The Southpaw

by Mark Harris

  He got in a terrible scrap with Wes Jenkins in the third on a close play at first, spitting at him and calling him some extremely nasty things, and Wes would of throwed him out of the game, particularly after Swanee give him the old sign, 1 finger up. The League frowns on this, saying it don’t look good before women and children, but Wes took no action, giving Swanee a warning only, thinking Swanee might yet collect a hit and keep the record going.

  Sometimes I almost wished I was an umpire. I remember, the Saturday after, looking down at Wes, for he worked the plate that day, and wishing I was him. I was getting lumped up plenty and I thought how nice it must be to be an umpire when it makes no difference who wins and who loses. It was dreadful hot that weekend, and I think I drunk too much water, and time after time, when I throwed, full speed come out half speed, and curves never curved enough, and my control was sometimes off a full six inches. Dutch finally lifted me, and I walked out without no argument.

  We split a doubleheader Sunday, Sam losing the first but Knuckles winning the nightcap. We was glad to pull out of St. Louis that night. It was the first series we lost all year, and the first time we lost as many as 3 in a row.

  We damn near lost the Chicago series as well. Piss dropped the first game, and Hams won the second, and I was behind 3–2 in the ninth inning of the third when Red begun our half with a single, old Red so cool and collected and always playing ball right down to the finish and never saying “Die,” and Perry pinch-run for Red, and Pasquale Carucci swung for me and pumped a hit to short center. Jeff Harkness took it on 1 hop. I suppose the sensible thing would of been for Perry to hold at second with none out and the heavy end coming up, but he was playing the long percentages, and he went right around second, never stopping, never looking behind, and Harkness hesitated just the fraction of a second, knowing that if he tried to cut Perry off at third that Pasquale would move down to second anyways and we would still be in scoring position. Well, he throwed towards third, and Lindsay cut off the throw at short and tried for Pasquale at second, and they got him easy enough, except that whilst everybody was watching the play at second Perry was turning third and flying home at 90. The throw come in, and he slid safe under Millard May and tied up the ball game. Horse Byrd collared Chicago in the ninth and we later won it in extra innings.

  We went on to Cleveland in the morning, all but Ugly. Ugly stood behind to see a Chicago doctor that he had good reports on. Ugly was all run down and weakly, and Dutch give him permission to stay.

  Lindon said, “Ugly, why do you not merely tell Dutch that you need a rest?” Lindon was dead serious, but a laugh rose up from many of the boys.

  “It been tried,” said Gene. “Dutch only gives you a song and a dance and tells you how it was in the olden days.”

  “Why,” said Swanee, “back in the olden times ballplayers never rested.”

  “That is true, though,” said Goose. “I believe they was tougher.”

  “Bullshit,” said Red.

  “If I was to take a rest your pal Roguski might take away my job,” said Ugly to Lindon.

  “I do not want your job,” said Coker. “I want to win the flag. I do not care who plays and who does not.”

  “I have heard that song before,” said Ugly.

  Yet Coker was speaking his true feelings. Naturally any ballplayer would rather play regular then sit on the bench, but Coker did not care how he won his share of the Series melon just so long as he got it. He was planning to build a house for his folks in West Virginia. He said they lived in a tar-paper shack for 25 years and would as soon live in a brick house, just for the change. You may not believe this, but Coker never seen an indoors toilet until he was 18 years old 1 time in Clarksburg, West Virginia, when he went there to play in the Legion tournament.

  We figured Coker would take over at shortstop in Cleveland, but he did not. Dutch moved George over to short and played Canada at third. Sam turned in a fine game, needing a little help from Herb Macy in the eighth but getting credit for the win nonetheless. Lindon lost a 2–1 ball game the following night, Rob McKenna going all the way for Cleveland. When Rob is hot he is hard to beat, in particular at night. He give up only 4 hits, and the only run we got was a homer by Ugly, for he caught up with us just before game time. He said the doctor in Chicago said if he busted Ugly’s jaw and set the teeth right Ugly would digest better and feel top-notch all through his system. Ugly said, “Goddam that noise.” The doctor give Ugly a bill for 50 bucks. Ugly said send it to the club and make it 500 for all he cared. It was terrible funny the way Ugly told it.

  Dutch eat us out before the Saturday game. He said maybe we was too busy figuring out ways and means of spending the Series checks, but in case we had not noticed we lost 5 out of 9 since coming west. He was real sarcastic. Naturally we noticed. But them things happen. Boston picked up a game on us. Dutch said if we was to fall back a game a week we would be spending second place money instead of Series cash and watching the Series from the grandstand. “Of course,” said he, “it is very pleasant to watch the Series that way, for you do not get sweaty. Then, too, it is really grand fun to keep score on a card. You might also pick up 100 or so putting in a plug for razor blades on the radio. 100 is not 6,000, but then again there is nobody on this club that cares anything about such a thing as money. We just play for the fun of it on the Mammoths.” Then he was silent for a space. “Well, I got nothing more to say,” said he. “Johnson will pitch and Vincent Carucci go back in left.” That was the outfield we begun the year with, Lucky and the 2 Caruccis. Sunny Jim was hitting poorly since the beginning of July. “Anybody got anything to say?”

  Nobody did.

  Knuckles was back in the shower by the end of the third. Horse Byrd joined him 2 innings later. Herb Macy was back there before the seventh was out, and Gil Willowbrook finished up. We lost the ball game 12–5. The scoreboard showed Boston whipping Chicago.

  Dutch never said a word. He went in his little room and dressed fast, and then he passed back through and out the street door. “Has he went?” said Gil, peeking out from the shower, and we laughed. The talk took up a little, and we got the quartet going, and I believe that picked up spirits some. The boys was not worried.

  “Hell,” said Knuckles, “Dutch is not worried neither. He is a regular John Barrymore that puts on the long face to carry out the act.”

  I come out of the shower just as Dutch come back in. “Boston beat Chicago,” he said. “A fellow told me there was some ballplayers in here and I thought there might be 1 or 2 with an interest in the pennant races.” He went out again.

  “Up his,” said Goose.

  “Still and all,” said Lindon, “that is only 6½.”

  “Punks is to be spoke to and not heard,” said Sam.

  “Okay,” said Lindon.

  It rained the first day in Pittsburgh. We drilled in the drizzle, and the game almost begun, and for 5 minutes or so the sun come out and took a look and did not like the weather and went back in, and the umps called it off and we went in and dressed and shot back to the hotel and laid around. We caught St. Louis and Boston on the radio. It was 1 of them recorded deals where the Pittsburgh station took it an hour or more before and put it on tape.

  Along about the third inning Sam Yale come in the room. He never come in our room before, and I knowed he was up to something, and he asked how the game was going, drawing a chair up by the window and sticking his legs on the sill. It was 1–1 with Boston batting. “They ought to go ahead this inning,” he said. There was 2 down and none on and the lower end of the order coming up, and I doubted that they would. But I said nothing. Bruce Pearson said, “Not this inning, probably.”

  “Bet you half a buck,” said Sam to Bruce, and he took 1 from his pocket and flipped it in the air a few times. Bruce pulled out a dollar. “You are on,” he said. Toomy Richardson singled and Nippy Lewis doubled, scoring Toomy, and Bruce give Sam the dollar and Sam give him the half in change.

  The telephone rung, and Sam pic
ked it up. “Well, well, well,” said Sam, “if it ain’t my dear girl Suzy. How did you know I was in here? Me and some of the boys is listening in to a ball game.” He kept up a running fire, and finally he told Suzy call him back later, for the ball game was very exciting, and he hung up. He sat there staring out the window and creasing the dollar bill, and Klosky come up for St. Louis. “Jim ought to hit a home run,” said Sam.

  “Bet you half a buck,” said Bruce.

  “You are on,” said Sam, and Klosky hit a home run and Bruce flipped Sam the 50 cents.

  Suzy called again. “Goddam it, Suzy,” said Sam, “leave a fellow alone once in awhile when he gets a day off. Maybe I will see you next time I come through Pittsburgh. Sure I love you, Suzy, but I am listening to St. Louis and Boston on the radio. Me and Wiggen and Simpson and Roguski and Smith and Burke and Goldman and Pearson. Klosky hit 1 in the fourth and the last of the fourth is over now so call me back another time.” He hung up. “Suzy figures Heinz might hit a home run inside the park,” he said.

  That is the hardest kind. There probably ain’t 10 hit all year. It has got to be a long drive and a fast runner in a big park. Bruce said he doubted it. If Bruce had any less brains he would be in Squarehead’s class.

  “It is your privilege to doubt it,” said Sam.

  “Half a buck,” said Bruce.

  “You are on,” said Sam.

  Heinz done it sure enough. Bruce must of lost about 3 dollars before he had the sense to quit. The half would go from him to Sam and then back to Bruce in change for a dollar and then back to Sam free and clear, and finally Sam rose and said he was off to see Suzy (she had called twice more in the meanwhile). He said he figured Boston to win by a score of 7–2, and they done so. Actually it was Goose on the phone all the time, over at the radio station playing the tape before it was put on the air. There was never no Suzy a-tall. I do not think Bruce knows it to this day. I believe Sam done it just to see if he could.

  I was in bed that night before it dawned on me that Boston was now only 6 behind and plenty hot. They was winning 2 out of 3 in the west.

  I pitched the opener against Pittsburgh. Hams was slated to pitch the day it rained, but then we grabbed off the rest and Dutch figured I was ready. He was getting so he relied on me more and more. The assignment suited me fine, and I won it. That give me 14 and 4 on the year, which was more wins then anyone else had. Scudder had 12 and Rob McKenna 11. It looked like I was headed for 20 for sure. That would be another dream come true. We picked up a game on Boston, for they lost to St. Louis that day, and the 7 looked a lot better then the 6 of the night before. But it was shrunk to 5 when we left the west, for Sam and Hams both lost their starts in Pittsburgh, Boston winning 2 in St. Louis. On top of everything else Lucky Judkins wrenched his back skidding on the wet grass going after a fly ball. Mick taped it up. Lucky figured it would work itself out in a couple days.

  I do not like Washington nor ever will. I am minus a roomie there for 1 thing, for Perry must go sleep in Howard University. Red says it is a pretty good school, though not Harvard. Red says 99 colleges in 100 is run by boobs. Anyways, in Washington I have got to room alone in the hotel. In the beginning I never minded, for once you are asleep it don’t matter, but after awhile I begun to sleep bad and worry, and I had the backache all through September, and Perry done me plenty of good, talking to me and cheering me up and telling me things was never so bad as I imagined. “Things is getting better all the time,” he would say. Him and Red got in these damn arguments about whether things was headed up or down. Perry said “Up” and Red said “Down.” Perry said Negroes are better off then ever before, and Red said true, but they are better off in a worser world. Perry said he don’t care about the world, just about Negroes. Red said Perry don’t care about Negroes, neither, just about himself, Perry Simpson. “Ain’t that true?” said Red, and Perry said he supposed it was at that.

  Yet he seemed to care about me, and that was why I hated Washington, for I was all alone. It would of been the same in St. Louis but Dutch knowed the owner of the hotel. I could of roomed with Piss Sterling in Washington, for Piss roomed alone on account of his sinuses, but I done so 1 time in September, and then in the middle of the night I got up and went out and slept in the park, for between the racket Piss made with his nose and the backache and the heat I could not sleep. It is important who your roomie is. It has got to be somebody that will listen to your troubles and tell you the way out, and sometimes we would talk far in the night, and I told him my troubles and he told me his, and time and again, laying there, we would figure it out. Perry is always thinking. He always has ideas. It is true that he sat on the bench most of the year, but he did not just sit there. He studied. Mostly he studied pitchers, for that was how he learned to steal on them so good. But he picked up plenty about hitters as well, and what he picked up he passed along to me. Some day he will have Gene Park’s job, and you will see smart baseball from Perry. He is studying and thinking all the time.

  Lucky Judkinses back still hurt him from where he fell and wrenched it on the wet grass in Pittsburgh. He took the drill on Saturday with about 12 feet of tape wrapped about his middle. Mick said it would help. Lucky said it would help Washington maybe. He said Mick was no better then a horse doctor. Mick said he only done what Doc Loftus said, and Lucky said that made 2 horse doctors, and Mick said most horses have got more brains then certain ballplayers he could name. But Lucky could not get the full power in his hitting. He kept chopping them off to left and center all right, but when it come to the full swing he could not go all the way around, and Dutch made him take the day off, playing Scotty Burns in center.

  Dutch give us a lecture before the game, saying we had bad luck in the west, and now we was to turn over the slate and start anew. He was not sarcastic, and he eat nobody out. He said Scotty would bat in Lucky’s spot because this was the kind of a club where we was all hitters and it did not matter who hit where, and we would go out there and not worry and just wait until Buderman blowed.

  Piss pitched and turned in a fine job. He got nicked for 1 run in the third, and that was all. The only trouble was that Buderman never blowed a-tall, and when it was added up we got 4 hits on the afternoon, and Piss lost it 1–0.

  Boston split a doubleheader in Brooklyn. We was 4½ ahead. The clubhouse was so quiet you would of thought we just lost the pennant. Krazy Kress come in and said to Sam, “What is the matter with the boys?”

  “I do not know,” said Sam. “Ask the boys,” but Krazy never done no asking, for Dutch throwed him in the street, not throwing really, just telling him nice to get out of the clubhouse and tell the other writers the same for awhile.

  Maybe we was trying too hard. I begun to notice out there in the west, in St. Louis and Chicago and Pittsburgh and then again in Washington, how the second division clubs played it free and easy. They was earning their check, but they was out of the money, and they played like kids on a lot, you hit and then I hit and then the next man hits and when it gets dark we go home. They was not setting no records nor busting no fences nor stealing no bases, just playing ball the best they knowed how, and sometimes it was pretty bad ball, and what was happening was you had a bad team playing free and easy and beating a top-flight team that was all tightened up. Over the short pull them things will happen. Perry said the same.

  That night I got to feeling blue. I got it in my head to write a letter, and I begun 1 to Pop, and then I tore it up and begun another to Holly, telling her how blue I was, and along about the second page I run out of material. I wrote down that I loved her, giving 1 page to that, and then I got to looking it over and it sounded like I was saying it because I was so blue and there was nothing better to write. I did not wish it to sound like that. I laid the letter aside. I dug out a bunch of things from my gear, thinking to send them home and travel lighter, some newspaper clips that I thought Pop might of missed and “Sam Yale—Mammoth” and a book Red give me to send to Aaron Webster that Aaron asked for the nigh
t of the Opener when we all had dinner together and Indian moccasins that I bought in Aqua Clara and meant to send to Holly and never did and then forgot to give her in New York. I wrapped it all up, and then when I was done I seen that I forgot to put the letter in for Holly. You ain’t supposed to put letters in parcel post, but I always do. So I tore up the letter and fluttered it out the window.

  Finally I just wandered in the street. I walked a good long ways, and soon I come to a park. There was a band there and a lot of people laying on the grass, trying to beat the heat. I laid on my back, and after a time the band packed up and went home, and many of the people cleared out, and it become cold on the grass and I went and sat beside what they call the reflecting pool. People sit there and reflect and think about their trouble, mostly alone but now and then 2 and 3 people together. It is quiet there, and you can get a little grip on yourself, like when you are in hot water and you slow the game down and let the opposition cool and go over the hitter in your mind because for some reason or other your brain works better when your body lets down and gives it the chance, and I sat there reflecting. I suppose that is where your bigtime Senators might go when the going is rocky, and they might sit there and think things out. All the world has got trouble. Yet I believe if they would all sit still awhile and reflect they might get to the root of the matter. Aaron Webster says the same.

  I thought to myself that what was wrong with the club was they was thinking too much and counting too heavy on the melon in October, and we ought to let down and relax. That was how we done when we was winning, beginning in Aqua Clara and straight through the early part of July. When we was winning we was relaxed, and I thought to myself if I was Dutch I would give the boys a lecture, telling them to ease off. It all seemed simple, and then I got up and strolled back through town to the hotel. It was cooler now, and I felt fine. I thought maybe with night games coming up more and more we would be beating the heat some and hustling better.