by Mark Harris
“How about you other boys?” said Larry. “What is your opinion in this matter?”
“It is about like Hank says,” said Coker.
“Hank give it to you straight,” said Perry.
Canada give a grunt.
“It looks like Henry Wiggen does the talking for this quartet,” said Larry Hatfield.
“I do not believe in hiding the truth under a basket,” I said. There was so much applause it sounded like even some of the Brooklyn people was chiming in.
Then we tore into the music. Frankly speaking, I think we was a little flat here and there. Somehow we was geared to the shower room rather then to an open place. We sung 2 songs. Perry forgot the words halfway through the girl with the hair hung down in ringulets, but he filled in with a couple bars of bippy-de-bop-boop-bop and it sounded exactly like it was planned that way. On the way out we was give 100 each in an envelope.
Canada and Coker went for a ride on the subway afterwards. I wanted to go along, even though I been on the subway a number of times with Lindon the September before. But Perry grabbed me. “Back to the hotel,” said he, “for you might work relief tomorrow.”
“It ain’t but 9,” I said. Nonetheless he steered me in a cab, and back we went. We grabbed a couple sandwiches and milk down in the Manhattan Drugs, and then we went up. “It sure is earlier then hell,” I said.
“It is nearly 10,” said Perry.
“I ain’t tired,” I said.
“Take a bath and relax,” he said.
“I took 1 this afternoon,” I said.
“Take another,” he said.
But I did not. Red and some of the others stopped by and said they seen us on the TV. Red said we sounded a little flat. Most of the boys seemed to think we sounded better in the shower, which was true. I wish to make this clear, for I don’t want nobody to think we sing so flat as we done on the air. Dutch come by. He asked us if we got the 100 as promised, and we said we did. “Well, get to bed,” said Dutch.
“What the hell!” said I. “I never before seen so many people so hot after getting to bed at 10:30 in the evening in my life.”
“Everybody goes to bed early the night before the opener,” said Dutch. Well, if Dutch says a thing it might not always be true, but it’s the law. I begun to undress. I must of fell asleep about 11.
Along about 9 I woke up, and I laid there looking out the window. It looked cloudy and cool, and the sun went in 1 minute and out the other. I laid very quiet, for me and Perry never would stir around until the other 1 did. I laid there thinking. Lots of times when I lay still like that my mind catches a hold of things that it misses completely when I am up and moving. That is what happened, for all of a sudden it flashed upon me that if you will read in Sad Sam Yale’s book called “Sam Yale—Mammoth,” pages 196 through 199, you will find a description of the first Opener he pitched, and how they rushed him to bed the night before and never told him a thing for fear he would be nervous and lose out on his sleep, being just a rookie and all, and how he got up about 12 midnight, thinking he would go down for a sandwich, and then he was no sooner out of his room then Dutch Schnell and Mike Mulrooney, both coaches for the Mammoths at the time, collared him and asked him where he was going, and then they went along and sat with him like 2 guards over a prisoner, and then they steered him back to his room and straight to bed, and Mike sat on a chair outside Sam’s room half the night, guarding it.
I remembered that. And I remembered all the dreaming I done as a kid, maybe whilst laying in bed, and how I would dream that that was what they done to me the night before the opener. I must of dreamed that dream 500 times. Now here it happened to me, like in Sam’s book and like I dreamed it, and I never suspected.
I got up and opened the door. Right smack across from the door, up against the opposite wall, there was a chair. Beside it on the floor there was an ash tray choked with cigarettes, cork-tip like Clint Strap smokes, and I knowed where Clint spent most of the night.
I closed the door. Perry was awake. He had a gleam in his eye like he just stole home. “You bum,” said I. “You knowed all the time.”
“Knowed what?” said he.
“Ain’t it true?” said I. “Ain’t I going to pitch today?”
“It is true,” said he, and he give me a grin from here to St. Louis. “Now you know. Everybody in the United States knowed it by midnight last night, all but you.”
“Well, I cannot go to the ball park naked,” said I, and I begun to dress, and along about halfway through my heart begun to pump something fierce and I got so excited I could barely button my shirt. I guess it was a good thing they did not tell me after all, for I would of never slept.
Dutch and Red come in about 1 minute later. “I suppose by now you know,” said Dutch. I said I did. Then Dutch went out and me and Red and Perry went to breakfast together. There was a picture of me in all the papers, saying such things as ROOK TO HURL and MAMMOTH’S SURPRISE STARTER, and Red read Krazy Kresses tripe and said that Krazy’s crystal ball was muddy already and the first game yet to be played. Red reads “The Star-Press” every day but says it is cockeyed. 1 time I asked him why he did not read another, and he said “The Star-Press” was the biggest and give you the most laughs for your money.
Then we spent most of the breakfast going over the Boston hitters. Red knowed them all but Heinz, a young kid up from the American Association. He said that if we got the chance we should try and watch Heinz hit in practice. Perry done so, and that was a help, although we would of got his number sooner or later. There’s people that say Heinz is a coming immortal, but I got my doubts. We had a good book on him all year.
About 11 me and Canada and Perry and Coker and Lindon and Squarehead piled in a cab. The more you get in the less you each pay. The traffic got thicker the nearer we got to the Stadium, and when we got out there was a mob of kids waiting there where I first seen Sad Sam Yale in the flesh that time with Pop. The cops tried to clear a way, but the kids ducked under and around. They spotted me, for my picture was all over the morning papers, and they spotted Perry, for that was no trick, him being the first colored Mammoth since Mark Jackson in 47. Besides which they seen us on the TV the night before. They come charging at us, crying “Sign my book, sign my book,” pushing their books under our nose. The way to do is grab 1 and sign it and keep on moving. You just can’t sign them all. I usually say, “Look, kids, if I was to sign all your books my arm would be broke and I could not pitch. So if everybody will meet me here after the game I will sign them then and it will not matter if my arm is broke or not.” When the game is over it will take awhile to get dressed, and when you come out there will only be a few kids left that would rather have your autograph and never mind the whaling they might get for not getting home to dinner.
If you lose there might not be no kids a-tall. I seen that happen, too.
Chapter 24
I WATCHED hitting practice from the dugout. You could hear folks “oooh” and “aaah.” Sid and Squarehead blasted a couple long ones. Finally I got up and took my swipes, and I could feel folks quieten down a bit and studying this punk that would be working instead of Sad Sam Yale. I hit a couple puny fouls and bunted 3.
After awhile I moved down to the first base side to the warm-up slab. Over on the other side I seen Fred Nance warming for Boston. Fred is an older man, 32 or 3, and he was already at work, the day being cool.
I felt good, although I might of liked it 5 degrees warmer, and my teeth chatted, and I was nervous. But the more I throwed the more I warmed, and after a time I could feel that folks was not looking at me so much. Goose caught me in the beginning, and then Red took over, and when I had enough we went in. I sat on the can awhile, and then I washed up and changed my shirt. Mick give her a few rubs to keep her loose, and the clock on the wall inched nearer and nearer the time, and the nearer it got the more my teeth chatted and the more I wished I had went in some other business besides this.
Sam was whistling and gay, and he
stripped down and laid on the rubbing table in his jock. “Rub me slow, Mick,” said he. He hummed and whistled and joked with Mick. Yet though he was whistling and humming and joking and gay and making remarks at everyone, kidding them along and all, his face was nonetheless sad. It was like a man was to be whistling whilst carrying a coffin.
Soon the place quietened down, and Dutch begun to speak, and there wasn’t a sound but Dutch, and dim in the background you could hear the noise of the crowd, and you could hear Red taking whatever Dutch said and putting it in Spanish for George, and the only other sound was Sam laying on the table, whistling.
“Okay, boys,” said Dutch. “There is a kid name of Heinz. We looked him over. He hits everything. He hits at bad balls, too, so be on your toes.
“I do not wish to be a gymnasium teacher, but I am going to carp again on this matter of calling fly balls loud enough for all to hear and then everybody else get out of the way. Ugly will call as usual, plus Lucky in the outfield, plus Red around and about home on both pops and bunts and such, and the first man that f—s up in this respect is going to get hit in the pocketbook and hit hard. Sam, stop that goddam whistling.” Sam stopped.
“I got my rotation f—ed up in Baltimore which is partly why Sam is resting today and Henry working. If I can possibly do it every pitcher will get a full 3 days of rest and possibly 4 to begin with. Then we will not be so hard put when doubleheaders and such pile up. They give you 154 f—ing ball games and set the schedule up like it is never going to rain and wash you out and pile up your doubleheaders. You are supposed to do everything except shit ginger snaps and win a pennant besides. Well, I ain’t complaining.
“I have not got the faintest f—ing idea why Fred Nance always gives us so much trouble. Make him work. Unless there is a different sign I do not want anybody to hit until at least 1 strike is called. Is that clear? Red, tell it to George.
“That reminds me. Red, there is this goddam Porto Rican with Boston so you will have to keep George up on the signs and not be shouting them out loud.
“We might manage to tire Nance. We are going to bunt some and keep him moving so keep your eyes peeled careful for your sign. To start with George will bunt, and if he gets on Lucky will swing bunt. I think we can jump off to a fast lead.
“Henry, we have got 7 minutes yet if you wish to warm some more.”
“I am ready,” said I to Dutch.
“I want to hear plenty of music. Henry is a first-class big-time pitcher. We all know that. Yet nobody is not shaky the first time, so I wish to hear plenty of chatter out there, and on the bench as well, and I do not aim to take him out the first little bit of trouble he might get in so you better figure on keeping tight and seeing things through if it gets rough.
“It is a little cloudy. That should hurt them more then us,” meaning that I was fast and Nance more of a curve-ball pitcher.
My hands was all a-sweat, and my teeth chatted. I kept my jaws clenched.
Dutch rubbed his chin, trying to think if there was anything more to say. He paced up and down. “Sam, stop your whistling,” he said, “for I am trying to think. Yet that is all I got on my mind. Is there anybody else got anything else to say?
“Oh yes, 1 other thing that has got nothing to do with baseball. After the Saturday game in Philly I get a call from some goddam gymnasium teacher wants to know why in hell you boys cannot stand still and give your attention to the anthem. I meant to tell you and forgot. I watched you Sunday. Up and down the dugout here is what I seen. Lucky is standing there scratching his ass. Ugly is fiddling with the lace of his glove. Gene is picking his goddam nose. Some is leaning against the wall and some got 1 foot up on the bench. Now I do not think it is too much to ask to stand up with your hat over your heart for 2 minutes and not give no gymnasium teachers something to squawk about. Is that clear?”
“My lace was loose,” said Ugly.
George spoke in Spanish and Red put it back in English. “George says tell Ugly lay more over closer towards second on lefthanded hitters. George says he goes to his own left like a shooting star. George says he feels fine and hopes the rest is the same. He says he loves everybody and wishes them good luck.”
The boys fired back “Good luck” and “Adios” and “Hasta la vista” and “Manyana” and all such. George gets the drift by the tone. I wished they would stop their fussing and get out of there. “Okay,” said Dutch at last, “leave us go,” and out we went through the door and down the little tunnel to the dugout, and some of the boys patted me on the shoulder and elsewhere and said the things you say to give a fellow courage. I guess I know how a poor beggar feels when he walks the last mile.
We sat on the benches in the dugout. The big clock in center field showed 3 minutes to go, and they seemed like 3 weeks at least. The scoreboard showed Washington and Brooklyn 0–0 after 1 inning of play. The groundsmen pulled their smoother 1 last time across the infield, and the umpires come out and was booed, as is the custom, and the band played “Three Blind Mice” in their honor, and just when it seemed like all was set the loud speaker called out the license of some cluck that parked his car on the sidewalk and was told to move it or get tagged.
Then Dutch said it was time and out they went on the double, starting in a bunch and then fanning out to their positions, Sid and George to first and third, Ugly and Gene down around second, Vince and Pasquale and Lucky off on the long jog to the outfield, and the crowd stood up and give them plenty of reception, and me and Red strolled out together, and the rest of the boys stood in the dugout, and the loud speaker said, “Ladies and gentlemen, our national anthem.” I took off my cap and held it over my heart and stood facing the flag like we was told, and Red done the same, standing like a knight in his gear, his cap and his mask in 1 hand, and the anthem was played and a lady sung.
Red jabbered all the way through, and when it was done a mighty shout went up, and he said, “Land of the free and the home of the brave. There ain’t a 1 of them free, and there ain’t 200 of them brave. 25,000 sheep.”
“My old man is up there,” I said. “Also my girl.”
“Ain’t a 1 of the whole 25,000 brave enough to sit it through with their hat on,” he said.
“I notice you took yours off,” I said.
“By God, I did,” he said. “That is the last time. Hereafter I will never stand for the anthem. I will wait in the alley betwixt the dugout and the clubhouse,” and he done it ever after as you will notice when you see the Mammoths play.
“Throw anything you want the first pitch and after that listen to your old redheaded papa,” said Red. “Good luck, Henry, this is for the money.”
I throwed about 6 to loosen. Then the Mayor of New York throwed out the first ball. Sid copped it and run over and got the autograph and rolled it down to the dugout. Morty Zinke was behind the plate, and he give Red another, and around it went, Red to George to Ugly to Gene to Sid, and then to me. My hand sweated, and I picked up the resin bag, and then I tossed it down, and Black stepped in, and I throwed the first pitch, wide, and Red whipped it back to me, and I was set.
Black went after the second pitch. He lifted it up behind second, and Ugly called “Gene” and Gene gathered it in.
Now I begun to hear the music. It was sweet, believe me. You hear the crowd, but they ain’t really with you. They are just a lot of people and a lot of noise, and they shout things at you but you never hear much. What you hear is your own boys. You hear the dugout, and you see their face, and now and then Dutch will raise his voice above the rest and tell you something. I heard Perry and Coker and Canada and Lindon, and I heard Squarehead loud and clear, and out behind me I heard the music, and in front of me, from Red.
Red says, “To me, Henry, to me, this is my sign, to me, to me.”
George says a flood of words in Spanish, and then he says your name.
Ugly says, “Baby boy, Hank is my baby boy, baby boy, baby boy, Hank is my baby boy, baby boy,” over and over.
Gene says, “A
ll you got to do is throw, that is all. All you got to do is throw. Just throw, Hank. Just throw. All you got to do is throw.”
Sid sings a song. He sings different songs, but the words is always the same. He sings, “Oh they cannot hit my Henry boy oh they cannot hit my Hank oh my Henry oh my Hank my Henry Hank Hank Hank.” He might sing the same song 1 inning or a whole game or a week.
You know they are there. You have got to know. When you are a kid you think you don’t need nobody behind you, for when you are a kid you think you will strike out whoever comes along. You will gobble up the whole blooming world and you do not need no help. But in the big-time it is different, and you have got to know they are there. You have got to know that if you make a mistake there is someone behind you to cover for you and help pull you out. You are always going to make mistakes. The idea is to not make too many.
I made a mistake on Granby and throwed 1 too fat, and back it come like a rocket, about ankle high, right at me. I could not of stopped it if I tried, and it burned past me with “1 base” wrote all over it. Gene was moving fast behind me. He took it backhand behind the base, and still off balance he whipped it down to Sid. Perry or Lucky or George might of beat the throw, but Granby stays longer in 1 place and he was out by half a step. Gene got a great hand. He deserved it.
Now I heard the music clear from the outfield. I never hear Lucky much, but I hear Vincent and Pasquale, and their voice floats in, saying, “Nuttin to worry, nuttin to worry, no hitter boy, no hitter boy, never worry, nuttin to worry,” and I stopped worrying right then and there, with 2 down and none on, knowing from then forwards that it was my ball game to win. I had the old confidence, and I never lost it, not then nor any other day. Give me a baseball in my hand and I know where I am at. Give me a piece of machinery and I may be more or less in the dark. Give me a book and I am lost. Give me a map and I cannot make heads nor tails, nor I could no more learn another language then pitch with my nose. But give me a baseball and I know where I am at, and I fired down to Fielding twice, 2 blazing fast balls, and then I changed up and throwed him a jughandle curve that he went for like a fool and bounced down to Sid. I raced over to cover. Sid waved me away and beat Fielding to the bag in plenty of time.