“My problem is if you’re good. You’re not going to have any trouble with the fans. The difficulty will come with your teammates and your opponents. See what I’m saying?”
“Jealousy?”
“That’s part of it. But think about this. You’re in American Legion ball and let’s say you’re hitting, oh, almost seven hundred halfway through the season. You’re two hundred points ahead of everybody else and cruising toward a big-league career, way ahead of schedule. Now in your next game, you’re gonna face a prodigy. This is a baby. Can barely walk. He’s still in diapers, get it?”
I laughed.
“And this kid is a pitcher nobody can hit off. I mean, he’s allowed four hits in five games and has an ERA of zero. Okay?”
I nodded, grinning.
“He walks your leadoff man, and now you’re up. What’re you thinking about?”
I had been caught off guard. I said nothing.
“Are you thinking about what pitch he might throw? Or are you thinking about bunting, where to put the ball, what’s the situation? What are you thinking about?”
My smile was gone. “I’m thinking how embarrassing it would be to strike out against a baby.”
Rafer Williams slammed both palms on the table, crossed his arms and sat back, glaring at me. “There you go,” he said. “Let me be the older guy now. I’m a catcher for the Reds. I’ve got a lifetime average of over .280 and I’ve hit over four hundred home runs. I’m gonna be a Hall of Famer, and everybody knows it. Now I’m catching and a child comes to the plate to hit. Do I want my pitcher to give up a hit, or even a walk, to a child? What am I thinking? I’m thinking, This kid wants to play with grown-ups, he’s gonna have to face grown-up pitches. This kid’s gonna be on his butt the first three times my pitcher tries to put one in his ear. Then what?”
“Am I that kid?”
“Course. Now what?”
“I’m looking for the green light on three-and-oh.”
Williams shook till he almost left the chair. He raised his head and shrieked. He clapped. “You’re lookin for the green! I love it! I love you! You are Jackie Robinson. That’s just what he woulda said!”
“I hear you, sir. Nobody’s going to want me to steal a base off them, get a hit, draw a walk, throw them out, tag them out. I figure I’ll have to watch for hard slides, roll blocks, beanballs. I s’pose people will bunt at me, rag on me, taunt me. It’ll just make me more determined.”
The commissioner had a hand over his mouth, studying me.
“Let me tell you something,” he said. “I’m concerned about your power. You probably haven’t hit a live pitch farther than three hundred feet, right?”
“About three-ten.”
“You know what that’ll get you in pro ball.”
I jerked up my thumb like an umpire.
“Precisely. So, let’s say you can plant liners into the outfield and maybe the occasional double in the gap. Here’s what clubs will do. They’ll bring that outfield into two, two-fifty or so, maybe even put one of the outfielders in the infield. Then they shift the infield to take away the ground-ball hit. With two guys in the outfield, faster than any you’ve ever seen in Legion ball, they’ll run down those flare hits. All of a sudden you’re hitting a hundred.”
“Then I get sent back down.”
“Then you get sent back down.”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Oh, you’d get sent back down.”
“If I was hitting a hundred I’d expect to be. But I don’t think I could be held to a one hundred average. I know I haven’t faced live, ninety-mile-an-hour pitching, but I believe I can put the ball where I want to at least half the time. And I have a good eye. I’ll walk a lot.”
Mr. Williams cleared away the trash and motioned to the other room where this time he sat on the couch and directed me to the coffee table.
“I like your confidence,” he said. “It’s naive, but it’s confidence. Let me ask you this: Do you have any idea how noisy it would be if I allowed you into the draft?”
“Noisy?”
“Big. Newsworthy. I know you’ve been drawing crowds and getting a lot of publicity, but I don’t think you realize the magnitude of this. You would be known all over the world. It wouldn’t be long before you wouldn’t be able to go out alone. You’d be on all the talk shows, there’d probably be apparel deals, shoe deals, you name it. But I’ve seen superstars come and go. I’ve seen kids pitch in the majors right out of high school, then never pitch in the bigs again. I saw a kid come up from A ball, fresh off a perfect game, only to be hit all over the yard in a third of an inning and never come back. That’s the kind of thing I need to think about.”
“I probably should tell you that I have no interest in the American League.”
“What?”
“They’d make me a designated hitter, and I’d hate that.”
“I hated that too. That’s why I never thought they’d make me president of the AL. How strongly do you feel about it?”
“I wouldn’t sign with an AL team unless they guaranteed in writing I wouldn’t be a DH.”
“Hm. That could make you look bad.”
“Maybe just American League teams would have to know.”
“Elgin, if I allow you into the June draft, you won’t have any more secrets as long as you live.”
“You’re going to let me in?”
The commissioner’s arms were spread on the back of the couch.”So, you come right out and ask me, do you?”
“Sorry.”
“It’s all right. I was hopin you would, because if you didn’t, I wasn’t supposed to discuss it. But I’ll tell you, in this day of agents and lawyers and spokesmen and all that, the guy who knows the least is always the guy we’re all talking about—the player in question. That’s not right, especially with someone like you, the Jackie Robinson of kids. So, just so you’ll know from the beginning, here’s where I am on this:
“A lot of people think that once we crack this door open, we’ll have all manner of high school kids dropping out and running off to play baseball like they do in basketball. Well, I say we keep some limitations. Most of all, the kid would have to agree to tutoring and would have to maintain a certain grade point average and graduate. If he fell behind, he would be on the shelf until he was back on track.”
I nodded and couldn’t quit smiling.
“Don’t get ahead of me now, son. Just because you qualify on all those doesn’t make it so easy. This gets kind of complicated, so stay with me. I couldn’t make it appear I was doing this on behalf of baseball, even though you and I know that if you succeeded and made the majors at some ridiculously young age, it would be the best thing that ever happened to the game. But see, if we came after you, rather than the other way around, and I allowed you in the draft because I thought you’d be exciting to watch grow, we’d look like zookeepers.
“What has to happen is that you push your way in. You’ve started that with your performance and your stats. But if my hand was forced, we’d look better. Understand?”
“No.”
“Can you keep a secret?”
I nodded.
“I’m going to say no. No way I can let you into the draft. Now don’t look at me that way. I’m going to take a position that this would not be in your best interests, even if it might be a good thing for baseball. Then I need you to force the issue. I need your attorney to threaten a lawsuit accusing us of discrimination on the basis of age, hammering away that you and your mother both want this, that she will be with you all the way, that you will be tutored, the whole bit. Public outcry will be incredible, and at some point I’ll give in. I may throw out a few conditions of my own, but I’ll concede that we really don’t have a case and that we don’t want the expense of a lawsuit we’re sure to lose.”
“Then what happens?”
“Then your name goes into the June draft, the Astros take you, and you’re off to the races.”
I felt
a lump in my throat. “You mean it’s up to me? If I tell Mr. Thatcher to make you let me in the draft, that’s all there is to it?”
“Except this. I wish I could guarantee that you’ll be the best thing that ever happened to baseball and that you’ll make the majors in a few years. I doubt you’ll make it while you’re still younger than Joe Nuxhall was, but I hope you make it as a teenager. I will not be a happy man if it all falls apart for you. If you get hurt or disillusioned, or if we put you in over your head, I’ll feel bad and hope the money has been worth it for you. Let me remind you that it’s the baseball playing itself that has gotten you where you are now, and what you do on the field will always determine how everything else goes. You quit playing at a top level, your money dries up, your endorsements disappear; your other-than-true friends, your popularity, everything else tumbles.
“But you conduct yourself like a pro, keep practicing and perfecting your skills, you will have no limits.”
The commissioner reached to shake my hand.
“I want to talk to your mother. I want to talk to Mr. Thatcher. And then I want to get back to my office. Between now and the draft, you and I are going to be busy people.”
I shook his hand and wanted to thank him, but no words would come. The commissioner rose from the couch as I stood. He embraced me as I fought to keep from crying.
“You’re welcome,” Rafer Williams said with a smile.
65
Within a week, the baseball commissioner’s office announced it had been petitioned by the representative of an underage ballplayer to be allowed into the June draft. The commissioner denied the request, but soon anyone who had not heard of Elgin Woodell before was well aware of him because of Elgin’s network television appearances, rallies for him, call-in shows, letter-writing campaigns, and daily news reports of the lawsuit filed by Billy Ray Thatcher of Hattiesburg, Mississippi. Even Billy Ray took on Lincolnesque proportions.
A meeting with my American Legion coaches and teammates convinced me they would be thrilled if I was drafted and left them immediately. “Thanks a lot,” I said, pretending to be insulted, but they all told me they would be proud to say they had once played with me.
“We’ll win the thing without you anyway,” Doyle said. Everyone laughed, but that proved true. Without me the rest of the way, they would win the state and wind up third in the nationals.
Meanwhile, the commissioner held a news conference to announce what only Momma, Luke, Mr. Thatcher, and I knew: that Williams was, “with great fear and trepidation, making this very unusual exception in the case of one very unusual young man.”
The Astros, despite their pledge to never give up Elgin’s rights, traded the first pick in the draft to the Atlanta Braves. The Braves had been under tremendous public pressure, from the mayor to the people, to make the southern boy their own. They gave up two frontline players, a pitcher and a center fielder, along with three future draft picks and an undisclosed amount of cash.
The Braves offered Elgin a million dollars, guaranteed, for three years. Other clubs claimed they would have paid more. The Braves maintained that they were taking an expensive risk.
Elgin proved a bargain. His arm and range and speed left him inadequate for any position in the field except first base, and though he was a small target, he caught most everything and held his own defensively in double-A ball. He was thrown at, bunted at, run over, and taunted—sometimes even by his own teammates, but when it became clear that his bat had not suffered in the transition to professional ball, he changed a lot of minds.
Mr. Thatcher and I turned down flat the suggestion by the Braves that they give me the uniform number 1/2.
“He’s gonna have enough trouble fitting in without that silliness,” Billy Ray said. “If he hits like a child, then give him a child’s number. He’s already going to look interesting in a real uniform at his size. I mean, he’s big for thirteen, but he’s still no adult.”
I had a slow start, probably because I was nervous and getting used to a better brand of ball—plus it took Mr. Thatcher time to arrange to have the pitching machine shipped to me and set up for me in secret locations. But then I caught fire.
Record crowds and media followed him as Elgin ran his average up close to five hundred. Atlantans began calling for his promotion to triple A and even to the big club, which was floundering in fifth place. But the Braves announced that Elgin would not be moved up even to triple A during that season. He garnered just enough at bats to win the batting title by 130 points at .485.
“He could play in the big leagues today,” his manager said. “I just don’t know where they’d put him.”
I returned exhausted to our new address, a condominium in Buckhead. We had one floor gutted, and Elgin hid the machine there and spent hours every day smashing golf balls about the place.
Visiting us at the end of the season, Luke seemed down.
“Elgin’s hitting right now,” I told him. “He’ll be glad to see you.”
“I’ll be glad to see him too, but I really need to talk to you.”
I led him to the huge living room, and he reminded me that he had seen the place while it was being decorated.
“Are you happy with it?” he said.
“You know me too well,” I said. “Let’s just say I’m happy for Elgin, because this is going to be his place someday. When he comes of age or gets married, or whatever he’s going to do, I’m going to live somewhere else.”
“Doesn’t he want you to live with him?”
“He thinks he does. But if I were a young wife, I wouldn’t want that, no matter how charming and wonderful my mother-in-law was. And you know I’m charming and wonderful.”
I worried when Luke didn’t smile.
“Elgin will be gettin interested in girls here soon,” he said. “But he won’t be marryin anybody till he’s at least twenty. You could get awful used to livin like this in the meantime.”
So that was it.
“Lucas, I will never get used to living like this. Tell you the truth, I loved the road. I loved doing for Elgin and seeing him succeed. I missed my job. I missed some of my friends. I didn’t miss the bus rides. I feel a little funny sittin around here without much to do, and I know that as Elgin does even better, I’ll have even less reason to work. But this is not my idea of life, Lucas. Don’t think I’m going to become a woman of leisure.”
“But Miriam, look at this stuff. It’s gorgeous. I feel like I couldn’t even invite you two to my place again. I mean, I do all right and I’m not in debt, but compared to this—”
“Why are you comparing it to this? They don’t pay shop owners hundreds of thousands of dollars. I’m keepin close tabs on Elgin so he remembers where he came from. He starts getting highfalutin on me, I can still deal with him, know what I mean?”
Luke stood to look out the window. “That’s one beautiful view,” he said.
I stepped behind him and slipped my arms around him. “Lucas, do you not like me anymore, now that I’m livin here?”
He didn’t turn around. “Are you kiddin? Miriam, I love you more than ever. It’s just that I’d be holding you back. Elgin can take care of you, and why should you be hangin with a guy like me when you can run in these circles?”
“You think I’m going to meet some teammate of Elgin’s, some veteran with millions of dollars, and he’s gonna sweep me off my feet?”
Luke turned around, his hands at his sides. “More likely, you’ll sweep him off his feet.”
“You really think that,” I said flatly.
“I worry about it. There’s lots of guys our age in the baseball world, especially as Elgin moves up.”
I took his face in my hands. “I don’t want guys,” I said. “I want you.”
“What have I got to offer?”
“Who else would have shaved off his beard and mustache just for me? And you’ve kept it off. Why?”
He shrugged. “For you.”
“Then you do still care
about me.”
“Miriam, don’t kid about this, okay?”
I backed away and sat down. He looked miserable and retreated to his chair.
“Lucas, this is not an attractive side of you, this self-pitying, poor me, I’m-not-worthy-of-you thing. It sounds like you’re beg-gin for strokes. What do you want to hear?”
He sighed. ‘That you still love me as much as I love you, Miriam.” His voice was thick. “I want to hear that even though you could live like this, you realize that with me you probably never will.”
“Have I ever said different?”
“No, but I worry.”
“I don’t want you to worry, Lucas. You know who I am. You know where I came from. You know how I lived just a few months ago. This is not my place, hon. This is Elgin’s. He worked for it. He deserves it. I don’t want it. I won’t get used to it and call it mine. We’re a little out of place here, you know. People look at us funny. We still carry our own grocery bags up on the elevator.”
Luke laughed. “How tacky.”
“Lucas, I want to tell you this once and for all and not hear another word about it, okay? I don’t want you to doubt me. I never thought I’d get a second chance at love, and for it to be so much better than the first is just a gift. No matter where I am, no matter what I’m doing, no matter who I’m with, I’m not lookin for anyone but you. I’m loving you. I don’t know how else to say it.”
Luke leaned forward and raised his eyebrows. “I don’t suppose you’d care to back up that statement?” he said.
I’d been looking for a reason to kiss him since he came in. “Sure,” I said. I rose and sat on his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck. I lightly touched his lips with mine, then pressed my mouth to his as if I wanted to drink him in.
The Youngest Hero Page 32