thought you guys could take a joke.”

“We have,” said Reggie. “We’ve taken you for going on two years now. That should be enough for any one.” He was talking to Bolton. “Bedpans, jockstraps on the head, Voodoo exorcisms. I think we know who the weirdo is around here.”

“Hey, I don’t have to take this you know,” responds Bolton. “After all I’ve done for this team. If I had left this curse on this team we would not be 3 and 0 right now.”

“Oh, I see,” I said looking at Dave. “You are the reason we are 3 and 0? It has noting to do with the great pitching we’ve had three games in a row? How about some clutch hitting by some of your teammates, and yes, we admit your homerun yesterday was a thing of beauty.”

Dave stands up and takes a bow.

“You are too much,” I state waving my hand at him heading off to see Gloria. “I’ll see you guys later. Try and enjoy what’s left of your breakfast. Reggie, you have my condolences.”

Reggie and I glance at each other and start laughing again. Bolton is a real cosmic cowboy, really off the wall.

“Oh, listen,” I say going back over to the table. Curtain from the Pirates died last night. There’s going to be an autopsy today. I’m not sure what is going on, but there must be something Doc Martin is looking for. They found a large dark spot on Curtain’s brain from the X-Rays and the MRI. This could get really bizarre.”

They are both stunned with the news I just dropped on them. “NO problem,” said Dave in all seriousness. “Just say the word and consider it done. Reggie just sat their speechless, putting his head in his hands.

“Thanks,” I reply putting my hands on Bolton’s shoulders. “I’ll talk to you guys later. Don’t forget you are picking Becky up a college.”

I head over to the counter where Gloria is waiting on some customers. She excuses her self and motions for me to take an empty booth in the far corner. She goes back to her customers for a moment. As I wait, Mel, the owner, comes over with a cup and a pot of coffee. He pours me a steaming cup of coffee.

“Good to see you again, Bill,” says Mel. “I’m sure Gloria will be along in a minute. Hey, congratulations on the team doing so well. 3 and 0. Big Shots now, uh?”

“Hardly,” I respond to Mel.

“Guess I’ll have to get out to the park and see what all the excitement is all about. Remember Kramer and Conklin, those two guys you first met in here? Big baseball fans. They’ve been keeping me up to date. They haven’t bee this excited about the town team in years. You must be doing something right.”

“Mel, let me know when you can make it and I’ll have some tickets waiting for you, right behind the dugout. Spirits are pretty high after last night’s win,”
I add.

“Hey, well listen, good luck to you. The boss is coming and I don’t was us to get in trouble,” concluded Mel with a little chuckle.

Gloria took off her apron, threw it on the seat across from us and sat down nest to me. She took my hand in hers. Her face was absolutely radiant. She leaned in a gave me a warm kiss.

“You look beautiful today, even in your waitress garb,” I state. “I’m glad were friends again.”

“This time we’re going to be friends for a long time, you can count on it,” she adds with a big grin on her face.

“No, I didn’t forget, but you know what I mean,” I reply. “Something more that just friends would be just fine with me. I never really wanted to let you out of this as I did. I was trying to be too much of a gentleman. I was hoping you would change your mind and I’m glad your Mom helped.”

“Well, here we are together again, hopefully for a long time,” offered Gloria as she squeezed my hand. “Let me get you some breakfast and then, Mel has given me a couple of hour off before the lunch crowd comes in. I wish I had to whole day off to spend with you. It’s not often you have a day off.”

“Honesty, I was going to be busy today and tomorrow, but I’ve had a change of plans,” I stated and then hesitate. “Curtain, the Pirate pitcher, died sometime last night. Doc Martin is performing an autopsy today as he must suspect something out of the ordinary, as if someone dying from a baseball game is ordinary. I can’t figure it out, but I am going over to the hospital when we leave here. Do you want to come with me?”

“Sure, Bill, I’ll come with you,” said Gloria with deep concern in her voice. “Just let me know what you want me to do.”

“Just be with me for now,” I ask. “If you get uncomfortable about this you just say the word. I do not what this to be too hard on you as well. There are enough people hurt by this without adding another.”

“No problem,” add Gloria as she rises and goes off the get me some breakfast.

I notice that Dave and Reggie had already left. It is just me and a couple down at the other end of the diner. What a day this was going to be.

Gloria brought me my breakfast and sat quietly while I ate, sipping her own cup of coffee.

“Bill, tell me, what were your other plans,” asked Gloria. “Are they just postponed?”

“Why, yes they are just postponed, I was going to California,” I state without much thought.

“Why would you have to go out of town now?” asks Gloria with a puzzled look on her face. “What could be so important to make you leave the team for a couple of days? That is not an easy trip to make quickly.”

“I am only postponing it for a week, but it has to be done quickly so we can settle this thing once and for all,” I inform.

“Where are you going in California? Who do you know there,” asked Gloria with some concern in her voice? “Could I come along?”

“Sure, I guess you could, but why would you want to go,” I ask? “This is not going to be a joy ride I assure you.”

“Why is that,” asks Gloria?

“I am going to see Chris Tavy out in California, that’s why,” I state in a firm voice. “She doesn’t know I’m coming, yet,” I add. “Jon doesn’t know I am going either, but this must get settled between them. Would you still like to come along? Did you know Chris very well?”

“I’ve never talked to her before,” states Gloria Firmly. “Not even once.”

“Is that so,” I state in a slow, firm voice. “Gloria, I may be young, but I am not totally stupid. I thought what happened between us last night was real and that you really do care about me. How can you be truthful to me when you can’t even be truthful to yourself? I am going out to see Chris Tavy to tell her that I think her husband was set up, positioned so that it appeared like he was having an affair. Then, when the time was right, someone called Jon’s wife when she was out of town, and exaggerated about his little lunch date, making it out to be more that is was, and lying that it may have not been the first time. Then sent anonymous letters informing her of other exploits between Jon and these women that never really happened, knowing full well how upset Chris would become. But this person didn’t expect Chris to get so upset she would separate from Jon, and then demand a divorce. I guess this person was just wanting a little practical joke, but this one went too far, this one got way out of hand, kind of like the practical joke that Cheryl Tavy and Bob Lollar were involved in. You remember THAT practical joke, don’t you Gloria? Maybe it didn’t get too far out of hand at all? Only the person who made the phone call and wrote the letters would know for sure?”

Gloria sat there in total silence. She was hurt, angry, embarrassed, all at the same time.

“It was really too bad for everyone. Too bad for Bob and Cheryl. Too bad for Jon and Chris. To bad for Mary and Gus.” I went on. “It was really too bad for you and Bob, wasn’t it, Gloria?

Gloria looked up at me with tears swelling up in her eyes.

“Maybe it would be a good idea for you to come with me,” I state to Gloria? “I think you may have something important to tell Chris Tavy. Don’t you?”

“Maybe you should just mind your own business,” blurts out Gloria. “This has nothing to do with you. You have no business getting involved.”

“And you do," I reply? “Just who do you think you are ruining people’s lives with vicious lies? What did it do for you…did it make you feel good to write those letters full of lies? And, now that it was almost all over did you think you would taste the sweet flavor of revenge? Did you think it was going to put your and Bob’s life back together again? Did you think that Bob Lollar would come running back to you once he knew what you had done? It didn’t happen did it?”

“NO! NO! NO! ” shouted Gloria as she really started weeping loudly, dropping her head into her hands, trying to hide her shame.

People in the diner turned to look at what was going on. Mel came out from the kitchen area to see what was going on.

“You guys all right out here,” asked Gus? “Gloria, what’s going on?”

“It’s OK,” said Gloria clearing her throat. “It’s OK, this is all my fault. We’re alright.”

Mel shook his head as he went back into the kitchen. He probably thought we were loved starved lunatics by now, having our first lover’s spat.

“Maybe I should go with you to California after all,” said Gloria with a sincere voice. “I guess I really did something awful, didn’t I? I never thought it would go this far. I never meant for them to get a divorce. When Bob left I was so hurt. I had no one to blame but the Tavys. It was their daughter, Jon’s sister, who messed up my life with Bob. I was so angry and so disappointed. If Bob knew what I did he would be so mad at me.”

“What I don’t understand is how you thought ratting on Jon was going to do you any good.” I asked? “When it was over, why did Bob just leave you here and run off and join the Army? It makes no sense, none of it. Didn’t he know how much you loved him? Didn’t the two of you ever talk? Really talk?”

“I don’t know,” Gloria replied. “After I did it I wanted to take everything back, but it was too late. The damage was done. Bob was gone. I wanted to call Chris and tell what I had done, but I just couldn’t do it. The Lollars and my Mom could never believe I could do such a thing. I was so embarrassed about how stupid I was. It was just easier to pretend I had nothing to do with it. Make it look like Gloria was on the outside looking in, just another victim in the Lollar tragedy. Then you came along and started filling the void left by Bob. But, then I realized I was falling in love with you, but you were now a part of the Lollars and it was just getting too complicated with Bob coming home again. My leaving you WAS a lie. It wasn’t about Bob anymore. It was about my being found out and you hating me if you found out. Then Mom made me realize that I was making a big mistake letting you go. That if I really cared about you, really did love you, that I needed to tell you and be honest with you, like I am being honest with you now. No matter how much it hurts, I had to tell you the truth, even if it means you never what to see me again, or if you couldn’t love me any more.”

“I think Mom suspected from the start,” Gloria continued. “She knew I would have to figure it out on my own. I just didn’t think you could have figured it out so quickly. I just didn’t think anyone could care about strangers as much as you seem to. You seem too wise for your years. I just hope that over time you can forgive me. I really do love you and hope someday you can love me again.”

“Gloria, I do love you,” I respond lovingly. “I am not letting you go this time, but you have to make this right by everyone, especially Jon and Chris Tavy. As far as I am concerned they are the only ones how need to know anything about this. This will not change what happed to Bob or Cheryl by them knowing what you did. That is over. Bob and Cheryl have chosen their lives, better or for worse. I am in this with you all the way. We need to help Jon and Chris now. That is all that matters. They have a son to raise together. He deserves a Mom and a Dad.”

Gloria threw her arms around my neck, sobbing. “I do love you Billy Alan, I do love you,” said Gloria softly in my ear. “I am not going to let you go, ever”

She kissed me warmly. She softly caressed my face as she kissed me again.

“This is not going to be fun, is it,” she stated?

“No, I don’t think so, but we can get through it together,” I reply. “We can do this. Things can never be like they were before, but we can make this right for the Tavy’s. When Bob comes home this week, you can stop living in the past. So, Ms. James, would you give me the honor of accompanying me to Disneyland next week? I think that is where we should start. If you have any pixie dust I suggest you bring it along. What do you say?”

“I most graciously accept your kind invitation, Mr. Alan,” responds Gloria. A smile was creeping back on her face. ‘I do need to do this, not just for them, but for me too. This is really not who I am, you know.”

“I know,” I say sweetly. “If it was I couldn’t love you like I do. I have some things I need to tell you as well. For now, all you need to know is that I am madly in love with you.”

The Dreamers Chapter 12 of 47

2009-08-22T16:22:00.000-07:00

Chapter 12 The Dreamers

We leave the church at about 9:15am as the early service get out right before the Sunday School crowd show up at 9:45am. We head out to the car as Mary and Gus thanks the Minister for a good sermon. I look back and find him motioning for me to come back, which I do. He tells me that he would like to have lunch with me sometime next week, if possible. We arrange to meet on Wednesday at noon over at the diner.

Mary smiled as we made our way back to the car. Gus unlocked the car doors and well all got in and headed back to the house. Mary just smiled as I made my way to my car. I made quick time getting to the ball park in record time. There was only one car in the lot; it must be Dick’s.

I made my way into the locker room and find Dick taking a couple of bats from my cubical. He had a large leather bag at his feet full of baseballs, and under his arms were a couple of VCR tapes.

“Hey, Dick,” I ask, “what is this clandestine meeting all about? “You know if you steal all my bats it will make it a little tougher for me to go 5 for 5 tonight.”

“The way you are hitting right now, I think you could break off a chair leg and hit a double,” he said with a grin on his face. “That’s why we are here right now.”

“I’m hitting so well now you want me to take some extra hitting practice,” I state? “That’s a new one on me.”

“I want to accomplish two things today,” Dick goes on. “First, I want to get your swing on tape now that you are really in a groove. You are swinging so well from both sides of the plate now is the perfect time for that. It is time to capture you perfect mechanics so we can study them, compare them if you will to when you are not hitting so well. Then we can make the necessary adjustments and get you back into the groove. Sometimes when you are not hitting so well it is some little quirk you have developed, some little hitch in your swing, something you don’t even feel you are doing. Where you hold your bat when you start your swing, the movement of your hips, or even your feet in relationship to the plate. It can be something so small you wouldn’t believe it. It doesn’t take much to miss-hit the ball, a fraction of an inch either way and a hit turns into an out.

“Boy, you are really into this aren’t you,” I respond somewhat amazed. “I’ve heard of video at the Major League level, but not in the minors. What’s the other thing?”

“After what happened last night the best thing for you is to get right back in the batters box as soon as you can,” stated Dick emphatically. “You must keep on ripping the ball the way you have since you got here. Your at-bats after Curtain were pretty pathetic, but you probably didn’t notice. That seeing eye single to left was not you. It kept you 2 for 4 for the night, but those swings were not Bill Alan swings at the end of the game. We are going to fix that right here and now. It is important mentally and emotionally for you to get back in here right now without the least bit of apprehension and trepidation. If you do you could get hurt and give the opposing pitcher the greatest advantage of all, fear! Come on now we have a lot of work to do.”

With that Dick made his way past Red’s office, through the doorway leading under the stands. I sat down in my locker and began getting dressed. I stood up and took a towel and my batting helmet and took the same path Dick had done. It was time to get back to work. That is what professional baseball was now…work.

Dick and I worked out for about 2 hours, spending about 10 minutes hitting in intervals, then taking about 15 minutes analyzing the videos. He was intense about his job, braking down each swing into the mechanical movements, defining each part until the bat hit the ball. By the last half-hour, Dick had Harvey, our pitching machine, throwing over 90 miles an hour, but I was on every offering, hitting each one solidly. After about 15 more swings Dick turned off the machine and began picking up the balls putting them back into his leather bag. I picked up my bats and helped in the “egg hunt” Dick was finishing.

“Dick, I want to thank you for working with me early this Sunday,” I respond. “I see what you mean about how I need to get back in there after last night. I was really in a funk about Curtain. I still don’t understand it. This was great. Thanks again for all your help and support.”

“Bill, sometimes you can’t repair things,” said Dick in a serious tone. “Life is made up of opportunities, some good, some bad, and once in a while something bad happens we can’t explain. Sometime life brings you a great opportunity, like what you have here with the Monarchs. If you succeed it can bring you great joy and happiness. You have to try and make the most of it. For Christians like us there is only one Savior in the world we live in and the one we go to after this is all over. Jesus IS the answer, no matter whether life throws you a curve ball, a fastball, or a wicked slider off the plate. It is most of the time not a fastball right down the middle. No one can even begin to make a dent in the world’s problems like Jesus can. We each can only help our little bit. You can’t change the past. You can brighten the future if you trust in him. You have the most remarkable gift I have ever seen since I’ve been in this game. I have never seen any one person pitch and hit like you do. No one has ever done it at this level before. I think you have what it takes to do this in New York City. It is up to you work hard enough, want it bad enough, and remain focused through all of the ups and downs that are to follow. You have a gift, Billy, take it and run with it all the way to the top. You can live the life thousands of kids can only dream about. You can live it for them.”

I started laughing at the thought of someone wanting to be me. How could that be real? I’m just some guy from Illinois.

“Go ahead and laugh,” said Dick. “Millions of people come to ball parks like this one to relax, to cheer, and to look at ballplayers just like you and fantasize. They dream that they are Don Mattingly, Sammy Sosa, Barry Bonds, Cal Ripken, Ernie Banks, and Roger Clemens. And then, Billy Alan comes along. What I am telling you is true. When you were a kid, who was in your dreams? Ron Santo, Billy Williams, Randy Hundley, Glen Hobbie, Fergie Jenkins? Can’t you remember the crowd jumping to their feet, cheering wildly as Ernie Banks rounded the bases after hitting one onto Waveland Avenue? Billy, that is going to be you.”

“Dick, I think I understand what you are saying,” I replied seriously. “It’s just that it is hard to say my name in a sentence with those great players. It is hard to believe that my name even belongs in the same sentence as theirs. I would be afraid to think it for fear of jinxing myself or something.”

“Billy, I know, but listen to me,” said Dick. “You belong with them. As sure as I am standing here talking to you I have never felt it as strongly as I do now. Many guys have left this team and made it. Many others could have, but didn’t. They wasted their chance. I am not going to see that happen to you if I can help it.”
“I will try and put last night behind me, if I can,” I said to Dick. “If only for myself, I must still try and make some amends, somehow, someway, the problem is I do not even know where to begin.”

“Bill, let me give you one more piece of advice before we leave here today,” added Dick. “The things that Curtain and his family need right now are things you can’t supply. He is going to get the best doctors money can buy. The team and the league will pick up all his medical bills. He has people around him that truly love and care for him. Then, he will need time to heal, time to think about his future without the game most likely. That will be up to him and his family. Later on there may be things you may want to do for him and his family, but right now he has everything he needs. What you need to do is get on with YOUR life, YOUR career, and then when the time is right you can be there for Curtain if it is the right thing for everybody. When the times comes it will all fall into place. Just be patient and let things happen in their own time.”

He tapped me on the shoulder as he left the batting cage with his gear. A lot of what he said was true. It just wasn’t making things easier for me right this moment, but it would. What I was going through was noting compared to the Curtain family. Dick was a class guy and a good friend. I walked back into the locker room with my bats and towel. Dick was standing outside Red’s office door. I could see Red at his desk.

“Hey, Dick,” I shouted. “Maybe you could come over to Gus’ house for dinner some time?”

“That would be great,” he responded. “Mary is a great cook. Clear it with her and let me know. I’ll get with my wife, Suzanne, and we’ll reciprocate.”

“Deal,” I replied.

Dick headed into the equipment room and I made my way to my locker. I had just enough time to get fully dressed and get out the field. The locker room was filled with players, but they all just nodded to me or waved. What cold they say? It was just going to take some time for us to get back to normal.

The Dreamers Chapter 11 of 47

2009-08-18T16:57:00.001-07:00

Chapter 11 The Dreamers

Gus and Mary had been waiting for me to come home. “Any word at the hospital,” they inquire?”

“No, they’re still in surgery,” I replied. “The Nurse told Red it would be many hours before they knew anything. Maybe 3-5 hours. There was swelling on the brain and many fractures to deal with.” I sat down on the sofa and put my head into my hands.

“Bill, you know it wasn’t your fault, don’t you,” said Mary? “You never intended to hit that ball toward him. You know most of the time you hitters have not idea where your hits are really going. Most of the time when you try and hit a ball a certain way you end up not doing it. You know that.”

“I know,” I replied. “It just makes no sense. Why me? Why now? I just hope he is all right.”

“It is up to the doctors and God, right now,” added Gus. “There is nothing any of us can do at this point, accept pray Dr. Martin can be of some help to the boy.”

“I think I’ll try and get some rest,” I state rising off the sofa and heading down the all to Bob’s room. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“I’ll wake you around 7:30am so we can have a good breakfast before going to the ballpark for our day game,” said Gus. “I think it might even be good if we got up earlier and went to early Church, if you would like.”

I stopped as I heard Gus say the word-Church. I turned around as saw Gus and Mary in the living room next to each other.

“I think that would be a good idea,” I respond. “We should do that. Good night.”

I turn and head into Bob’s room hoping for any kind of sleep. If only it would come. I lay down on the bed with my clothes on looking up at the ceiling. I closed my eyes. The next thing I hear is a tapping on the bedroom door. I look over at my alarm clock, it is 6:45am. Did I sleep all night? How impossible could that be? I rise up and get my bearings, grab my suit and clean under cloths and head to the bathroom to take a shower and get ready for church.

Gus was sitting on the sofa leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped, starring at the coffee table.

“Bill, I don’t quite know what to say,” Gus began. “Accidents like this don’t happen very often. I think we forget just how dangerous this game can be. Thrown balls traveling over 90 miles an hour. Batted balls traveling over 110. It is really a miracle that there are not more injuries than there are. Don’t ask me how, but I think this happed for a reason. I can only hope the Curtain kid will be alright. I know it looked serious last night. The fact that we still have not heard anything is troublesome. We just need to go to church and ask God to place his hand on this situation a hope is will is that for Curtain to be alright.”

“Gus, if God wanted to look after Curtain don’t you think he waited a little too long, like maybe before I hit the ball,” I asked? “I mean, Gus, look at this situation. Curtain could die. Maybe be in a coma the rest of his life? Will he ever play the game of baseball again? Will he ever walk or see the light of day? All these things we take for granted could be gone for him and his family. He is so young and was just like me, thinking of playing for some Major League team. It is hard not to think his dream is gone for good. It just seems that some times God seems a little disinterested at times. I mean, I don’t expect things to be perfect. I guess that is reserved for heaven, but I find it hard to believe that God is going to bring any good out of this accident on the baseball field last night.”

Gus sat quietly on the sofa after I finished my little tirade. I was hurting after last night and was, quite frankly, in no mood to hear how God was watching out for all of us all the time. It made no sense. I hoped I had not hurt Gus’ feelings, but I just couldn’t see how a loving , caring God could allow Curtain to be dying and let something like this happen.

“Bill,” said Gus, “I know this makes no sense now, it may never make any sense, but often faith is all we have. God never promised us a stress-free life. Look at Job and how the devil treated him. God allowed that to prove a point. It is not up to us to ask why.” Gus paused. “Oh, by the way, Dick called and left a message for you early this morning.” Gus handed me a piece of paper with Mary’s writing on it.

Be at the ballpark by 10AM
Meet me at the batting cages
Underneath the stands.
Don’t be late,
Dick

“I wonder what Dick wants from me,” I asked out loud. “Can we make it with church and all,” I ask?

“If Dick wants you there, be there,” added Gus in a stern voice. “He doesn’t bother people unless there is a good reason. We have plenty of time. Let’s get to the kitchen and eat some of Mary’s best cooking, what do you say,” asked Gus?

We make our way into the kitchen and I take my usual seat. Mary come over and puts her hands on my shoulders and gives me a kiss on the cheek.

“Hope you slept well,” she asks? “I’ got scrambled eggs, sausages, bacon, pancakes, and strawberries, here’s the orange juice, come on fellas dig in while it is still warm.”

“Thanks Mary, “I say warmly. “This is quite a spread for Sunday morning.”

“One thing you’ll find as the season goes on,” states Mary, “is that you must eat well and the right foods to keep up your strength. The season is long and will slowly wear you down if you don’t get enough rest and eat right. You are not going to blame your slumps on me, Mister,” she adds with a big smile on her face.

“I would never do that, Mary,” I reply. “This sure looks great.”

The phone rings in the living room and Mary goes to answer it. She come back it to the kitchen and tells me it is Red for me. I go into the living room.

“Hello,” I respond.

“Bill, this is Red. “Doc Martin just called as they operated all night. Curtain’s condition is pretty bad, worse than they first thought. The force of the ball broke bones all the way down to his eye socket, including the cheek bone, and nose area. Doc Martin called in Doc Woods who is our best Ophthalmologist in the area. Curtain may loose sight in his left eye. But that is not the worst of it.” Red was silent for quite a while.

“Come on Red, what it is,” I ask impatiently. “How could it be much worse?”

Red finally answered. “When they took X-rays and an MRI they found a dark spot on his brain, on the left side. They’ve called in some doctor from Yale to consult some time today. They decided not to operate any more until they consult with him. Curtain is still in a coma, but he seems stable, but his pulse is weak.” Red’s voice trails off.

“Oh my God,” I said out loud. “Red, you let me know if you hear anything else before we get to the park, will you?”

“Sure, Bill, you’ll be the first to know when I hear anything,” replied Red. “I know it will be hard, but try and eat your breakfast. It is important for you to keep going. It is important for you and this team. Your worrying won’t help Curtain, this hospital, the doctors, or either the us or the Pirates. I see you in a little while.”

Red hung up the phone before I could even respond. The dial tone just buzzed in my ear. The monotone just kept droning in my ear. I dropped the phone to my side, finally placing it in the cradle. I heard footsteps coming up from behind me. Mary and Gus were standing right behind me.

“Looks like Curtain may loose sight in is left eye,” I begin. “He is still in a coma, his face full of fractures, but they found a black-spot on his brain from the x-rays and MRI and they’ve called in a specialist from Yale to assist. The parents must be loosing it by now,” I add.

“Bill, we’re so sorry,” said Mary as she put her hand on my shoulder. “Come back into the kitchen and try and finish your breakfast, if you can. Gus go down and get ready for Church. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Mary’s plan was to see that someone was with me all the time this morning. She was really something.

I sat down at the table and ate a little, but mostly just pushed it around my plate. I did eat more than I thought I would or could for that matter. Gus was back quickly and sat with me while he finished his eggs and toast. I drank the last of my juice and Gus finished his coffee. Mary came back and cleared the table, loaded and started the dishwasher and whisked us out to get the car pulled out of the garage. As Gus and I backed down the drive, Mary was closing the front door and came down the steps. We headed out toward Church.

“Billy, it is alright to feel like you do,” said Mary. “We’ll just have to see what the plan is God has in store for us. Today is a new day and you’ll just have to decide you’re going to deal with and get on with it. What’s done is done. It is up to God now.”

I took a tissue from the box in the back seat and dried my eyes. I felt like this one other time. This one wasn’t any easier.

“Mary, what are you talking about,” I ask? “What do I have to decide?”

“What do you have to decide,” shot back Mary? “Your future that is all. You’ve got to decide whether you are going to stay a part of the living or about to decide if you are about to join the dying. If you are going to be of any help to that Curtain boy you must remain a part of the living. If not, you might just as well be in the bed next to him. If you think the only way to reconcile this problem is to offer your life for his then you might as well get on with it. It makes no sense, but that is not the point, is it? Your feeling sorry for him and yourself is not going to do anyone any good, and most of all yourself. You get no points for self sacrifice. You want to help the Curtain family do it by living, not wallowing around in grief and pity. You really want to help them? Do it by living. They’ll see it in your face. They do not hate you for what happened. They probably feel worse for you than you do yourself. They know it was an accident better then you do, probably. Nobody planned for this to happen. They know it and it is time you did as well. To help them you must be positive, strong, and most of all your compassionate self. Lord knows, they’ll need it from you. They do not wat to look at a second victim.”

As I listened to Mary I could sense the love and concern she had for me and the Curtains. I could hear it in her voice. I could see it in her eyes and she looked at me. She was right. I knew it, just as she and Gus did. It was just this situation made my life seem so insignificant for a while, worthless considering all the pain the Curtain’s were feeling. It was an accident, truly.

As we arrived at the church and got out of the car I reached for Mary and gave her a big hung. “I really love both you and Gus,” I said. “You mean so much to me.”

“We almost lost one son,” said Mary, “we have no intention of losing another, do we Gus?”

“You’re darn right we’re not,” replied Gus. He had a big smile on his face.

“Let’s get on into church as we have a big day a head of us,” instructed Mary. She took my arm as we headed up the cement steps into the Sanctuary.

“Gus, you are a very luck man to have Mary for a wife,” I state.

“Luck had nothing to do with it. I won her at the State Fair,” said Gus with a big grin on his face.

“You won me, did you,” snapped back Mary with a surprised look on her face. “I found him on the street homeless, I did,” Mary added. “He was so pitiful I had to take him in. Living in a refrigerator box on Lexington I think it was.”

We all start laughing as we made our way through the Church doors. If only we could get back to normal. What ever that really was.