"Frank slept longer than he ever does at home, Mikołaj. Maybe you could string up a hammock in the backyard for him to take his naps in from now on."
When dinner arrived, the family dug in. The fresh air made them ravenous. Ojciec decided that chocolate ice cream was needed to satisfy his family's appetite. The smooth, cold ice cream tasted delicious, and Joe finished before the others. When supper was over, Matka told Joe that she and his father were going to the dance hall.
Joe took Frank by the hand and walked up the stairs to the gallery, where he found a wooden bench overlooking the large, polished dance floor. The afternoon sun was dimming slightly, making the grand room more magical in the soft light. Matka and Ojciec paid five cents apiece to use the dance pavilion, but the gallery had no cost. Several twosomes of women danced together, not minding an absent male partner. Couples waltzed and two-stepped to music the orchestra played on a small stage underneath the other side of the gallery.
Frank entertained himself with a small wooden replica of the Columbia that Matka had bought for him at the souvenir stand, so Joe was able to watch the couples as they twirled around the smooth wood floor. Looking down he saw the couple he and Jimmy had spied on in the trees. They looked decidedly like all the other young couples dancing, and Joe wondered if any other young women had taken their skirts off in the woods or if she was more brazen than the others.
The orchestra began a new song, this one a lively tune, and the couples began to dance with quick half-steps, holding onto each other tightly. A band member stood in front of the stage and played an accordion loud and fast. Joe recognized the polka and searched for his parents. He found them smack dab in the center of the dance floor. Ojciec held Matka's waist tightly as they trotted and bounced around the floor. Other Polish couples joined them, and soon the group was singing along in Polish. Other dancers tried to copy the dance by watching Joe's parents and mimicking their steps. A few of the novices slowly caught on, but most decided the dance was too difficult and moved to the side of the floor. Matka and Ojciec swirled quickly around and around, almost making Joe dizzy trying to follow their movements.
"Look, Frank! Matka and Ojciec are better than all the other dancers! Watch and see!" The boys watched in amazement as their parents made their way athletically around the long dance floor. When the song ended, all the dancers clapped. Ojciec made a deep bow to Matka, and she girlishly curtseyed back to him. Joe and Frank ran down the stairs to the entrance of the dance hall. They found their parents getting a drink at the fountain outside.
"You were wonderful Matka! You too, Ojciec. I didn't know you could dance so well," Joe exclaimed.
"Well, Joe. That's an old song from an old country. Maybe we haven't learned the latest dances here, but we can still polka with the best of them! Right, Blanca?"
Matka just smiled and bent down to grab another drink of water. Grabbing the basket she had left outside the hall she replied, "Better head for the docks and make sure we get a seat on the way back."
Sitting down on the second deck of the Columbia for the trip home, the family quietly watched the island disappear as the ship sailed upriver. Joe could see the lighthouse light and wondered if his friend Jimmy had lit the beacon tonight. As the sun set to the west, the boat was bathed in electric light. The Zickels Orchesta played the new popular song "In the Shade of the Old Apple Tree" as the steam boat quietly chugged back to the city. A few passengers softly sang the lyrics along with the band and Joe lay his head on his father's shoulder and fell asleep.
Chapter Eight
Life returned to normal. Work, school, cleaning and cooking filled the Jopolowskis' days. Joe continued to try to stay out of the nuns' line of sight at school; Mikołaj came home exhausted every night from the plant; Blanca cleaned the house, cooked, baked and supervised a very active Frank. The parishioners of St. Josaphat's planned for the upcoming celebration as the workmen neared the finish of the new school, and the students began to prepare for the dedication.
Aunt Hattie and Matka canned and put up the vegetables from the small garden . The smell of boiling peppers and tomatoes poured out of the kitchen and into the house day after day. Chopped cabbage was set in a large crock in the corner of the small kitchen to ferment for several days until it turned into a tasty kraut.
Hattie and Matka took a streetcar four miles twice a week to harvest potatoes from the last remaining Pingree's Potato Patch in the city. Former mayor Hazen S. Pingree had asked owners of vacant lots to allow the unemployed to grow vegetables during the economic depression of 1893 to 1897. With the economic upturn of the last decade, most owners had rescinded permission to garden on their land and had constructed buildings and houses on their lots. However, one large tract of land remained available, and the women of the Polish community continued to plant and harvest potatoes for their families there.
The neighborhood women met at the church and traveled together to the plot, where they dug the potatoes and put them in wooden bushel baskets, just as they had in the old country. All wore babushkas, dark sensible shoes and long aprons. Aunt Hattie would sometimes complain about the long trek back from the field with the heavy baskets, but Matka said the journey was good exercise and she was happy to get out of the kitchen.
On the days the women visited the potato patch, Joe came directly home from school to help Matka prepare a light dinner of zupa klafiorowa (cauliflower soup) or mushroom omelets. On other days he played stickball in the street or in the alley behind his house. He was trying to improve his skills in preparation for the St. Josaphat's celebration baseball game. Joe felt he was getting better, but he didn't think he could catch as well as the boys who were lucky enough to own a baseball mitt. This was not the time to be hinting for a frivolous item like a mitt either, as Matka had finally realized that Joe's shoes were two sizes too small and had bought a new pair for him.
Two weeks after the outing to Boblo Island, Joe was in the backyard helping to pull the clean laundry off the line with Matka when Ojciec came down the back steps to talk to him.
"Exciting news at work yesterday," he began. Joe and Matka stopped folding and looked at Ojciec. "Mr. Ford built his one millionth automobile yesterday. What an accomplishment! One million cars! To thank the employees for their part he gave some of his best employees two tickets to see the Detroit Tigers play."
"Did you get two tickets, Ojciec?" asked Joe.
"Sure did. You have any plans for tomorrow, Joe?"
"No sir!"
"All right, after Mass tomorrow, you and I will head down to the baseball game."
Mass could not end quickly enough for Joe. As soon as the final prayers were said, he ran out of church and raced home. While he was waiting for his family to walk home he grabbed the Sunday paper and read the summary of the game played the day before. The Tigers defeated the Cleveland Indians 6 to 5, but the win was not enough to keep them in contention for the pennant race against the Boston Red Sox. The game being played today would not help their cause, as Boston had finished the regular season with 101 games in their win column.
As Joe read further he noted that Ty Cobb had shown up at the very last second before the game started, jumping the fence and taking his place in right field. Cobb was famous for skipping games when he felt like it. His teammates felt Cobb played only for himself, and Joe worried the Georgia Peach would not turn out to play today with the pennant race over. Watching Ty Cobb play was one of the major reasons to attend a Tigers game. He had been the hometown hero since 1907, when he helped the team win the first of three straight pennants. He had earned the American League batting title for the last eight years and was batting an average of .369 this year. Although he had averaged above .400 over his previous years, .369 nothing to sneeze at.
"You want to read about baseball or you want to go see a game yourself?" Ojciec said. He startled Joe, who was bent over the paper trying to memorize the statistics. "How about you get your new shoes on and we'll grab a streetcar and take a ride down to N
avin Field?"
"Yes sir!" Grabbing his hat off the rack by the front door he raced onto the porch, where Ojciec was waiting for him. The ride to The Corner, as Detroiters sometimes referred to Navin Field, did not take long. As they neared the park, the streetcar became so crowded the conductor had to push people back into the street who were trying to climb on.
"Hold 'em back boys," he yelled to the paying riders. "They'll try to pull us on our side if we pick up any more riders." Joe looked at Ojciec nervously.
"Don't worry, son. This car won't topple. The conductor just wants to keep the freeloaders off his car."
When they reached the park, Ojciec grabbed Joe's hand and pulled him toward the ticket takers. Thousands of people milled about the outside of the park. Signs for tickets dotted the walls of the stadium. The three-year-old stadium was said to have been built upon a sacred Indian burial ground, but what that meant Joe wasn't sure. The large concrete and steel structure could seat twenty-three thousand people, and Joe was sure there were at least that many there today. The sight that met Joe when they entered the stadium would stay in Joe's memory as long as he lived. There, right in the middle of this teeming, loud, concrete city sat the most beautiful baseball field he had ever seen. The green grass looked like velvet carpet, the pitcher's mound stood slightly above the field like a royal throne for the baseball gods.
Ojciec found their seats. Along the outfield walls of the one-story ballpark were billboards for local companies. "Hey there Rooters! Have you seen J.C. Hartz, Co. about your clothing, hats, etc.? 52 Monroe Ave." "Fine Cigars Kept Fine, M.A. LaFonde, Co." There was a funny painting of an old man with a white beard dressed in a top hat with stars represented "Old Farm Springs Whisky brought to you by the Grand Valley Distilling Co Inc." and many others.
"Do you know why the Tigers have that long rope tied along the outfield, Ojciec?" asked Joe pointing to a heavy rope that was tied from one end of the stadium to the other.
"I don't know, Joe," Ojciec said.
The man seated next to Joe on the other side answered. "The rope keeps the standing room fans off the field. A few years ago, when this was Bennett Field, a fan was walking across the outfield to get to his section and ran into a player who was running to catch a pop fly. They knocked heads so hard the player was knocked out for five minutes and they had to delay the game. It's not really a problem anymore with the new stadium but the rope serves as a barrier and as the home run line."
Immediately to the left of the standing room section, a set of rickety wooden bleachers had been erected, complete with a sign that read "colored fans." The view from the segregated section was less than optimal, but to Joe's perception the fans did not appear to mind. Well-dressed Negro men of every shade; from the lightest olive color to the darkest of night, chatted and laughed as they waited for the start of the game.
The crowd cheered as the players took the field. Joe frantically searched for the Tigers' most famous player and began to worry when he couldn't spot him. Just then a loud rumbling of voices and yells arose near the home team's dugout. There he was, the Georgia Peach, tall and thin, baseball cap slightly askew, running onto the field. The crowd stood on their feet and applauded for several minutes. Cobb did not acknowledge the praise as he began to warm up.
Joe watched as the team began their pre-game drills. Bobby Veach and Sam "Wahoo" Crawford lobbed the ball back and forth, then Bobby threw it to Cobb. The Detroit newspapers had named the trio the Greatest Outfield of All Time that summer, and the threesome continued to earn the title. Crawford was hitting .300 and had driven in over a hundred runs. Veach was close to the same, with 112 RBIs. Joe was a fan of all three, but his eyes never left Cobb.
Joe stood with the rest of the stadium and held his hat over his heart when a man walked to the mound and began to sing the Star Spangled Banner. The song was not sung at every game, but because this was the last game of the season, it had been decided that it would be appropriate to finish the year with the national anthem. Ojciec stood proudly next to Joe with his hand over his heart. "Joe, will you teach me the words to America's song?" he asked when the man finished. "I would like to learn my new country's anthem."
"Sure Ojciec. I can teach you tonight after supper. We had to learn all the words at school."
A Cleveland player walked up to home plate and the crowd quieted, settling in for the game. A man in a navy blue uniform walked down the aisle shouting, "Peanuts! Arachidi! Földimogyoró! Orzeski ziemne!" The vendor was announcing his product in different languages; English, Hungarian, Italian and Polish. Ojciec bought a small brown bag of warm peanuts, and they shared the bag, cracking the shells and throwing them on the concrete floor. Ojciec left in the second inning to buy a beer and came back with a Vernors Ginger Ale for Joe.
"Try it, Joe" he said. "It's made right here in Detroit." Joe sipped the spicy smelling amber liquid. His tongue was surprised by the bite of the flavor. As he drank more he began to enjoy the taste.
The stadium was not filled to capacity as Joe had thought. Approximately six thousand fans had come to watch the final game of the season—many, perhaps, with the free tickets given away by Mr. Ford. The day was sunny and the air crisp with the promise of autumn. With no pressure to win the game, the crowd was relaxed and the players seemed to be having a good time playing for the fans.
That is, all the players but Cobb. He played each inning as if the Tigers were in the World Series. He never let up; catching each ball that neared him in the outfield and gunning it back to the shortstop for an out or a double play. Joe watched Cobb as he sat on the steps of the dugout. Cobb looked over angrily at the Indians' bullpen, while he sharpened his cleats till they were like dozens of tiny knives.
Detroit scored five runs in the first three innings. Cobb had one run batted in. Covelskie was pitching, and the Indians could not get a run in. The Tigers looked unstoppable until the fourth inning. Covelskie threw a few fastballs by the first batter for the strikeout, but it was downhill from there. The Indians batted in four runs, and the Tigers were only up by one. The shortstop caught the final out, and the Tigers were up to bat. George "Tioga" Burns was up first. Cobb was on deck. Cobb grabbed three bats and swung over and over again in the batter's circle. Joe stared at Cobb's arms.
"He swings three at once so his bat feels light when he is up," Joe told Ojciec. The boys at school had told Joe that Cobb was the first player to warm up like that, though many players now copied his style. Tioga struck out, and Cobb walked up to the plate. The pitcher seemed nervous as he watched Cobb swing a couple of practice swings. Cobb gave the pitcher an evil stare. He choked up on the bat. The pitcher threw two balls and then Cobb nabbed his first hit of the game, with a ball into right field. He took first base unchallenged, and Veach was up.
Cobb stood ten feet out from first base, taunting the pitcher to throw him out. Turning his back on the Georgia Peach, the pitcher began his delivery. Before the ball left the pitcher's hand Cobb was barreling toward second. The pitch was outside, and the catcher threw to second. Cobb slid into the base with his cleats in the air. The second baseman took a small step back to avoid the sharp blades of his spikes. The umpire called, "Safe!" The crowd stood and applauded. Cobb had just stolen his ninety-sixth base of the season, beating the 1912 record of eighty-eight held by Clyde Milan of the Washington Nationals.
Veach struck out. Harry "Slug'" Heilman hit a pop fly, leaving Cobb stranded on second to end the inning. The next three innings did not produce any runs on the scoreboard. Oldham took the mound in the top of the eighth for the Tigers. The score was tied up, with the Indians good for two hits and the Tigers providing an error in the infield. Burns and Young got to third and second on two singles and a Cleveland error. Dubuc was sent in to bat for Oldham, and he hit a long fly that allowed Burns to score. Dubuc pitched the ninth inning, with three successive strikeouts. The Tigers won the game.
Ojciec and Joe followed the crowd down the aisle onto the baseball field after the game. Joe c
ouldn't believe he was standing right where the Georgia Peach had stood.
"Just a minute, Ojciec, please?" he said. His father nodded his approval as Joe walked to first base. Mimicking Cobb, Joe stood ten feet out and stared at the pitcher'' mound. Taking off, he slid into second. Ojciec clapped loudly.
"Safe! Jopolowski steals his ninety-sixth base of the year, tying the Georgia Peach!" Ojciec teased Joe. "Matka won't be happy about the dirt, son, but sometimes a boy has got to be a boy. Let's go."
They headed across the grass to the right field wall, where they exited onto Trumbull.
"Guess you're ready to play at the church baseball game now, huh, Ojciec?"
"Don't know how I couldn't be after watching that fine performance. Don't know if I will be stealing bases like old Cobb, but you never know. I think my catching is getting a lot better. Hopefully I don't embarrass myself when I am up to bat."
"You'll do great; just try to aim the ball where no one is standing. That's how Cobb gets most of his runs. He doesn't hit for the stands, just tries to hit where the other players can't reach it to throw him out."
"Well, I know I can't hit like the Georgia Peach but I'll give it my best."
After the electric streetcar ride and the short walk home, Joe and Ojciec told Matka all about the exciting game over supper. Joe retrieved water from the pump in the backyard and helped Matka with the dishes. Ojciec read Saturday's, Dziennik Polski, the Polish newspaper that served twenty-five percent of Detroit's population.
"Maybe, it's time for Joe to get a job as a paperboy," said Ojciec, looking up from his paper. "I helped my father with the fishing before I was his age. I scaled and deboned them when he came in from the sea every night after school."
"Maybe next summer, Mikołaj. He's still young yet. Let him concentrate on his schoolwork for now," Matka replied.
Joe was simultaneously disappointed and relieved. Many of his classmates sold papers in the morning before school to help contribute to their family's income and gain a little pocket change. But Joe had also noted how tired the boys were in school and how the nuns continually rapped them on the back of the head when they fell asleep in class.
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