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?”
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Chapter 16 of 47 The Dreamers
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.
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.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
The Dreamers Chapter 15 of 47
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.
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.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
The Dreamers Chapter 14 of 47
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.
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.
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