

Batboy on the Worst Team Ever!

By

Matt Musson

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Matt Musson on Smashwords

Batboy on the Worst Team Ever!

Based on the incredible true story of the losingest team in Baseball History and the first Southern ballclub to break the color barrier!

Copyright © 2009, 2011 by Matt Musson

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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Table of Contents

Chapter One: The Signs and Wonders of 1951

Chapter Two - Birthin' Pains

Chapter Three – Slim Pickens

Chapter Four – Black Cats and Bats

Chapter Five – Joking, Laughing, and Carrying On

Chapter Six – Cuba Libre

Chapter Seven – War and Baseball

Chapter Eight – The Names Change but Nothing Else Does

Chapter Nine – Building Character

Chapter Ten – Surprises

Chapter Eleven – From Bad to Worse

Chapter Twelve – Rain Out

Chapter Thirteen – When is a Cuban not a Cuban?

Chapter Fourteen – Who Owns Baseball?

Chapter Fifteen – A Promise Kept

Chapter Sixteen – Crises Time

Chapter Seventeen – The Final Stretch

Chapter Eighteen – Sunshine Patriots and Quitters

Chapter Nineteen – Finale

Chapter Twenty – Wrap Up

About the Author:

Secret Alternative Chapter 18!!!

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Chapter One: The Signs and Wonders of 1951

Even before the season started, we should have realized that something amazing was going to happen. I mean we were practically showering in signs and wonders. There were omens everywhere.

Like every other ten year old mountain boy, I grew up knowing all about omens. Why just by reading omens and studying moon phases, a fellow could find true love, improve his fortune, and even prognosticate the weather.

So, I already knew that truly powerful omens came in groups of three. And, sure enough, three omens was exactly what we received - special delivery.

It all started when a white redbird came to a birdbath at Mrs. Halifax's home on Falls Avenue. The local paper even interviewed Mrs. Halifax. And, there it was in black and white on the very front page below the fold: Local Woman Spots Albino Cardinal.

Now a white redbird obviously omened something special!

Then two days later Jimmy Speer was fishing in Town Lake, at the cove just off Pearl Street, and he caught two fish on one hook.

Yep. You heard me right. He pulled a shell cracker and a red ear out of the water on the very same hook!

Now that's right out of 'Believe It or Don't.' I mean I had never even heard of such before. I'd a not believed it if Taylor Keech hadn't been along to back up Jimmy's story.

(To be fair, Jimmy Speer is the one who once told me that if I held my breath my pores would close and then bees could not sting me. I found out the hard way that was pure baloney.)

So, we had two fish on one hook and a white redbird. But, then came the clearest most amazing omen of them all.

Irish Gillhooley and Martha Seldomridge were sitting with me on the swings at the old park off Lake Street. Suddenly, flying along bathed in the sunlight of a bright March afternoon, we all three of us beheld the most holy grail of omens.

Fluttering along in the big ole middle of the day just as if it was his business to be out and about, was a furry haired black winged Big Eared Bat.

I'm serious. Right in the middle of the day!

Now mountain folk do tend to be a superstitious lot. Sometimes we see Omens everywhere. Why you might even think omens were 3 for a quarter down at Rayfield's Grocery.

But, this was not superstition. This was fact. When you boil it all down in one pot, a white redbird, two fish on one hook and bats in the daytime, why it was biblical.

And, sure enough, just four weeks later, it came to pass and it was the biggest thing to hit Granite Falls since Moses was a pup.

Mr. Finley German who owns the Chrysler dealership out towards Hudson, and some other local businessmen, announced that they were starting a genuine professional baseball team right here in our very town. And, we are not talking about Mill League. We are talking about world renowned Western Carolina League Baseball.

Heckfire, that's real baseball!

We weren't going to be playing Rhodhiss or Whitnel anymore. We would be going head to head with the big cities like Shelby, Lenoir, and even Gastonia!

Yessiree. We were big league, big time and Granite Falls was finally on the map.

Baseball fever gushed up like a fountain in a parched desert. And, the citizens of our little community were buzzing like honeybees on a busted melon.

Professional baseball was coming to Granite Falls, and it was welcomer than an outhouse breeze!

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In 1951, in rural North Carolina, baseball was IT. Baseball was the be all and end all.

Besides, except for vacation bible school and the odd tent meeting, there was nothing else to do all Summer long but eat, sleep and breathe baseball.

Even Carolina Basketball was just something you played till the spring thaw, and it was warm enough for batting practice.

With seven textile mills running three shifts a day, Granite Falls had long been a powerhouse in the Mill Leagues. So, I guess it just seemed that with the post war boom and all, a professional baseball team was a 'patriotic investment in America's future'.

I know you are wondering how, with every kid in town wanting the job, I ended up as batboy for the Graniteers.

The simple answer is because Captain Ricky has not come home from The War.

You see, in 1940 Mama was away at school in Chapel Hill and while she was there she fell in love with Captain Ricky. Of course, back then he was not Captain Ricky yet. He was plain old Richard McRainey, from Greenville, NC.

Anyway, Captain Ricky came home with Mama for Christmas vacation to meet Grandpa and Grandma Tooley. They must have liked him, 'cause Mama and Captain Ricky got married before the New Year's bell rang.

Miss Iola Pumpkin once told me that if a crow sings outside a bride's window – nine months later she will have a baby. Well, in Mama's case there must have been a whole flock of black birds singing cause; I came along the following spring.

This might be another omen when you come to think about it. I mean spring being baseball season and all.

Anyway, along came 'The War.'

Captain Ricky joined the Air Corp to fight the Damnjaps. According to Mama he just about beat old Hirohito single handed. But, one day she got a telegram from the War Department saying Captain Ricky did not come home from his bombing mission.

I was only three or four at the time, but Mama told me not to worry because Captain Ricky had made her a promise that he would come home no matter what.

Well, a promise is a promise and Mama has held onto that one for about six years now. Each year she puts another present under the Christmas tree for when Captain Ricky finally comes home. We keep our white flag with the blue star hanging in the parlor window. And, every Thursday night Mama still makes ketchup meatloaf because ketchup meatloaf is Captain Ricky's favorite.

So, with Captain Ricky still away at The War, Grandpa Tooley decided I needed to be around some grown up baseball players on account of, he was afraid I was going to end up light in the loafers and wearing lace on my underwear.

I know this because back when Mama made me start taking violin lessons, I heard Grandpa Tooley warn her in the kitchen one night that violin players were all light in the loafers.

Then one day Grandpa Tooley came by the house and found me helping Mama bake cookies and wearing an apron. Grandpa got a real funny look on his face. And, when they sent me outside to play, I hid below the kitchen window and heard him say boys that wear aprons will end up wearing lace on their underwear.

So, anyway, when Grandpa Tooley heard that Mr. German was starting a baseball team he asked his old friend if I could be the bat boy, so I did not end up light in the loafers and wearing lace on my underwear.

And, Mr. German said yes. So, I was the first Graniteer hired by the club right after Coach Charlie Bowles.

And, that was fine by me because I really love baseball lots more than playing the violin. And, I would rather wear baseball cleats any day of the week than wear loafers.

And, besides, wearing lace on your underwear seems awful girlie when it comes right down to it.

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Chapter Two \- Birthin' Pains

Now way back before I was born there was some hard times around here called 'the Depression'. From what the old folks say there weren't any jobs during the Depression so people had to eat dirt, and they ran around naked.

Well, they did not actually say they ran around naked but they must have! Cause if they wore clothes, then we would have made them in the mills and people would have had jobs, and they would not have had to eat dirt.

Anyway, back during the Depression, President Roosevelt decided people needed jobs. So, he set up this group called the WPA. And, the WPA came to Granite Falls and gave people jobs carving a baseball stadium out of the hillside right next to Granite Falls Junior High. And, that's how we got the Granite Falls Baseball Stadium.

I guess building the baseball stadium did not make enough jobs for everybody because Grandpa Tooley says that the WPA spent most it's time and money down at the beach digging holes to let the tide go out.

Well, that didn't make much sense to me, but I guess it was still better than eating dirt and going naked. Besides, Mr. Roosevelt was elected 'President for Life', so he must of knowed what he was doing.

Anyway, Coach Charlie Bowles sure knowed what he was doing, too. When he was hired away from Hickory to coach the Graniteers he had just ten days to build us a team. He had to find players for every position. And, he needed to get them down to Granite Falls lickety split, so he could start teaching them 'Good Baseball.'

As you might could imagine, Coach Bowles picked off the best Mill League players we had around here and he hired some players away from other teams in the area. But, most of those players were either old and about ready to hang up their cleats, or they were wet behind the ears rookies trying to see if they had big league juice.

But, believe or don't, Coach Bowles actually signed us a genuine Cuban baseball player, direct from Cuba and everything!

Unfortunately, that Cuban player was in Cuba at the time, and he did not get here for the first couple of weeks of the season. And, we sure could have used his help right off the bat.

From the very first day, Coach Bowles started calling me 'Bobby Roy the Batboy.' And, to tell the truth, I kind of liked it. I probably would have gotten my friends at school to start calling me that except school was almost out for the summer anyway.

The other thing that happened right away was Coach Bowles organized the 'Clubhouse Crew'. The 'Clubhouse Crew' was made up of a bat boy, an equipment manager, a groundskeeper and a gopher.

I reckon you figured out already that I was the bat boy.

The equipment manager was Leonard 'Chopper' Gaines who was built like a barrel and strong as an ox. He was the shortest home run champion in the history of the Carolina Mill Leagues. It was as if his bat was tipped with fire, and it seemed like he knocked the ball out of the park, whenever he felt like it.

During The War 'Chopper' Gaines was in the army at some place called 'the Bulge' over in Europe. He fought at this Bulge place right smack in the middle of winter. It was so cold that Chopper Gaines froze his toes right off. So, today the best baseball player in the history of the Catawba Valley can barely hobble from base to base.

Damnkrauts.

The groundskeeper, Bill 'Big Bubba' Smith was blacker than the inside of a crow but, he was the hardest working fellow I ever did know in my whole life. He spent all day cutting, watering, digging, and smoothing until the field looked like something out of a picture book.

And, then Bubba grabbed a quick nap and worked all night as a doffer over to the Shuford Mills.

Bubba was once a catcher for the Asheville Blues in the Carolina Negro League. The Blues traveled all around Carolina playing exhibition games against white teams and usually beat them like a drum. Even Coach Bowles said the Blues could sweep our League everyday and twice on Sunday. Except, they could not play in our league because they were colored.

Speaking of colored, the last member of our Clubhouse Gang was the gopher. In our case the gopher was a little colored shoeshine boy whose job was to clean and shine the player's shoes before each game. Plus, the players always sent him up to the diner for lunch sandwiches and sweet tea.

'Shine' did not get paid for working in the clubhouse. (Heckfire, I didn't get paid either. I just got two baseballs a week for trade.) But, Shine did get tips for cleaning shoes and bringing lunch.

Shine was a sneaky snake and always talked some player into ordering a milkshake. He knew that the milkshake maker at the diner made too much milkshake to fit in a take away paper cup. So Shine drank the leftovers and always came back with lunch sporting a milkshake mustache.

Me and old Shine became regular pals, even if he did send me running up to Yount's Sporting Goods one afternoon cause, he said, "Coach Bowles needs a 'bat stretcher.'"

Let me tell you what, I frogged Shine a good one that day.

I frogged him harder the next day, when sent me back for a bag of 'knuckle balls.'

But we were friends. Old Shine and me would sit around in front of the dugout before the game, wiping down and cleaning all the bats, and I would always say, "What'd you have for breakfast today, Shine?"

Shine a would always tell me about the best most wonderful breakfasts with crisp bacon, home fries, sawmill gravy and flapjacks.

It's a wonder that boy did not swell up big as a hog.

Anyway, on April 23rd, 1951 the Granite Falls Graniteers opened their season at home against the Lenoir Red Sox.

The Lenoir Red Sox had been in the Western Carolina League for years and years and had a strong bull pen full of first rate pitchers. And, we were not even sure if we were going to have nine players on the field. But, in the end we fielded a team and even made a game of it.

The Red Sox jumped ahead 1 to nothing in the first, on a walk, a single, and a single. But, in the bottom of the second a wondrous thing occurred.

The Graniteers first batter in the inning, Wally Carpenter, came up and hit an heroic home run!

Wally caught that fastball and his bat cracked like the shot of a gun. And, that ball just kept rising. The Lenoir outfield just stood there and watched it sail overhead. That piece of horsehide flew out of the stadium, over the fence and into the darkness.

It was the longest ball anybody ever hit, ever, at the Granite Falls Baseball Stadium.

It was truly immortal.

It may have been the greatest moment of the entire season, right there on opening day.

Unfortunately, the Red Sox had a seven run third inning and wiped the floor up with us 13 to 3.

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Chapter Three – Slim Pickens

Grandma Tooley says that there are only four people in the whole wide world who know the secret recipe for Cokecola. And, that sure is amazing when I think about it. But, I guess that's the way things have to be these days with Russian spies running all over everywhere.

Lord knows what those Commies could do if they got hold of that secret recipe!

Anyway, Grandma Tooley also says that because only four people know the recipe, the one fellow that makes syrup for the eight ounce bottles has changed it without the other three even knowing.

Now I never was sure if he adds more coke or more cola. Anyhow that's why eight ounces of Cokecola out of a bottle always tastes better than soda fountain Coke from a glass.

I guess that's why as the bat boy for the Graniteers I had to lift and tote so many cases of eight ounce coke bottles. It seemed everybody on the team was always drinking cokes.

Well, after all, it was summer, it was hot, and we were in North Carolina.

But, Coach Bowles used to slug down three bottles before he even turned in his starting lineup.

Why he even started giving out a free bottle of Cokecola to every player that scored a run. (Everyone else had to pay a nickel.) But, since we were not a real productive offense at the start of the season, before long he was giving free Cokes to anyone who got on base.

And, that meant that Shine and me were carrying case after case of eight ounce Coke bottles in the heaviest red wooden boxes that you ever did see. We stacked them up and iced them down right before every game and, at the end of the game we ran around gathering up the empties.

One day, like a bolt out of the blue, Coach Bowels just starts yelling madder than a wet hen!

He's yelling that the dugout is a pigpen with empty Coke bottles everywhere and how he is not standing for it. So, after that, Shine and I started policing up the empties between every inning and the Coach seemed to settle back down, and we got back to playing baseball.

It was not until after the game that Chopper Gaines told me why Coach Bowels went on that wild tear. It seems that our catcher, Spud Winkle had a big old chaw of tobacco in his mouth and nowhere to spit. So, he picked up one of those empty coke bottles and kind of refilled it, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, Coach Bowels was watching one of our players trying to beat the throw to first. And, when the Umpire calls him out, the Coach was so disgusted he did not know what to do. So, he reached down, grabbed that Coke bottle, and took a big ole swig.

After that, Coach Bowels did not stand for empty coke bottles lying around the dugout no more.

Cokecola aside, we continued the start of the season losing every game and really missing our genuine Cuban baseball player.

Our second game was against Lenoir at Lenoir. They pounded us 16 – 0, scoring four runs in the first inning and twelve in the second.

The third game of the season we were back at home against the Rutherford Owls and we jumped out to a 7-0 lead. But, Rutherford came back to make it 7-6. By the eighth inning, we were still squeaking by 10-7 when our pitcher Tim Holt started losing his stuff.

That's when Coach Bowels shocked us all and put himself in to pitch. But, even Coach Bowels could not slow down those pesky Owls. So, finally the Coach switched places with Wally Carpenter the first baseman!

Poor Wally had to finish pitching the whole game.

Unfortunately, Wally walked seven batters in the Ninth, and Granite Falls lost 14-12.

Then we played at Shelby - and lost 7-1.

Then we played at Newton - and lost 5 -1.

Then we play at Newton again two days later - and lost 6-1.

Finally, we came back home to face the Marion Marauders - and lost 4-1.

So, there we were, we had lost seven games in a row to start the season. We were tired of losing and tired of being called 'losers'.

Every day we went out on that field and gave it our very best shot. And, every day the bottom fell out, and we lost.

It was damn sure time for our luck to change. Lucky for us, our business manager, Mr. Killian had a surefire plan to uncross our stars!

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Chapter Four – Black Cats and Bats

Now I've said it before that Mountain Folk are a superstitious lot. But, let me tell you what. They don't hold a candle to ball players.

Throughout that whole entire season, I never saw a single Graniteer ever step on the foul line walking on or off the field. Plus, no one ever lent a bat to a fellow player since all the hits would leak out. You always had to spit in your hands before you got up to the plate just to get the luck flowing.

Why, I believe every single one of those baseball players had a good luck charm or a luck bringing ritual they practiced before each game.

Cherry bomb Smith, our switch hitting center fielder, always wore a wad of chewing gum on the bill of his cap. Corey Bumpstead always tapped the Umpire's shin guard with his Louisville Slugger. And, Sal 'the barber' Tranconi never shaved on the days he was scheduled to pitch.

But, when Bryan 'the Beast' Henderson decided to quit showering during his nine game hitting streak in the middle of July, I wondered if some of the guys weren't taking things a pinch too far. (Especially when I was sitting down wind.)

We all realized that losing the first seven ball games in a row meant we were under a powerful bad hex, and for our luck to change it was going to take a mighty potent jinx cleanser. I don't know if any of us was ready when Mr. Killian unveiled his ultimate solution: Black Cat Night at Granite Falls Stadium.

As sure as I'm sitting here, Mr. Killian decided that any fan that came to our home game against Marion could get in free if he brought along a black cat.

His theory was that our luck could not get any worse, and a couple hundred black cats might just jam things up and rewire our circuits.

"If we don't win the game," Mr. Killian told a reporter from the Daily Record, "we will certainly have a meowing good time!"

At game time our fans showed up in force with dozens of cats in every possible shade of black. Kittens, Moms and Toms came pouring into Granite Falls Stadium. The pinnacle of the feline assembly was reached when Jimmy Speer and Joey Layer showed up with huge black Chow Chow claiming it was the biggest black cat in the entire Catawba Valley.

Well, as Momma always says "It's only funny until somebody gets hurt!"

That Chow got those black cats hissin' and fussin' and scratching everything in sight. The more the fans tried to hold on to their kitties, they wilder and sassier they got and the more scratchings they gave out.

Luckily, Miss Fremont, the school nurse had an inkling that things might get out of hand. She set up a card table by the snack bar, where she dispensed band aids, mercurochrome (we called it Monkey Blood) and bismuth violet to wounded spectators.

Yessiree Bob, that Black Cat night was a real whoopty doo! But, roll me in cornmeal and call me a hush puppy, if Mr. Killian's black cats did not bring us all kinds of good luck!

I think every player on the team got a hit that night. Buck Rogers, Jack Clark, and Pete Fox got three a piece, while felines caterwauled and spat from the stands. We ended up trouncing on those Marauders 14-4.

The next day the Daily Record quoted Mr. Killian saying he was happier than, "a dead pig in the sunshine!"

Our faithful fans brought some more of those good luck felines two nights later and with some good strong pitching, we whipped up on Lincolnton 4-1

So, the curse was broken and Graniteers were 2–7. And, you couldn't walk down the street without someone shaking your hand or slapping you on the back. The Rocks were hotter than a three dollar pistol.

Thankfully, there was no sudden outbreak or plague of cat scratch fever.

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Chapter Five – Joking, Laughing, and Carrying On

When the ballplayers weren't calling luck or breaking jinxes, you could sure bet they were joking, laughing, and carrying on. It made me think that professional baseball was played by big tall boys instead of full grown men.

I already mentioned how they liked to send the new fellow out for a bat stretcher or some knuckle balls. I'd also been sent to fetch a pail of steam, a left hander monkey wrench, and 30 feet of second base line.

But, don't think they picked on me special. Anyone in the club was fair game. Our club house was pretty near 'hotfoot central.' If you got caught even resting your eyes you ended up with roasted little piggies!

Cherry Bomb Smith picked up that nickname 'cause he liked to wait around after the game, and when the guys were showering he'd toss in a few lit cherry bombs. He would always be sure and have some female fans lined up outside to greet his teammates as they dashed naked out the backdoor.

'Cup Check' Charlie Alford, a short stop from Pennsylvania, earned himself an infamous label that season. He would sit on the wall outside the dugout and wait for some poor unsuspecting teammate to come walking by. Then, Charlie would launch a fast ball straight at the fellow's privates and yell "Cup Check!"

One day John Hollar was caught without protection, and he went down hard! I thought we were going to have to carry the boy over to the hospital in Lenoir. But in the end, an ice pack and some smelling salts brought John back to life. Though, for some reason after that the team called him 'Squeaky' John Hollar.

But, the biggest pair of practical jokers I saw all season had to be Stretch Johnson and Lefty Levine.

One day in June, Stretch came early to practice and filled Lefty's baseball glove all the way up with sand. We yucked it up something fierce watching that stubborn Lefty trying to force his fingers inside his sand filled leather Rawlings.

But, Lefty did have the last laugh. The next day Stretch showed up and found his mitt packed solid with fresh manure. And, I can vouch for the fact that old Stretch discovered that horse dung the hard way!

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Chapter Six – Cuba Libre

According to my fifth grade history teacher, Mr. Norvin McKenny, once upon a time President Teddy Roosevelt took a bunch of cowboys over to Cuba to free the Cubanese from Spain. There was a giant ruckus at a place called San Juan Hill. And, Teddy Roosevelt picked up this big stick and he and the Rough Riders just charged right up and punched those Spanish bullies right in the nose.

Before you know it those Spaniards were high tailing it down the other side of San Juan Hill, faster than a flock of sheep on dip day.

From that day forward, the Cubanese people did not have to worry about those hateful Spaniard bullies no more. And, to celebrate, all the men in the entire country started playing baseball. And, all the women started sewing those little furry bears they called 'Teddy Bears', as a tribute to Colonel Roosevelt.

With the Spaniards gone, the people of Cuba were now free to play baseball, whenever they wanted. They must have played all the time, because that little island raised some of the finest young baseball players in the whole wide world.

So, thanks to Teddy Roosevelt and his Rough Riders, the Graniteers were able to sign their very own Cuban ballplayer named: Rogerio Morales.

Now I expected old Rogerio to look kind of like Desi Arnaz and maybe carry around one those wooden bongo drums. But, he did not look like Desi Arnaz, or Fernando Llamas or even Caesar Romero for that matter. And, I am certain the female baseball fans of Granite Falls were mighty disappointed.

Rogerio was a wiry little dark haired shortstop that jumped on ground balls like a duck on a June bug. And, he could turn and whip that ball into first base or make the quick pitch to second, for the old 'Tinker to Evers to Chance' double play.

He was quick as a whip and fast as the dickens! After hitching a ride on a banana boat to Miami and taking the train to Carolina, Rogerio Morales was finally here to play for the Graniteers.

Of course, none of us could pronounce his name, so we just kind of Americanized it. We called him Roger. At least we did until we found out that Roger loved American cereal and started out every morning with 'the Breakfast of Champions.' From then on we called Rogerio 'Wheaties.'

It was a good thing Wheaties got here when he did, because after our big two game winning streak, we sort of hit the skids again. We lost four games in a row and the number of fans coming out to the ballpark started to slide a bit. Even those fans that brought soap boxes and quilts and sat for free on the other side of the outfield fence were tailing off. But with Wheaties in the lineup, the Graniteers seemed to find their footing once again.

Wheaties could run like the wind and he could steal second base while the pitcher was thinking on what to throw next. With Wheaties in the game, the whole team just seemed to perk right up and play 'Good Baseball.'

We clobbered Lenoir 11-5 and then put a whooping on Rutherford 13-9.

The Graniteers were 4-11 and only four games out of first place! Fortune was finally smiling on Granite Falls.

I just knew that we were going to make a run for the pennant. But, then we came back to earth with a thud.

The Rutherford Owls tarred and feathered us 23-3. And, in Mid-May Granite Falls was 4-15.

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Chapter Seven – War and Baseball

If Ulysses S. Grant was alive today, he would say:

"War is Hell - on Baseball".

We had just finished World War II, when for four long years big league ball players were yanked from their teams and sent off to fight in Europe and Japan. Those Damnkrauts and Damnjaps did not give a hoot who needed pitching, who was batting .350, or even who was three games out of first and making a late season charge.

For half my life now the American people had been called upon to make sacrifices. We collected old tin cans and tire irons to make tanks. We saved our bacon drippings to make TNT. We even quit eating meat on Tuesday, so they could grind it up into SPAM and send it over to the boys.

Americans were called to make an even greater sacrifice 'upon the alter of freedom'. They had to give up the best players on their favorite baseball teams so those boys could go off and win the war.

Of course, it makes sense in a painful way when you think about it. I mean if a fellow has a 90 mile an hour fastball, no telling what he could do on the battlefield with a bag full of hand grenades!

As a matter of fact, I read in Grit or Boy's Life or somewhere, that with his incredible eyesight and Batter's reflexes, Ted Williams was a natural born fighter pilot. The article said that Ted Williams was the best hitter in the whole world and was also the best fighter pilot in the whole world.

The writer also said Ted Williams might be the best fly fisherman in the whole wide world. But, as far as I know they don't make bubblegum cards with pictures of fly fishermen, so I don't guess that really makes no never mind.

The point that I am trying to make is that some of the best ball players in America had to give up good years out of their short careers to go and fight. And, a lot of those boys did not come home at all, and the ones that did had surely lost a step (and maybe some toes and fingers.)

So, here we are five years later. American baseball is finally recovering and the Commies go and start a war in Korea.

Ain't that's just cold as a grave diggers knee?

So, throughout the 1951 season, the Graniteers weren't just losing players to injury or to other teams, they were also getting called up to play for Uncle Sam. They had to go and fight at Moo Shu or Inchon or some other damn place.

And, to tell the truth, I never did understand the whole Korean War.

First we were losing. Then we were winning. Then we were losing. And, then we were sitting around some line called a parallel, talking and talking and talking. It's a hell of a way to run a railroad if you ask me. But, then nobody ever did.

What was even more confusing is that they divided Korea up into the North and the South. And, in this war, we were fighting with the Southerners and against the damn Koreans Yankees. Miss Monahan our Social Studies teacher explained that the South had the right to secede from their Union and make their own choices without interference from them Northerners.

Now I may be just ten years old, but I am pretty sure that we have been down this road once before, going in the opposite direction!

So, I never did appreciate the Korean War. I often wondered if old U.S. Grant would have understood it any better than I did.

Poor old Coach Charlie Bowels could not take it any longer. Not only did he have to face powerhouse teams like Morganton, Shelby, and Lenoir but now the Army was snatching up players he was bringing to Granite Falls.

When our outfielder Billy Church got his draft notice, he was batting over 400! That was the straw that broke Charlie Bowels' back.

On May 9th, 1951, Coach Bowels threw in the towel. He gave up coaching forever after his 3-10 season with Granite Falls. His last game was our 11-5 win over Lenoir, so Coach Bowels went out a winner. You have to hand it to the man. We started up poor as Job's turkey, but when he left us, he did leave some meat on the bone.

For five days our Catcher, Ralph 'Barny' Barnardini took over to skipper the ball club. And, his first game was that 13-9 win over Rutherford. For one brief shining moment, we had an undefeated coach. But, then Rutherford came back the next day and hammered us 23-3.

Ralph lasted for five days, which was four games plus a double header. He gave up the reins on May 14th and his record was 1-5.

On May 15th, Fred Dale who had coached the local mill team to the Piedmont League Championship in 1950, agreed to take over at the helm. I guess this really made sense because most of the players at that point were from that same Mill League team. And, our genuine Cuban short stop was out on the DL.

Coach Dale had a simple strategy: get a man on base. He felt it was easier to get a walk than to get a hit. Why he hardly let the boys swing when the pitcher got behind the batter. If the count was two balls and no strikes or three and one, our boys just watched it go by.

Coach Dale started out slow as the Graniteers lost both games of a double header to the Shelby Farmers.

Then on May 17th, the Newton \- Conover Twins came to town. The twins whipped us 12-5, even thought Jack Clark hit three home runs on four trips to the plate.

Coach Dale got his first professional win on Friday May 18th, with an 8-2 romp over Marion at home.

The next day we played Marion at Marion. And, when pitcher Bill Harbour allowed just seven hits and two runs, the Graniteers got their third set of back to back victories for the season.

Lawrence Smith of the Daily Record wrote, "Under the very capable management of Fred Dale of Hickory, the Granite Falls team continues to make a strong bid for a first division berth."

But, then we lost 9-5 and 9-6. Both games were against Lincolnton. On May 22nd, the Graniteers record stood at 7-19.

On Wednesday night May 23rd, we took the bus up to play the Morganton Aggies. It was the best road game we played all year.

Jack Clark did something I never thought I ever would live to see.

Jack got three hits on five trips to the plate and scored all three times. But, the remarkable thing is that Jack Clark stole home twice in one game!

After that game, I was pretty sure that Jack Clark could sneak sun up past a rooster.

When Jack stole home that second time, it was the second of three immortal moments in the Graniteers 1951 season. I thought the Morganton catcher Fred Parnell was just going to lay down and cry.

The next night, Fred Parnell did hit an 11th inning single that drove in a run, and Morganton beat us 8-7. So, I guess Fred got a share of redemption. In a hundred game season the ball is going to take some bad hops, and you just have to let it go by.

But, I've always wondered if Fred Parnell would sit beside the fire in his old age, feeling those two steals like a painful catch in the ribs or a broken arm that never did heal quite right.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter Eight – The Names Change but Nothing Else Does

On May 28, 1951, Mr. Killian announced that we were changing our name. The Daily Record reported that M.B. Killian had, "notified various officials and sports writers that the Granite Falls team will henceforth be officially known as the 'Granite Rocks' and not the 'Graniteers.'"

I was never for sure why he did it. As a matter of fact, when I saw him the next afternoon before the game I asked him flat out.

His reply was short and sweet and right to the point.

"Marketing, my boy. Marketing."

Then, Mr. Killian fixed his hat, straightened his mustache, and walked off to glad hand the gathering crowd.

So, I still had no real idea why we became 'the Rocks' but, I sure did hope it was a change for the better.

It did seem like things were looking up in late May, when Coach Dale signed Bennett (Radio) Jaynes. Radio was a pitcher of some renown in this area, and he started for us as soon as he got unpacked.

On Saturday night we played Lenoir, and Radio Jaynes took the mound for the first time. He pitched like a champion and held Lenoir to just 2 runs in eight innings. Then, in the top of the ninth Radio scored from second on a single by Tank Sullivan, and we had us a tie game 2-2.

Unfortunately, in the bottom of the ninth Radio gave up a double, followed by a single and we lost 3-2 but, 'The Rocks' had a new name and for sure, a new pitcher.

On May 30th we played the Shelby Farmers close, until their big catcher slammed a three run walk off. We lost 11-8.

We were still losing but they were close games. With a little more luck we could be chalking up W's.

On the following Saturday night, we played the Newton-Conover Twins in a game that lasted so long, before it was over our first baseman Wally Carpenter was pitching against the Twins manager, Eddie Yount. We eventually dropped the decision 17-12, but Shine and I missed those last two innings completely.

In the top of the sixth, Shine and I were sitting in the dugout with the Rocks in the field. That's when Bronco Billy Cross came walking over and asks, "Are you two boys going to play professional baseball?"

We both nodded, so Bronco pulls a half a chaw of tobacco out of his pocket and says, "then, here you go."

Shine and I were grinning like a couple of speckle faced puppies as we each pulled a big chunk off and started chewing like nobody's business. We knew our way around Double Bubble, and so we were determined to prove we could chew like the big leaguers.

But, it sure did not take long for those grins to spin over. Pretty soon we were as green as the 'bacca' juice dribbling down our cheeks.

Sometime in the seventh inning, I remember helping Shine out of the dugout, or maybe he was helping me.

Anyhow, we both managed to stumble or crawl to the faucet coming out of the back corner of the building. And, between splashing down our faces and emptying our stomachs, we had no idea how the game ended up.

After it was all over, our equipment manager, Chopper Gaines, threw us into the back of his old Ford pickup and rode us both home.

I remember distinctly thinking Shine was as pale as the moonlight, stretched out in that pickup bed, between the shovels and rakes and bags of sand.

The next day, he told me I was a brownish green that reminded him of the muddy Catawba River after a spring storm.

So, our first experience with tobacco turned me brown and turned Shine white. Ain't that a hell of a note?

But, one thing is for certain, from that day forward, we stuck to Double Bubble. And, I sure wondered why anyone would chew something that nasty that did not at least come with a baseball card.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter Nine – Building Character

Grandpa Tooley once told me that losing builds character. If that's true, then the Rocks were surely gooder than grits, 'cause we were losing games, losing players and losing fans.

After that last loss to Newton-Conover, on chew-and-puke night, we even lost our manager, Fred Dale. Fred retired from coaching and moved back to Hickory to go into politics.

Fred was the most successful manager the Rocks ever had. He finished his season 4-8, even though he never got to coach Wheaties because our little Cuban speedster was on the DL for the entire 12 games.

Wally Carpenter, our historic homerun hitting outfielder somehow got talked into taking over the helm. And, on his first game as manager, we had Radio Jaynes on the mound and Wheaties back in the lineup.

We got lots of hits and lots of runs – five in the sixth and six in the seventh. And, Wally won his first game as manager 16-11 over the Marion Marauders. So, Wally Carpenter started out as skipper with a one game winning streak.

Wally's second outing was not as successful. We got beat up by Lincolnton 16-4.

But, then we played Lenoir close. The game with the Red Sox was tied 11-11 through nine innings. Second baseman Buck Rogers was called in to pitch. He walked the leadoff batter in the bottom of the tenth. The runner got to second on a sacrifice bunt and took third when our catcher bobbled the ball.

The next batter grounded one just beyond the first baseman's glove and that was all she wrote. We lost 12-11 in the 10th.

We lost again on the road at Rutherford on June 13th.

Only 300 paying fans showed up when we returned home to play the Rutherford Owls again on Thursday night June 14th.

For nine innings we fought those Owls to a standstill, and, this time it was our chance to come off winners. In the bottom of the tenth, Bill Cross nailed a single. Wheaties took off from second like a shot, and just beat out the throw to the plate.

We poured out of the dugout onto the field and celebrated like it was V-J Day!

Even better, after that game the fellas took off and left four cold Cokecolas in the ice box. So, Shine and I decided to hold ourselves a race before we went home that night.

Now, you never did see anybody who could pop open a cap and chug down a Cokecola faster than Shine did on that hot summer evening. And, he was even faster with the second one. I don't even think he paused to take a breath.

It was a wonder to behold.

I finished my two Cokes and proceeded to beat him like a red headed step child in the burping contest that followed.

So, if I live to be a hundred, I won't forget that night we were victorious over the Owls on June 15th, 1951. It was our 11th W of the season.

The next day, Saturday June 16th, the world turned upside down. The Rock's second baseman Buck Rogers started on the mound against Shelby, and our top pitcher, Radio Jaynes, came in to pinch hit.

I don't know what Wally Carpenter was thinking, but it almost worked.

Buck kept us close, and we went into the ninth only trailing the Farmers 3-0. Radio led off with a single and Jack Clark followed with a single. We had runners at first and third when the Farmer's hurler served up a wild pitch.

Radio ran home and Jack Clark scampered to second base. From there Jack scored on a single by Dick Bumgarner.

But, it was time to put out the fire and call in the dogs, because that's when our ninth inning rally died, deader than a doornail and we lost our 31st game of the season 3-2.

On June 16th the Granite Rocks were 11 and 31.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter Ten – Surprises

At home on Monday night June 18th, Wheaties, our genuine Cuban short stop accomplished a mighty feat. He hit for the circuit. Wheaties had a single, a double, a triple, and a home run. As a matter of fact, Wheaties drove in 4 runs which was more than the margin of victory in our 11-8 win over the Newton-Conover Twins.

But, after Wheaties stole the show at home, we had to go back on the road. That led to five more losses in a row. As painful as they were personally, they were even harder on attendance, and without paying fans the club began taking drastic measures.

On Sunday, June 24th we got our 13th victory of the season, when Wheaties hit a two-run homer to beat Lenoir 7-5.

And, Radio James was sold to Statesville, NC.

I could not believe it! We were selling our best pitcher on a club that had no pitchers and was starting outfielders on the mound. I was flabbergasted. But, there was an even bigger shock coming.

In early July, Granite Falls sold Jack Clark to Morganton.

That move staggered me. It was like selling the 'Man of Steel' to Lex Luthor! Why Jack Clark was practically the heart and soul of our team. It was Jack who stole home twice in one game which was the second of the three immortal moments of the 1951 Rocks.

Now Jack Clark was gone forever.

I felt like little Joey Starret at the end of that movie Shane, who goes running out on the prairie shouting, "Shane! Shane! Come back, Shane!"

But, old Shane just keeps riding off into the sunset.

Well, we all knew that things were tight, and we knew that the Club had to make its payroll. But, I think that for me that was the next to lowest moment of the entire 1951 season.

It's kind of odd, but my lowest moment of the entire season would come just a few of days later.

*************

It was Wednesday, July 4th, and we'd just come back from a three game road trip and would be playing at home that afternoon. I was anxious to get to the stadium early to show Shine a green chameleon lizard that I traded for at the ball park in Rutherford.

Wearing a chameleon on a string, I got to the stadium bright and early, looking for my baseball buddy.

But, I couldn't find Shine anywhere. He was not in the dugout. He was not in the clubhouse, and he was not out on the field playing 'flies and grounders' with Bubba or Chopper.

Then I finally caught sight of a little colored boy up in the stands, and I figured it was Shine. He was walking back and forth covering each row of the seats. At the end of one row, he would drop down and turn around and walk the next, and every so often he would bend over pick something up.

I decided that I would see if I could sneak up on Shine and scare the daylights out of him with my little green monster. So, I crawled up the far edge of the stadium and ducked down, waiting for him to make his way on over so I could jump out and yell, "Boo!"

Waiting there ready to spring my trap, it finally hit me just what Shine was doing. Shine was going through the stadium row by row looking for peanuts left by fans during our double header four days earlier against Shelby.

Why was Shine picking up four day old peanuts? You would have to be mighty hungry to eat those old stale goobers.

That is when the truth came over and smacked me upside the head like a wet blanket on the 4th of July.

This was Shine's breakfast.

At first I could not believe it. Ole Shine told me every morning of his wonderful country breakfasts. Why just a couple days before he bragged how his Momma had gotten up early and fried a whole mess of catfish in cornmeal. Shine said he had eggs sunny side up, and he dipped fried catfish in the yolk. He had my mouth watering, and I could almost taste that runny yellow egg on the crisp brown fish.

It had all been a fib. I laid there wondering how many other times Shine got here early to eat leftover peanuts before he spun me those wonderful tales of imaginary breakfast feasts.

Careful not to be seen or heard, I slinked off around the back of the Granite Falls Baseball Stadium and ran all the way home.

For me, that was the lowest baseball moment of the entire 1951 season.

*************

About half an hour later, I came running back to the stadium sporting my Roy Rogers lunchbox filled up with two ham and cheese sandwiches and a thermos of ice cold milk. I found Shine in the clubhouse rubbing dirt off the player's cleats with a stiff brush. Shine was smiling and singing and his little brown hands were brushing back and forth beating 'eight to the bar.'

I greeted him the same way I did every day.

"Hey Shine. What did you have for breakfast this morning? "

"Bacon and brown gravy," Shine replied with a smile. "I had bacon and brown gravy on white bread with grits. The bacon was crisp and the gravy was thick and salty with just a hint of sweet. And, I had a big ole bowl of buttered grits with pepper and some toasted bread that Momma made fresh last night."

He snapped his shine rag.

"It was the best most wonderful thing that ever touched my tongue. Why I'm so full I couldn't eat a bite if pecan pies were a penny, and I was a millionaire!"

"Speaking of eating," I said. "Did I ever tell you my Grandmother is French?"

"No..." Shine replied, looking a bit confused.

"Well she is," I stated firmly. "And she was telling me this morning that over in France, French people have a coffee break every morning where they have milk and sandwiches."

"They have milk for their coffee breaks?" Shine asked.

"That's right," I said. "And, sandwiches. In fact, the French have a name for their coffee break. She said they call it: Hygomia."

"Hygomia?" Shine repeated a little skeptically.

"Well they don't speak American in France, Shine. You wouldn't expect them to have an American name for it now would you? "

"I guess that makes sense," Shine agreed.

"Anyway... Grandma filled up my Roy Roger lunchbox this morning with sandwiches and milk. I think she's hoping that I will start picking up some of her French ways."

I lifted up my lunchbox and showed it to him.

"What do you think? You want to have Hygomia with me this morning, Shine?"

"That sounds good to me," Shine replied. "As long as it's not snails. Someone once told me that French people eat snails."

"No. It's not snails," I assured him. "It's ham and cheese sandwiches and milk."

"Well, in that case," said Shine, "I would be happy to share Hygomia with you, especially if it would make your Grandmother happy."

So, together we brushed off a spot at the end of the dugout, and we sat down on the bench and opened up the lunchbox.

Shine took one wax paper wrapped sandwich and I took the other. Then I poured him some milk in the detachable cup and I drank straight from the thermos.

"Save the wax paper," I suggested. "Later we can take it to the playground behind the school and wax down the slide."

"Great idea," Shine agreed. "When we're through, that slide will be slicker than greased lightning."

In the meantime we sat down and ate our ham and cheese sandwiches and drank our ice cold milk. And together, we began our daily tradition of Hygomia.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter Eleven – From Bad to Worse

By early July, the pillars of our team had been sold, drafted, injured or just plain quit coming to the games. We were having trouble just getting enough players together to field a team.

We recruited any professional or college player we could find. We called anybody cut from any other team in the league. Just about anybody who came to town and said they could play ball was given a shot. We even had prospects that got off the bus, walked over to the Stadium and started in that night's game.

Coach Wally Carpenter said it was as if we had "one team coming, one team going, and one team playing."

Whenever a player left town, like as not he took his shirt and ball cap with him. By mid-season none of the players had a uniform that matched and we did not have any more to give out. They would just show up in an old high school shirt or maybe dressed for the Mill Leagues and that is what they would play in.

On Saturday, July 7, the Directors of the Western Carolina League met in a hotel in Hickory and voted on the league all-stars. Wally Carpenter was the only player on the Rocks to make the roster.

The all-stars were supposed to play an exhibition game against league leading Morganton on July 16th. But, by the time the all-star game rolled around, Wally was gone as well.

As manager of the Rocks, everyday Wally would get calls from teams all over Carolina looking for players. It was a lot like that old card game Go Fish. People would call Wally and ask "Got any Short Stops?" or "Got any First Basemen?"

Finally, one day Statesville called Wally and asked, "Got any Catchers?"

Wally, who was catching for the Rocks as well as managing, said "Sure!"

And Wally Carpenter, who hit that immortal home run on the opening day of the season, proceeded to sell himself to the Statesville Owls. He negotiated a $600 signing bonus and tripled his salary, so I can't say as I blame him. But, it was painful to watch that immortal Graniteer up and leave town.

Wally's record as skipper for the Rocks was 4-32.

******************

On Friday the 13th of July, Robert Pugh was tapped to be the fifth manager for the 1951 season. And, to tell the truth, I wondered why anyone would even take the job. To make matters worse, attendance was so bad that Mr. German arranged with the League for the Rocks to start playing our home games on the road!

That's right. From July 23rd through August 8th, we played our home games at the other guy's stadium. That is because the gate receipts from the away games were much bigger than the receipts we brought in at home, where no one showed up.

But, we still felt like orphans.

Each day we would show up at the Granite Falls clubhouse and board the old yellow bus Mr. German rented from the High School. Day after day we would make our way along the windy blacktops of rural North Carolina hoping for a miracle.

We did play some good stretches during that period. We turned six double plays in one game against Morganton, but we still lost 3-2.

Our usual routine was to stay close for about five innings and then fade in the stretch.

Losing on the road all the time, sure made it hard to keep players.

Wheaties finally asked to be let out his contract. Since he was the highest paid player left on the team, management gladly gave him his walking papers and said, 'Adios' to our genuine Cuban baseball player. Wheaties moved on to Statesville where he joined Wally Carpenter.

On July 21st we lost 11-2 to the Shelby Farmers. Of course we were tied 2-2 right up to the fifth inning, but then we fell apart.

The Daily Record reported that we had thirteen players in uniform that night. And, I think the only reason we had thirteen was because the reporter counted me in the mix!

By late July we set a new record. We had lost 26 games in a row when we rolled in to Marion on July 26th to take on Marauders at home.

Coach Pugh decided to put himself in as starting pitcher with 'Squeaky' John Hollar behind the plate.

Things started just like every losing game we played lately. Marion put up two in the first. Then the Rocks came back to tie it up in the top of the third. The Marauders came back with two more in the bottom of the third, and we were looking at the wrong side of 4-2 clear through to the seventh inning.

In the top of the seventh, Bill Cross leads off and gets a walk. Dick Patton came up second and made the sacrifice bunt. But, the pitcher and the third baseman collided and Dick got on safely while Bill Cross moved up a base. We had runners at first and second and Pete Fox was the go ahead run at the plate.

Pete got hold of a slider and smacked it clear over the fence. The bat cracked like lightning but the ball flew just the wrong side of the foul pole in right field.

Hells Bells and little fishes!

But, Pete followed it up with a single to right and Bill Cross almost passed the slower Dick Patton as they both ran home and scored. And, we had a tie game!

Next up, John Hollar hit into a double play. Then Wayne Davis flew out to end the side but we had put up two more.

Marion finished out the seventh with three up and three down, and we were locked together at 4-4.

I'll never forget when Bob Pugh called us all into a huddle before we went up to bat in that eighth inning.

"Boys," Coach said. "It's time to paint our butts white and run with the antelope."

And, that's exactly what we did.

We played small ball as if we invented it. A walk, a single and single brought in Max Deal, who recently signed on to play but was the longtime facility manager of the Granite Falls Junior High. (He was Bubba and Choppers boss.)

Suddenly, we were winning 5 \- 4.

We finished our turn at bat with two strike outs and a fly out to center, and we took the field just six outs away from a miracle.

That's when Bob Pugh, who had pitched the entire game, just started overpowering the Marion batters. Bob struck out two and a third fouled out to the Catcher to finish out the eighth inning.

I was shaking like a leaf as we went into the ninth. I was nervous as pig on pork chop Sunday, just praying we could add a pair of runs for insurance.

Bobby Thorp led off with a pop fly to center. Doug Williams grounded out, and Gil August was tagged out on the way to first.

So, it was bottom of the ninth, we were up by one and push had finally come to shove.

I had my fingers and my toes crossed and I would have crossed my eyes except Momma says they'll get stuck that way.

Speaking of stuck, the Rocks had been stuck on 13 wins for the last 26 games. But, three more outs would put us over the top. I would have held my breath until I passed out if I thought it would do any good!

Bob Pugh took the mound and shook his rosin bag as if he was rolling dice.

Then Bob threw three strikes right down the center and overwhelmed that first Marion batter. And, it was one away.

The next batter blooped one over the short stop's head and got on base safely. Then a wild pitch drove the runner on to second.

The following batter hit a sacrifice fly to Right Field, and the runner moved to third.

With two away and the tying run on third base, the big Marion First Baseman walked up to the plate. He was one for four that evening, but he must of lost count because right there in front of God and everybody, that first baseman points his bat out to the right field fence like he was Babe Ruth or something.

Why I was ready to walk out there and kick that egg sucking mule right in the shins! But, I would have had to uncross my legs to do it.

Anyway, Bob Pugh fires one across the plate and Mule boy swings with all his might, and he misses it by a mile! He over swings so hard that I thought he was going to drive himself into the ground like a wood screw.

On the second pitch, Bob throws him one low and outside. But old mule boy just stands and watches it go by for a ball.

Bob comes back with a sinker. Mule boy takes another mighty chop but the ball drops underneath him. The count goes to 1 ball and 2 strikes.

From the dugout I could see Bob Pugh shake off Johnny Hollar twice before he settled in. I was pretty certain that Bob was coming with the heat. It was do or die time.

Bob winds up and tosses that ball with everything he has left. Suddenly, I see the batter adjusting his stance and realize old Mule boy is going to bunt!

I had covered my eyes with my hands 'cause I could not bear to watch. Except, I did peak through my fingers.

The bunted ball goes rolling out towards third base as the runner takes off like a shot. Bob Pugh comes charging off the mound and intercepts the bunt just as the runner passes him going home. Bob grabs up the ball in his free right hand and makes a diving throw from outside the baseline towards big Johnny Hollar who is protecting that plate like the walls of Jericho.

Johnny Hollar reaches up to pull in the ball just as the runner hits him going flat out. Johnny gets knocked straight back over home plate in a cloud of dust.

When the dust cleared, Johnny is laying flat on his back holding up the baseball with one hand. He made the catch, tagged the runner, and held on during the collision.

Johnny was a former linebacker for the Washington Redskins, and he could sure "take a lickin' and keep on tickin'".

That was out number three. And, Granite Falls rocked Marion 5-4 for our 14th win of the season!

You never saw a happier bunch of ball players in your whole entire life.

****************

The city of Marion is the county seat of McDowell County, North Carolina, and in 1951, McDowell was a dry county. So, there weren't any liquor stores or bars open after the game. Since we were on the road, the players sure did not know of any local bootleggers they could call up for some celebration beverages but, that did not stop the fellas from tying one on to celebrate the end of the '13 Jinx'!

After the game, we loaded up into our school bus. But, before we left town Bob Pugh pulls up in front of the brand new Piggly Wiggly and calls Deacon Thorp up to drive.

About half the team goes inside, and five minutes later they return to the bus with two of cases of lemon extract and a big box of Dixie Cups.

Deacon Thorp, our tea totaling second baseman, piloted us home to Granite Falls that night. If it had not been for Deacon, I don't know if we would have got home that night at all. Because every time we passed one of those cold and clean flowing mountain streams, the boys would holler till Deacon stopped the bus. Then the guys would file out with a Dixie Cup in one hand and bottle of Lemon extract in the other.

The fellas would all pop the cap off a little brown extract bottle. Then, holding the bottle in one hand, they dipped the Dixie Cup into the stream with the other. On the count of three, they would down that two ounce bottle of lemon extract and chase it with a Dixie cup full of water. Then they would choke and splash and carry on as if they had no sense at all.

It turns out that lemon extract is 83% alcohol. I found out on that bus ride home, in drinking terms that is 166 proof. It did not take many little bottles of that lemon firewater to start having an impact.

As far as I know, we did not leave anybody on the road that night, but we sure could have. When we got back to Granite Falls, we had Rocks drunk sick and passed out all over the seats and in the aisles. Old Deacon and me were the only upright bodies on the team.

Since Deacon was in charge as the lone adult standing, he decided we should leave our teammates to spend the night passed out on the old school bus. He said it would encourage them to "consider a more temperate life of reflection and sobriety."

Deacon and I left the rest of the boys to sleep it off amid the puddles of lemon puke.

The next day Mr. German called the team to a rare morning meeting. When our hung over teammates came stumbling in looking like something the dogs kept under the porch, they found out they were not there to practice baseball. Instead, they were called upon to spend the morning washing down the seats and floor boards of that old school bus.

Grandma Tooley always says, "There's nothing cheaper than soap and water."

After applying a generous amount of both and a whole big bunch of elbow grease, that bus no longer smelt like the men's room floor of a cut rate road house. Although from that day forward if the bus sat out in the hot sun we were forced to leave the windows open. Else, when we boarded up after the game, we were assaulted by pungent aroma of citrus vomit.

For the rest of the year, Deacon Thorp carried a pocket full of lemon drops he was always offering to his teammates but except for Shine and me he never got any takers.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter Twelve – Rain Out

After our big win over Marion, the Rocks fell back into the losing pit, and we just could not seem to climb out. Not only were we struggling on the field, off the field we were fighting just to finish the season.

Throughout the country, minor league teams were dropping like flies. Entire leagues were going under. In 1950 there were 58 leagues in the USA. By 1952, eight of those leagues folded completely. A half dozen teams in North and South Carolina had shut the doors so far this season, including Gastonia and Tarboro.

Mr. German said in the paper several times that for the Rocks to be successful we needed 1000 fans a game. The problem was that there were only about 1000 people in Granite Falls. In post war America, people had better things to do than go to the ball park two or three times a week.

Even the fans in the free seats, the ones on the other side of the outfield fence, were thinning out. As a matter of fact, one night when Big Bubba was raking down the infield after the game, an upset freeloader called him over.

"You tell Bob Pugh, if he doesn't start winning, we are going to quit coming to the games," said the sponger.

"You are going to quit coming for free?" Bubba asked in disbelief.

"That's right. You tell Bob that the Rocks are going to have to be more competitive if he expects us to keep supporting the team."

In addition to our constant losing, it was also the hottest summer that anyone could remember. The old blacktop roads shimmered with heat as we rode our school bus from ballpark to ballpark. Walking across the road in the middle of the day would melt the soles of your shoes or coat them across the bottom with a fresh layer of black tar. And, forget about trying to cross barefoot. You would end up with seared feet and dancing like a Red Indian.

The entire county was suffering. Every day was more of the same: hot and dusty. We hadn't seen a drop of rain since May.

It was so scorching hot that Chopper Gaines even told me and Shine that he saw a Carolina Stick Lizard migrating up to the mountains from the hotter flat lands down South.

A stick lizard is a little brown reptile that inhabits the hot dry lowland of the Carolinas. What sets him apart from other lizards is that he carries a small stick on his back. When things get too hot for the little guy, he drives the stick into the ground then climbs it and blows on his poor overheated feet.

Now I had heard of stick lizards all my life but they are so rare up here in the cooler mountains that I have never actually seen one. So, Shine and I asked Chopper exactly where he spotted the creature and together we made a trip over to see him for ourselves. We must have got the directions wrong, because we did not spot any lizards carrying or standing on sticks.

Anyway, playing baseball in the heat and dust was an ordeal.

Choking hot and filthy, we lost to Lincolnton 14-1 on July 28th.

On July 30th we lost to Morganton 30-0 on a day that was unbearable. I thought we were going to drown in our own sweat.

We struggled through a double header the next day at Morganton where we lost 7-3 and 8-4. That was seven straight hours in a dugout that was more like an oven. Before the second game, the boys had me squirt them down with a garden hose.

Following a couple more sad outings under that blazing sun, we finally made it home to play at our own stadium on August 6th. That day Shine and I set a record for icing down the most cases of Cokecola and the team emptied every single bottle.

We had 70 losses going into that home game, and that match was scoreless through six innings. But, the wheels came off in the seventh, and we lost to the Shelby Farmers 5-0. The location had changed but the results remained the same.

At least we did not have a two hour ride home on that stifling unventilated school bus. And, after the game we turned on the water faucet and stuck our heads beneath the cooling well water stream. (And, when I got home, I inhaled half a pitcher of lemon grape Kool-aid)

On August 8th, we were scheduled to play another scorching hot contest against the Twins at our house but, Mother Nature had different plans. It looked like we were finally going to get a break from the heat!

The weather service reported that tropical storm Irene was heading ashore in South Carolina and those forecasters figured it was heading our way.

The day broke just as hot and hazy as every other day for the last two months. It looked like the Carolina farmers were victims once more of false hope and promises.

With no sign of rainy Irene, Shine and I hit the clubhouse just after lunch to clean up the equipment, dress out the shoes and get ready to play some baseball. Big Bubba was raking down the dusty infield and setting out the bases. Chopper Gaines was hacking down weeds that were growing in back of the dugout where the water faucet dripped.

Every so often, we looked up at the Southern skies hoping to spot a rain cloud in the distance. But, all we saw was the same old, same old: hot and hazy and 100% chance of sweat.

About two o'clock the players started showing up for batting practice. Bob Pugh takes the mound and starts putting some across for the boys. Before you know it, Bob starts clowning around and throwing some underhanded softball pitches.

That's when Tyler Shugart bets that he can take two swings at the same pitch before it crosses the plate. So, Bob takes Tyler up on the wager and the rest of us drift over to see the show.

Bob launches three underhanded drop pitches in a row. And, try as he might, Tyler Shugart can't live up to his boast but, Tyler catches the final falling pitch with all his strength and sends it almost straight up.

That ball seemed like it hung up there forever. Eventually it fell like a mortar shell to land right next to the pitcher's mound. Bob Pugh yelled out something to Tyler about switching to softball, when suddenly we heard a booming crackling rumble in the distance.

Looking South, for the first time we notice menacing black thunderheads stretching across the horizon from East to West, as far as the eye could see.

Irene was coming to the game!

"I believe it's clabbering up to rain," Bubba observed.

"Looks like a frog strangler to me," agreed Chopper. "We better get our stuff picked up and put inside."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

For the next half hour, the line of thunderstorms came rumbling in from the South. The sun disappeared and the wind picked up. Shine and I were running around grabbing up equipment and moving it back to the clubhouse as rapidly as possible.

The temperature dropped quickly and the wind came whipping up with a vengeance. Dust and dirt blew through in waves. An old paper popcorn bag was whisked up from the stands and swirled into the atmosphere caught in the grasp of an unseen tornado. It just circled higher and higher until it was lost from sight. I wondered if it would swirl all the way to Hickory, and maybe on to Oz.

About that time, we heard plop, plop, plop as fat swollen raindrops started thumping down on the parched red infield. Soon, individual drops gave way to a drumming chorus as thousands of beads cascaded down from the heavens.

The odd thing was nobody ran for cover.

We just stood there looking up at the sky as if we were seeing rain for the very first time. Ball players stretched out their arms and opened their mouths like they were catching January snowflakes on their tongues.

Before long the rain was pounding and it felt like standing under a showerhead. The guys started whooping and hollering and dancing around the field as if they had lost their minds. Then, like ballplayers do when they get excited, they began whipping the baseball around the infield as the cool rain dripped off their caps and made trails down dust covered necks.

We were overcome by welcome rain and refreshing wind. Two months of oppressive heat had beaten us down, and this squall was like getting a reprieve from the Governor. Suddenly we were released from the scorching chains of summer and we danced and sloshed and played like kids in a fountain.

Wiping raindrops from his eyes, John Hollar grabbed a bat and stepped into the batter's box where Bob Pugh served him up a blue plate special. John smacked a grounder that slid through the grass heavy with rain and rolls on towards the outfield.

John dashed to first and turned the corner heading for second as the right fielder chased down the ball. In one fluid motion the fielder picked up the sphere and fired it into the base just as John hit the ground to slip and slide in safely. Sliding John beat the tag and stood up to display a face and shirt covered by the muddy scarlet earth. He laughed like a preschooler playing in a puddle.

After John, Bob Pugh walked over to first base. Then he took off towards second and slid across the mud. And, he came up with a smile.

Before long, everyone was lining up to see who could slide the farthest. The rain continually replenished any water and mud that was splashed aside.

Then, Bob called me over, and he and John Hollar each grabbed a hand and a foot. On the count of three they sling me down the baseline, and I skated across the puddles and into base. Standing up, I looked like I had been dipped in reddish chocolate. My entire front was covered with cool muddy slime. So, I lie down on my back in the brown grass of left field and let the rain splash across my face.

We played in the mud and the rain for half an hour. The wind kept blowing stronger and the late afternoon sky was nearly pitch black. Finally, a nearby lightning strike followed by a booming crash of thunder, drove us all into protection of our little cinderblock clubhouse.

Since a nearby lightning strike could follow the water lines, we had to wait until the electrical storm passed to shower. The storm knocked out power to the stadium. So, we huddled together in the clubhouse just waiting in the shadows.

Suddenly, Shine starts laughing like a muddy little hyena.

"What are you cackling about?" I asked.

"Look at us!" he laughed pointing to the fellows around him. "Every player on the team is colored!"

I looked around the darkened room and sure enough, a layer of mud left everyone a gleaming reddish brown. A stranger would be hard pressed to tell who was white and who was not.

For a half hour, we stood there like chocolate soldiers, until the lights came back on and the storm settled down to a soaking rain. With the lightning gone, we finally moved into the showers where we used plenty of soap and water to scrub off as much brown color as possible.

But later, as I made my way home through the continuing rain, I wondered how I would feel if my temporary tint had not washed off.

Would I be a different person if the mud dyed me brown forever?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter Thirteen – When is a Cuban not a Cuban?

On August 10th we played Morganton at home and got a chance to see their new Cuban pitcher, Jimenez Cuervo. We had been hearing about this hotshot and how he threw fire, had pin point accuracy and how his curve would break clear across the strike zone. We really did not want to play against him, but we were looking forward to seeing him pitch. We wanted to see if he really had the juice that everyone said he did.

Bob Pugh started against this Cuban wonder and thanks to some good defense by the Rocks infield; we managed to stay at 0-0 through four complete innings.

Old Jimenez was everything they said he was, plus some more besides!

He was making our batters look like little leaguers. They were so turned around they were swinging at trash and watching strike after strike go by.

It was painful to watch, but I could not help admiring Cuervo. I knew this was one Cuban who was headed for the majors!

In the bottom of the fifth, I watched as Jimenez lowered the boom on our second baseman Deacon Thorp. Poor old Deacon just did not know which way was up!

"That's one heck of a pitcher isn't it?" asked Big Bubba.

"I swear he could pitch a perfect game, and it would only take him six innings to do it," I replied.

"I saw him pitch a no hitter, once," Bubba remarked. "He was throwing more heat in the ninth than in the first. "

"You've seen him pitch before?" Shine asked.

"Yep," replied Bubba. "He was on the team when I played for Asheville."

I was surprised.

"You had Cubans playing for Asheville?"

"He ain't no more Cuban than any other Georgia farm boy."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"That's Shoofly Brown from Savannah," Bubba explained. "He's had his hair straightened and grown a mustache. But, he's no more Cuban than I am."

"I thought I recognized that wind up," Chopper chimed in. "I saw Shoofly pitch a two years back against the Raleigh Tigers in the Negro League playoffs. He threw fourteen strikeouts that day."

I was confused.

"You mean he's not really from Cuba?" I asked.

"No," Bubba confirmed.

"But that's not fair!" I said emphatically. "He can't just pretend to be Cuban. That's against the rules."

"You've read the rule book, Bobby," Chopper said smiling. "Which rule is it that says a player can't pretend to be Cuban?"

I pondered for a minute, but nothing came to mind.

"That's not the point," I said. "The only reason he's pretending to be Cuban is because he's colored and colored players can't play in the Carolina League."

"Okay. I'll give you that," Chopper continued. "But, which rule is it that says colored players can't play?"

"Well that's uhm... Oh... let's see now. I'm sure it's in the rule book under eligibility. I've just can't remember which subsection it is in."

I closed my eyes and tried to remember but, when it came right down to it, I could not recall reading anything that said colored players were not allowed on the teams.

"I'll save you some trouble," Chopper laughed. "You can't remember which rule it is, because it's not in the rule book. There's nothing in the rule book about colored players."

"You've gotta be wrong," I protested. "Everybody knows you can't have colored players on a white team. That's plain as turkey squat!"

"What about Cuban players" asked Shine? "Aren't they colored?"

"They are Latin colored," I explained. "That's completely different."

"Then how come Shoofly Brown can pass as Cuban, if Cubans are a different color?"

I looked over and Shine was grinning like a bushel basket full of happy idiots. He had me, and he knew it. And, that's when I said something I spent the rest of my life wishing I could take back.

In the heat of the moment I used the 'U' word.

"Now Shine," I said. "You just quit being so uppity!"

The smile melted right off his face. For a second he was stunned but then his face went tight and angry.

"Just who are you calling uppity, you little red necked pissant? "

"Shine," I interrupted. "There's no call to get your dander up. I didn't mean nothing by it."

But Shine was not appeased by my half hearted apology.

"Listen here bat boy, you can't just go around calling people uppity, just cause you can't think of a reason to keep a black man from playing baseball."

"Calm down, Shine," I protested. "I didn't make the rules. All I said was it's not fair that Shoofly is pretending to be Cuban so he can play."

"You don't think it's fair?" asked Shine.

"No," I said, staking out the moral high ground. "It is clearly not fair! "

"Well," replied Shine getting more excited. "How is it fair that a man has to pretend to be Cuban to play baseball in the first place? Especially when there ain't no rule against it?"

"Shine, settle down. You're just talking crazy now."

"I am just telling you the truth, Bobby McRainey and it's something you don't want to hear."

Shine did not stop there. He continued.

"You know what else I am saying? I am saying that I'm not having Hygomia with you or any other cracker bat boy until they apologize! That's what I'm saying."

"Well fine!" I replied. "I won't ask you to have Hygomia with me."

"Well fine!" he said. "Cause all I would say is no. And, not just no, I'd say Heck NO! "

"Goody goody gum drops," I said. "I'll just eat all my Hygomia sandwiches my own self."

"Well, I hope you choke on your old sandwiches," Shine said. "And I hope you get big as a sow on that sour old milk."

"Fine, I will," I said.

"I hope you do," He said.

"Then fine."

"Yeah, fine."

Without any compromise in sight, we both stormed off in opposite directions.

*****************

We lost to Morganton 8-0 and for the rest of the day Shine and I did not speak to each other.

I figured he needed some time get over his moodiness and start thinking clear again.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter Fourteen – Who Owns Baseball?

After the game I caught up with Chopper Gaines while he was picking up towels in the shower. Since it was just him and me in the club house, I spoke up about my dilemma.

"Chopper, are you sure there's no rule against colored players in the league?"

"No, Bobby. There is no rule against it. There is just something called a 'gentleman's agreement.'"

"What's a 'gentleman's agreement?'" I asked.

"That's when the owners meet over dinner and they all agree to keep the blacks out, but they don't put in writing."

I pondered that for a second.

"So, it is against the rules, but this rule is not written down anywhere?"

Chopper looked up.

"Can it be a rule if it's not written down?" he asked. "Is it okay to even have rules that you are afraid to talk about in public?"

"I don't know," I stated. "But, they're the owners. It is their game."

Chopper leaned over and picked up another towel off the wet floor. Then, he stood back up and looked me in the eye.

He did not say anything for a minute. It looked like he was thinking hard and picking out just the right words.

Finally, he spoke.

"Bobby, one thing you have to understand: no one owns baseball."

He let the words sink in.

"Sure, we let the owners build stadiums and pay players and even charge for tickets to get inside but, they don't own baseball. They can't own baseball. That would be like owning the night air or a rainbow in the sky. Because that is what baseball is. Baseball is a cool breeze that blows through our lives. It's the rainbow after the storm of pain."

"You have to understand Bobby; Baseball is more than a game. Baseball is hope. Sometimes, it's even hope beyond reason."

He paused.

"You know, I was in the war right?"

I nodded.

"But, I bet you did not know that we played baseball in the war?"

"You played baseball in the war?" I asked disbelieving.

"Sure," Chopper said. "We played baseball right on the battlefields. Why, I remember playing in the snowy pastures of Bastogne when it was so cold that your hands could hardly grasp that old horse hide. Sure, we did not have gloves or proper baseball bats, but we played with what we had. We played, and laughed and lived."

"We played baseball on Iwo Jima, running through volcanic sand and sulfur flavored air. We played baseball in the muddy jungles of Guadalcanal. In North Africa we played in the sandy desert. We played in the rocky fields of Sicily. Eventually, we even played in the green grass along the Rhine River."

"Bobby, we needed baseball. We were a long way from home and in some unbelievably bad places. And, in the midst of that death and destruction baseball was our hope. Sometimes it was our only hope."

Chopper paused.

"I remember sitting in a muddy foxhole in the Ardennes, waiting for Panzers to come grinding over the hill in front of us. We were shivering cold and hungry and terrified, and we didn't know if we were going to make it through the night. But, me and a short kid from Chicago, Mac Tory, were huddling there in the dark, shivering... and talking baseball. We were debating the designated hitter and the infield fly rule."

"Suddenly, the ground around us begins erupting as kraut 88's start pounding our position. Each explosion would pick you up and slam you against the walls of your hole. Each second I wondered if the next shell was going to drop in right on top of us. We kept trying to squeeze farther and farther down into the ground, trying to make ourselves as small as possible. We were just trying to survive."

"And, right there in the middle of that terrifying frozen crazy world, I realized that Mac was yelling above the exploding shells. At first I could not make out what he was saying, but he kept yelling it over and over until I finally understood."

Chopper stopped talking. I could see from the look in his eyes that he was in some faraway place. For a second, he was back there.

"What was he saying?" I asked quietly.

Chopper looked back at me and grinned.

"Good pitching beats good hitting."

Chopper laughed out loud.

"The whole world was exploding in fury and death and Mac just keeps yelling 'Good pitching beats good hitting,' as loud as he could. Like what he was saying was more important than the explosions around us."

His voice trailed off and he was gone for a few more seconds.

Then Chopper reached down and picked up another towel and he looked back at me.

"So, you see Bobby, baseball is bigger than owners and stadiums and leagues. It's bigger than any one group of people, no matter what color they are or how much money they have in the bank."

"Baseball belongs to everyone."

He stood looking at the floor for a moment. Then he looked up, and I saw he had a tear in his eye.

"I would grow a mustache. I would change my name. Hell, I'd paint my face purple and wear a tutu, if I could just get just one more at bat."

He paused. Then he shook his head and shrugged.

"So, if Shoofly Brown wants to be Jimenez Cuervo to play baseball, I say more power to him."

Chopper walked away and went back to picking up towels and straightening the club house.

So, I finished up my chores, and I headed home.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter Fifteen – A Promise Kept

I remember walking home from the baseball stadium and feeling pretty sorry for myself. My best baseball friend was not talking to me and the Rocks whole season was in the toilet, and I did not anticipate either one of those situations improving anytime soon.

What else could possibly go wrong? I wondered.

I should have realized that whenever you are feeling sorry for yourself, you are just asking for trouble. Life can't wait to give you something to be really sorry about.

When I walked up the steps and through the front door to my house, I knew immediately there was a something wrong.

I don't know how I knew it. I walked in to the front room and everything was just the way it was when I left that morning. There was no one in there. There was nothing out of place. There was no sign of foul play.

But, I knew in the pit of my stomach that something was terribly wrong.

"Mom?" I called out loudly enough to be heard throughout the house.

"We're in the kitchen, Honey," she replied with an unsteady voice. "Come on in and join us."

Us?

That uneasy feeling got a lot stronger. Who was here with Mom this time of day?

I made my way through the front room and through the pair of half sized swinging doors that Mom had put up to 'formally divide the eating and living area.'

As I pushed through, I saw Momma sitting at our little chrome dinette set with the pink Formica top. Grandpa and Grandma Tooley were also at the table. They were leaning over and comforting her.

There was a blue cardboard box of Kleenex on the table. I could tell it had just been opened, since the cardboard cover strip lay on the table beside it. A stack of used Kleenex littered the Formica surface, like crumpled white carnations on the pink background.

Beside the Kleenex box there was an opened telegram.

I could see from the smeared makeup that Mom had been crying. Anxiety and fear crept into my voice.

"Mom? What's going on? What's wrong?"

Mom looked up at me and smiled. It was a forced smile. She was quiet for a minute. When she finally spoke, she was working to control the emotion in her voice.

Mom reached over and pulled a fresh Kleenex out of the box. At first I thought she was just going to dab her eyes, but when she brought the soft white tissue to her face, she dissolved in tears.

"It's Captain Ricky," she struggled. "He's coming home."

****************

I don't really remember much of the next couple of days. It was odd. It was like pieces from a movie all spliced together. I remember short scenes and snatches of color and noise.

I remember the military hearse bringing the flag draped coffin up to the Church house.

I remember everyone sweating in the pews and flapping those free cardboard fans the funeral home gives out.

I remember people bringing food.

There were pans and dishes of casseroles and cakes and salads. I remember food was stacked all across the kitchen table and perched on every counter surface. I may just be crazy, but it seems like at one time, we had seven colors of congealed Jell-O salads lined up beside the sink.

And, I remember the graveside gun salute, followed by a mournful trumpet crying Taps.

Clickity, clack. Boom!

Clickity, clack. Boom!

Clickity, clack. Boom!

Somehow that last volley was like a cold washcloth to the face. Suddenly, I was waking up from a three day nap or, someone hit the switch and my brain snapped back on.

I don't know where I had gone but I was back.

Grandpa and Grandma were practically carrying Mom home from the graveyard. I was walking behind them and having a real thought for the first time in days.

I was thinking that I was never going to have a Father.

Now, I really had not had a Father for a long time. I was two when Captain Ricky shipped off overseas, and the truth is I did not remember him as a real person. He was only the pictures that Mom put out and the stories she liked to tell.

I always felt that someday I would have a real Dad. He would come home from The War, and we would ride bikes and go fishing and play baseball. I would show him off to all my friends, while he sat at the kitchen table reading the newspaper out loud and complaining like somebody's Father.

But, now I knew that was never going to happen because Captain Ricky flew his B-25 into the side of a cloud covered mountain, when he disappeared six years ago.

So, when we went back to the house and all these people dressed in black came by to pinch my cheek and cry and laugh and tell stories about Captain Ricky, I could not take it. My Sunday suit and dress shirt felt like a boy choking straitjacket.

I snuck out the backdoor and high tailed it for the baseball stadium as fast as I could.

Since, it was an off day; none of the players were around. That was okay, since I really just wanted some quiet. I walked up the old concrete grandstand to the very top row. I took a seat and pulled off my black clip-on tie and unbuttoned my top button.

In the distance I could see Bubba using clippers to trim the grass along the left field fence. Luckily he did not see me.

I just sat there alone.

As I said before, whenever you are feeling sorry for yourself life will give you something to be sorry for.

So, now I was up here feeling sorry for real.

I had my head in my hands, and I did not see anyone approaching but suddenly someone was there.

I looked up.

Shine was standing above, looking down.

I did not know what to say. So, I did not say anything.

"I am sorry about your Father," Shine finally said.

"Thanks," I said. "So am I."

"I was going to bring you some Jell-O," Shine said. "But, I did not know your favorite flavor. Plus we were out of ice. So, I couldn't make it anyway."

"That's okay, Shine. We've got enough Jell-O at my house to make a wiggly snowman."

He smiled. "That would be something to see, a Jell-O snowman."

I smiled back at him and nodded.

That's when he reached into his pocket. He had to put his hand in way down deep in those loose fitting hand-me-down pants but, eventually he pulled an out an old weathered hard ball and he offered it to me.

"I got this for you," he said.

"Thanks," I replied. "But you didn't have to. I have plenty of baseballs."

Shine grinned as if he knew a secret.

"But, this is that immortal homerun ball that you are always talking about. This is the baseball that Wally Carpenter hit on opening day."

"Holy cow!" I jumped to my feet. I took it in my hands as if it was made of glass. "You found it?"

"Yep," he said. "It was way out there. I found five others while I was looking for this one, but this immortal ball was way far out. It was way beyond all the others, half buried in red clay and covered in weeds."

"Wow!" was all I could say.

And, for the next hour we sat there in the bleachers admiring that immortal baseball and being friends.

After a while, we got up and left the ballpark. We went on back to my house, where we ate seven different colors of Jell-O and they all tasted the same. Finally, Grandma Tooley made us go outside after she caught us playing baseball in the kitchen with those wiggly little squares

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter Sixteen – Crises Time

Mr. Finley German, majority owner of the Granite Falls Rocks, had to be the richest man I knew. He owned the local Chrysler dealership, and I am pretty sure he had more money than anyone else in Granite Falls. He might well have been the wealthiest person in the entire Catawba Valley.

You could tell he was rich because he drove a brand new Chrysler Imperial Convertible with Auto Fluid Drive Transmission - that shifted all by itself!

They called it 'America's Smartest Car', and you did not even have to hit the clutch. As a matter of fact, it did not even have a clutch!

Gosh! What will they think of next?

I just loved to stand close to that shiny black convertible and listen to the big V8 purr. I would pretend I was sitting in the front seat driving it down to Hickory, to the brand new outside movie theatre.

Boy, it must be nice to be rich!

Even though Mr. German had money, he behaved like a regular Joe. He talked to everyone. He loved to tell the worst stories and jokes that you have ever heard in your life.

Whenever he would come into the clubhouse, he would seek me out to share his latest groaner.

"Hey, Bobby," he would say. "What's the Mexican Food weather report?"

"I don't know, Mr. German."

"Chili today – Hot tamale!"

Or,

"Hey, Bobby, did you hear about the two silkworms that decided to race?"

"No, Sir."

"They ended up in a tie!"

And, one joke hit a little close to home.

"Hey, Bobby, how do you make a small fortune in baseball?"

"I don't know, Mr. German."

"You start with a large fortune!"

Now we all knew that Mr. German was losing a lot of money on our team, and even though he was rich I was not sure how long he could keep watching his fortune dwindle.

In spite of his loses, Mr. German was always positive and upbeat and he always seemed so determined to keep the team going and finish out the season.

Once he stopped by the clubhouse, and it was just him and me. So, I asked Mr. German why he kept the ball club going even though he was losing money.

"Bobby," he said. "I made promises to the players and the fans and the community. Just because I am losing money, I still have to live up to my promises. They don't just go away. Besides, if it was always easy to keep your promises then what good would a promise be?"

I began to wonder if I should be writing this stuff down. Mr. German just kept on making sense.

"It does not take much of a business man to shut down a place and fire people. Anyone can do that but, it takes a real man to live up to his obligations."

"Don't worry, Bobby," said Mr. German as he slapped me on the back. "We are doing something special here. We will finish this season, no matter what it takes!"

But, in spite of Mr. German's optimism, things were clearly touch and go. Players kept leaving and eventually the team's core shrank down to mostly local Mill League veterans. Most of them had good day jobs, and they did not want to leave the area to join other teams. So, we could count on the Mill Leaguers to stay to the end of the season.

At least that's what we thought.

Then, in late August the Catawba Valley contingent of the National Guard was called up for the Korean War. When those boys went off to fight, we lost more of our core players. That left us with just eight players for a nine man game!

For three days, Coach Pugh was on the phone, begging and pleading for someone to come to Granite Falls to help us finish off the season but no one wanted to sign on for a small town and a losing team.

It looked like the dream of professional baseball in Granite Falls was coming to an end.

On August 27th, we were supposed to play double header on the road against the Newton-Conover twins. Coach Pugh was in his little clubhouse office bright and early calling anyone he could think of trying to pick up just one more player. But, when Mr. German came in around 10:30, Coach Pugh stepped out of his office. He was shaking his head and looking down at his feet.

"I am sorry, Sir," Bob said dejectedly. "I have called everybody I know of, everybody I can think of, and everybody I ever heard of, just trying to get one more player for today's games. If there's a ballplayer to be had in all the Carolinas, I don't know where he's hiding."

Mr. German walked over and put a comforting arm on Coach Pugh's shoulder.

"Bob," he said. "You have done a great job for this team and for this town. You have kept us going and you've kept us competitive in one of the toughest baseball leagues in America. Son, you hold your head up high. You don't have anything to feel sorry about. You should be proud of the job you have done here against some mighty long odds."

Mr. German slapped Coach Pugh on the back and then turned to address the room. Of course, Shine and Chopper and I were the only ones in the room besides the Coach, but Mr. German acted as if he was addressing a crowd.

"Gentlemen," he announced. "We have reached a crisis point. We have four more games to play but we cannot play with an eight man roster. We cannot field a team for this afternoon's games against the Twins, and it would seem that our season is over. Bob has tried everything in his power, and he assures me there are no players available. I believe that he is absolutely right. So, it appears that we have no option but to give up and fold the team."

"But..." He paused. Then his eyes twinkled, and he began to smile!

"Maybe this crisis is just an opportunity in disguise."

Huh?

"Maybe, this is our chance to do something that is going to wake up our sleepy little town."

What is he talking about?

"Maybe this is our opportunity to shake up Carolina Baseball – and do something that nobody's ever done before."

Now I was completely confused. Was he talking about forfeiting the game? Or, folding the club? That was not real original. Lots of other teams were going bust. I doubted if anyone would notice if we disappeared.

"Boys," he said. "There is something I have been thinking about doing for the last two months. Now the time has come. When there is nothing to lose, you might as well do the right thing."

Mr. German turned and started heading for the door. There was a smile on his face and a purpose in his stride. As he reached to exit, he yelled over his shoulder.

"I am going to get us some ballplayers. I'll be back as soon as I can. If I'm not here in time, you take the bus on over. I'll catch up with you along the way!"

Mr. German tore off like a bat out of you know where. We had no idea what he had up his sleeve but we did what he told us and kept hoping for a miracle. I finished cleaning and packing the equipment and Shine scraped and polished the shoes. Then, we helped Chopper and Big Bubba load up the bus.

When all seven players assembled around 11:30, Coach Pugh (who was the eighth) had everyone board up. After a couple of tries he started up the stubborn old bus engine, closed the door, and we drove off down the highway.

We had no idea what lay ahead.

**************

About 45 minutes later we passed through Hickory and turned on to Highway 70 going east. That's when we found our answer in the backseat of a 1951 Chrysler Imperial.

The big Convertible came flying up behind us with the top down, and the horn was honking and honking. Everyone but our driver, rushed down the aisle to the rear of the bus, and what we saw amazed us all.

Mr. German was behind the wheel, smiling and laughing. Beside him in the passenger seat was one of the Rock's co-owners, John Warwick and in the Chrysler's big back seat were three ball players in uniform.

And, all three of them were black!

******************

So, we were going to play baseball that day after all. And, we were going to do something no Southern professional sports team had ever done. We were integrating an all white league.

If I live to be a hundred, I'll never forget the pep talk Mr. German gave us before we took the field.

"Gentlemen," he said. "It's time for the baseball community to realize that God only put one race on this green Earth: the human race. I believe the Good Lord put us here to do the right thing. So, that is exactly what we are going to do no matter what."

Mr. German went on to explain, "It's the right thing for the Rocks, and it's the right thing for baseball."

Then, in his mellow baritone voice he began singing quietly.

"Jesus loves the little children."

"All the children of the world."

Then, the whole team joined in and the music swelled.

"Red and yellow, black and white. "

"They are precious in his sight. "

"Jesus loves the little children of the world."

It was game time.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter Seventeen – The Final Stretch

We found out later that when Mr. German left us that morning, he drove over to the Falls Cotton Mill run by Rock's co-owner John Warlick. Mr. German knew that Falls Mill sponsored a baseball team for the colored employees. In the fewest words possible, Mr. German explained the situation and proposed a radical solution. In no time the two conspirators were hurrying downstairs, where they pulled two players out of the spinning room and one from the weaving room.

Our new teammates grabbed uniforms from their lockers and changed in the back seat of the Imperial, on the road to Conover. They signed their brand new baseball contracts along the way.

In a fairy tale world, we would have swept the Twins that day buoyed by the rightness of our cause. But, with eleven players playing together for the first time, on the road, we still got smacked.

Leo Kantorski pitched both games for the Twins, and they walloped us 9-5 and 6-2. He gave up nine hits in the first game but held us to just three hits in the second. In the Daily Record the next day, Leo got top billing:

"Leo Kantorski Pulls Iron Man Stunt with Two Wins" was the headline for the newspaper's report.

Farther down in his piece the sportswriter did acknowledge our new colored team mates, making sure to point out they all played baseball at Ridgeview High School in Hickory.

"The first Negro players to see action in the Class D Western Carolina league played for Granite Falls. All three of the colored men to play hail from Ridgeview at Hickory. Russell Shuford worked behind the plate the major portion of both games for the Rocks. Christopher Rankin pitched two innings of the first game and two and two-thirds innings in the second game. Gene Abernathy, one of Ridgeview's top all-around athletes, went in as a pinch-hitter in the first game and played center field in the second game. Neither of the trio got a hit and Shuford was charged with two errors."

Of course the Daily Record had to finish their story:

"The second game marked Granite Falls' 27th straight loss, breaking their earlier record of twenty-six straight."

So, we did it. We integrated our baseball team and the amazing thing to me was, no one objected.

No one even seemed to notice!

There were no protests. There were no rallies. In fact, I did not hear any rude comments from the Conover fans at all.

I guess this had been coming for a while. It had been going on up North and when it finally got to the Carolina League people were ready for it.

The one thing that I did notice, however, was that the crowd at the second game was much larger than the crowd at the first. In fact, there was a whole section of colored fans that suddenly showed up and sat at the end of the bleachers over towards first base.

Surprisingly, the colored fans sat quietly. It was as if the sight of black players on the same field with white players mesmerized them. They did not yell or cheer. They just sat stunned.

All through the second game, the crowd kept swelling. Black and white fans heard that something extraordinary was taking place. They rushed to the ballpark in Conover to see history being made.

The fans recognized the significance, even if the Daily Record only gave it second billing.

Two days later we played the Marauders at their home in Marion. We went in feeling like maybe we had a chance to pull off the upset. The day before Bill Pugh picked up Boney Flemming, a former starting pitcher for the Asheville Blues. Pitching had always been the Rock's downfall.

Unfortunately, Boney was a little past his prime and rusty from not playing for a while. He just could not stand up to those Marion batters. He gave up five runs in the third inning. So, we ended up taking the loss 10-3.

On top of losing, Russell Shuford our new catcher was hit by a tipped foul and it twisted his finger backwards. It was bent sideways and clearly broken, and Russell's season was over, cut short after just three games.

On a more positive note though, the Daily Record account of the game actually highlighted the Rocks.

MARAUDERS 10, ROCKS 3

With four Negroes in the lineup, the first to play on a white baseball team in North Carolina, the Granite Falls Rocks went down in favor of Marion's Marauders, 10-3.

Our losing streak continued but something unusual was happening. The crowds were swelling instead of shrinking. Fans were pouring into the games. In fact, I believe our game in Marion drew the biggest crowd since 'Black Cat Night' in early June.

It's funny how things work out. It required a lot of courage on Mr. German's part to add black players to the roster (not to mention the bravery of the players themselves). None of was sure what was going to happen. We were all a little fearful that a riot might even break out during that first game, but Mr. German did the right thing anyway. He took a huge chance and signed colored players to contracts in the all-white Carolina league.

Now his courageous decision was bringing fans into the stadium. It was actually helping the team.

Who would have thought it?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter Eighteen – Sunshine Patriots and Quitters

Thomas Paine once said, "These are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country."

I know these words by heart because my fourth grade history teacher, Mrs. Saurbottom, made me memorize them. She told us that Tom Paine was an important person in the Revolutionary War and he served his country by helping kick out those dang Redcoats.

Now the Redcoats are another group, I will never understand. According to Mrs. Saurbottom, they were all upset because a group of Boston Yankees called 'the Sons of Liberty' dumped their tea out into Boston harbor. So, they went around closing newspapers and taking away people's rights.

Now don't get me wrong. If someone knocked my tea into the harbor on purpose, I am sure that it would get me all riled up too. Especially, if it was a hot day, and I was thirsty. I am the kind of guy that would probably offer them a knuckle sandwich, unless they bought me a whole new glass. But, for some reason, when the redcoats lost all their tea, they did not want fresh tea. Instead, it made them want to shut down people's printing presses.

Does that make sense to anybody?

It sure does not make sense to me. Plus, I can't help thinking those Redcoats were a bit on the crazy side to begin with. I mean, standing up in the middle of a battlefield as if they were lined up for a fire drill, can't be the first page in anybody's playbook. Whoever thought that one up must have had an elevator that did not go all the way to the top, if you know what I mean?

I always figured that if it had not been so dang cold at Valley Forge, we would have sent those Redcoats packing way before the 4th of July. I bet we could have cleared them out by early spring, at least by Opening Day. Then we could have honored Tom Paine properly. He could have thrown out the first pitch. That would have been a great way to start the baseball season!

Now, as far as I know, Thomas Paine never did get to throw out the first pitch. That is pretty sad when it comes right down to it. What is even sadder is that Ben Franklin and George Washington never got to throw out a first pitch either.

I mean, come on. If I owned the Washington Senators I would certainly have let the 'Father of Our Country' throw out the first pitch anytime he felt like coming out to the park. And, I would have at least asked Ben Franklin to coach third base or something. After all, if you can discover electricity you are bound to be able to wave a runner home.

But, then you know what they say about Washington: "First in war, first in peace, and last in the American League."

Anyway, today, we honor Thomas Paine, Ben Franklin, and George Washington because they had staying power. They were not sunshine patriots. They went the distance. In fact, I am pretty sure that Ben Franklin is the one who made up the saying, "Quitters never win, and winners never quit." (Although, I guess it could have been Mark Twain.)

Anyway, what all this boils down to is that the '51 Rocks had a Sunshine Patriot in our midst: Mr. P. F. Wilson. After the Rocks nosedived through late Summer and lost 44 of 45 games, Mr. Wilson showed his Sunshine Patriot rear end and just quit coming out to the park.

Well, that was okay by me, because I figured we were better off without him and anyone else who did not want to be there.

Unfortunately, Mr. Wilson did serve a purpose for the Granite Falls Rocks. He was the official record scorer for the team. And, because he quit coming to the stadium, the statistics for last sixteen games of our season were never compiled and forwarded to the Howe News Bureau in Atlanta, Ga. So, the Western Carolina League will forever have a blind spot covering those final games of the Rocks season. The Official Baseball Guide and Record Book says:

"Note – Sixteen games missing from averages due to failure of Granite Falls scorer to send box scores, but standing is complete."

On account of P. F. Wilson, the Western Carolina League has no detailed written records of the five black men that played for the 1951 Granite Falls Rocks. There are no batting averages, no ERA's, no nothing.

Some years later a fire at the Chrysler Dealership destroyed the contracts and agreements and paperwork for the entire team.

Today, aside from a few surviving columns in the Hickory Daily Record, there is no documentation at all of those amazing events of August and September 1951.

So, when it came to that very last game of the 1951 Granite Falls Granite Rocks – there was no other option. You just had to be there!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter Nineteen – Finale

It was the last game of the 1951 season. We were 14-95. We had lost 32 games straight and 58 of our last 59.

We had been close many times. We'd lost half a dozen in extra innings and though a lot of people gave up on us, we never gave up on ourselves.

We lost money. We lost fans. We lost players. But the dream of Professional Baseball in Granite Falls never died.

On September 3rd, 1951, we met the Morganton Aggies on Saturday Night in the Granite Falls Stadium. It was our chance to go out a winner.

Russell Shuford was out with a broken finger, but we had three colored players going into that final game. As luck would have it, Morganton was starting their 'Cuban' right-hander, 'Jimmy' Cuervo.

It was certainly the first Western Carolina League game with colored players on both teams!

We got to the stadium early that morning and Shine and I shared our last Hygomia of the season. Grandma Tooley threw a couple of moon pies into my lunchbox, so we could go out in style.

After Hygomia, we went straight to work getting the stadium and our equipment into tip top shape. I wiped down all the bats and filled the rosin bags and painted the pine tar grips. Shine cleaned up the players shoes and put an extra layer of polish on the leather. Chopper and Big Bubba were diligently sweeping and trimming and sprucing up the place and putting down fresh chalk lines on the field and the Granite Falls Stadium looked better than it had in years.

President Roosevelt would have been proud.

The game started at five, but the entire team was on hand two hours early. Bob Pugh got us together before the pregame warm-up.

"Fellas," he said. "This is going to be tough game to win. The Aggies are leading the league, and they have a bigger roster and a lot more experience playing together than we do. So, I don't see how we are going to win this game tonight, without some help."

(So far it was not much of a pep talk.)

"For that reason I have made arrangements to add two more professional baseball players to our team for this last game."

All right! I thought. We sure can use some fresh blood. I looked around and did not see any new faces.

"So, let me introduce the two newest members of the Granite Falls Rocks."

Bob reached down and picked up a brown paper bag that was lying beside him on the grass. I wondered if he was planning to pull a ballplayer out of the shopping bag like a magician pulls a rabbit out of a hat.

Instead of ball players, Coach Pugh reached inside and pulled out a jersey and a cap. Then, he walked over and handed them to Chopper Gaines.

"Chopper," he said. "You are starting at third base."

Then, he pulled out another shirt and cap. Coach handed them over to Big Bubba Smith.

"Bubba, you're catching."

We were stunned, which was good because it kept me from crying in front of the guys.

Bubba and Chopper were going to play baseball! I could not believe it. In the back of my mind, I could hear Finley German's words once more, "I believe the Good Lord put us here to do the right thing. So, that is exactly what we are going to do, no matter what."

Bob put down the sack and began clapping. We all joined in and the guys all starting slapping our two newest Rocks on the back.

"Okay, gentlemen," Bob said. "Let's get out there and warm up. Stretch out. Get that blood pumping and get yourselves ready!"

He added enthusiastically, "tonight, we are going to play some 'Good Baseball'."

Most of the guys grabbed a ball, a glove, or a bat and headed out onto the field. Chopper and Bubba headed for the clubhouse to change.

"I can't believe it! I can't believe it!" Bubba said grinning like the lead jockey in a one horse race.

"I've cut the grass and raked the dirt and treated this field like I owned it. I never ever thought I would get to play on it."

Bubba kept shaking his head, "I'm really playing for the team! I can't believe it."

He explained, "I got Momma a ticket for the game. I wanted her to see the colored players. Now she's gonna see her very own baby boy playing White Baseball!"

"Hot Damn! Thank you, Jesus!"

Chopper could not find his voice at all. He just walked over to the clubhouse shaking his head back and forth, back and forth.

When he got inside, he turned on the faucet and splashed water on his face as if he needed to wake up or something. Then he put on his shirt and changed his pants and he took off his street shoes. He was so rattled he forgot to put his cleats on. He walked out of the building in his stocking feet. He had to come back inside to get shod.

It was great!

* * * * * * * * * *

At five o'clock sharp the Umpire yelled, "Play Ball" and the final game of the 1951 Granite Falls Graniteers / Granite Rocks got underway.

Now we all know there are seven ways to get on base safely in baseball: a hit, a walk, an error, being hit by the pitch, a dropped third strike, catcher interference, and fielder's choice. Heck, I was just a kid, and I knew that.

But, before the final game of the 1951 season was over, we were all going to learn that Official Rule 7.05(h) (Paragraph 3) provided an eighth way for a runner to get onboard. And, that stupid rule would be forever seared into the memories of anyone who played, watched, or worked at Granite Falls Stadium on that fateful September evening.

The match started off slow and tight. It was a pitcher's duel for the first four innings. There were no hits. There were no walks. No one got anywhere near the bases.

Boney Fleming took the mound for the Rocks. Though his fast ball was not exactly burning up the plate, tonight he had pin point control.

He was like a mechanic out there. Boney did not throw pitches he assembled them. With speed changes and curves and placements, it was hard to tell if he was pitching baseballs or playing chess with the batters. He just took them apart, one by one.

Of course Jimmy Cuervo started for the Aggies. When he pitched, he brought everything he had. It seemed like he was throwing rockets instead of baseballs. It was not a baseball game. It was a trial. And, Jimmy Cuervo was judge, jury, and executioner.

Personally, I am partial to offense. I love to hear the bat crack and watch runners beat out the throw. So, usually I find no hitters kind of boring but, with these two hurlers going at it I was glued to my seat so tight I couldn't sit down. Each pitch was a nail biter. There was nothing boring about this match up.

Of course it could not go on forever. And, in the top of the fifth, the Aggies's leadoff man hit a bloop single into right field. Boney got the next batter to ground into a double play and confounded the third. So, even with a hit, there was no harm done.

Now it was our turn.

Chopper Gaines led off in the bottom of the fifth and I don't know if I ever saw a batter more determined to get on base. He was actually slapping his own face and shouting, "What the hell you doing out there, Chop? You finally get a chance to bat, and you strike out? This is it buddy. You are on the Last Chance Express. You have got to make this count!"

Going out to the plate, I handed Chopper his favorite bat but he waved me off. Instead, he reached down and picked up the smallest, lightest bat of the bunch. And, when he stepped into the batter's box, Chopper choked way up on the hard wood. And, he gritted his teeth.

Of course, Cuervo was not stupid. He saw all this going on. So, he started Chopper off with a couple that were at a perfect height but just outside the strike zone.

Chopper did not fall for it. He watched both go by and took the two balls like an early Christmas present.

On his third pitch, I guess Cuervo felt he had to throw a strike. So he wound up and uncorked a scorcher but Chopper was waiting for him.

Crack!

Chopper put the ball just outside the first baseman's reach and right down the line. The right fielder was nowhere close to where he needed to be.

Now a faster runner could have stretched that hit into a double. But, Chopper ran without toes. His legs were churning but his gate was clunky. The balls of the feet sort of chopped into the base paths, and he ran on the front edges of his shoes. But, Chopper made it all the way to first base and it was Jimmy Cuervo's turn to yell at himself.

In a small town, everyone knows everyone. And, every fan in the bleachers that night knew the sacrifice that Chopper made for his country. We also knew what kind of courage it took for a toeless man to run the bases.

That crowd got up on its feet and roared!

The crowd was still cheering when Bubba followed Chopper to the plate.

Bubba was a tough situation. He would have to hit a least a double, just to move Chopper on to second safely. A sacrifice fly or a bunt was not going to do the job.

Bubba looked over the bats we had and reached down for 34 inch stick of natural ash that was white and unblemished. Then he stepped into the batter's box and, for the first time all day Bill 'Bubba' Smith was not smiling.

Bubba knew a walk was better than a hit in this situation, so he crowded the strike zone until it almost disappeared.

It made me wonder if Bubba was trying get hit by the ball.

That's when Cuervo made his second mistake of the inning. And, he really paid for this one.

He tossed a first ball fast ball that was low and outside but, Bubba with his long arms had no problem stepping into it with his unblemished branch.

Crack!

Bubba hit a line drive. It was a line drive unlike any line drive I had ever seen.

That ball just would not fall. It was a power shot that kept going and going. It slid just over the outfield fence by no more than a gnat's whisker and, some freeloader out past center field got a complimentary souvenir.

It was a home run. Bubba and Chopper took their time rounding the bases. And just like that, the Rocks were up 2-0.

Oh boy! Jimmie Cuervo was hopping mad after getting burned for that home run. He threw his glove down and stomped on it. After that, if he could have shot bullets instead of baseballs, I think he would have.

Cuervo started tossing fire like a man possessed. Those next nine pitches were so fast that they actually blurred my vision. With nine strikes in a row, Cuervo put down the next three batters: pop, pop, pop. Then, Cuervo's poor catcher went into the dugout and put his hand into a bucket of ice.

Boney started out in the top of the sixth inning by walking the first Morganton batter. But, he came back and struck out the next two. It looked like he had everything under control.

Unfortunately, the next four batters hit safely. By the time the fifth one flew out to end the side, the Aggies had grabbed the lead 4-2.

The Rocks came to bat in the bottom of the sixth down by two. For the first time Cuervo began to look like he was slowing down. Maybe finishing up the last inning with all those blurring fast balls took something out of him. Whatever it was, he was no longer unhittable.

Max Deal started off our at bat with a nice ground ball single. Then, David Yount took Cuervo to a full count before he blooped a single to left.

David went to first and Max advanced to second. That's when our rally ended. Cuervo threw two strike outs and the fifth batter popped up to the first baseman. We stranded two and got no runs. So, we returned to the field.

The seventh and eighth innings followed with no scoring and no runners even got to second base. So, when the ninth inning came around, we were still trailing 4-2.

The first Aggie up grounded out to the shortstop. The second went down swinging. The third popped out to shallow center field where Gene Abernathy was waiting.

The Aggies went down: one, two, three.

But, they did not have to score. We did.

It was the bottom of the ninth, and we were just three outs away from the end of the season.

Bob Pugh did not have to tell us. We all knew it was do or die time.

Chris Rankin started the inning and when the count went to 3-2, he hit four foul balls in a row. Unfortunately, he popped the fifth one up to the catcher. And, it was one away.

The next batter up was Gene Abernathy. Gene had also played with on the Asheville Blues and knew Shoofly Brown from the old days. So, when Gene got into the batter's box he suddenly called time and stepped back out.

For a second he danced about waving his hand around his head. I wondered what the heck he was doing. Then, it finally hit me that he was 'shoeing away flies'.

When Gene finally stepped back into the box, Cuervo sent him a message. Luckily, Gene turned away from that bean ball and took a glancing hit on his left shoulder but he still went down hard. After he got back to his feet, he rubbed that shoulder all the way to first base.

Max Deal followed Gene. Max was the facility manager for the stadium, and I never met anyone who loved baseball more than Max.

Max crowded the plate under the assumption that Cuervo would not bean two batters in a row. But, when an inside fastball almost took his head off; he had to rethink his strategy.

Max stepped back and waited for one across the dish and two pitches later, he got it.

Crack!

The ball shot out from the bat, right down the first base line. We all held our breath. And, damn if that ball did not hit the foul pole and bounce right smack down onto the field.

But, it was fair – and a home run.

The hometown crowd went wild. And Gene and Max made a quick circle, touching them all.

We were tied up once again 4-4.

Cuervo struck out the next two Rock's batters in a row. I missed the first one because Chopper Gaines sent me into the clubhouse for an ace bandage and a fresh pair of socks.

I missed the second one, because I was helping Chopper pull off his cleats.

When they slid off I gasped.

It looked like Chopper was wearing two tone socks. Except, they were not two tone, the feet of his socks were soaked red, with blood!

When Chopper slipped off his sodden socks, I could see that he was bleeding heavily from the front of his feet where his toes used to be.

Damn those Damnkrauts!

Chopper took a towel and wiped them off. Then he found some gauze somewhere. With gauze and an ace bandage he wrapped up those stubby bleeding feet. He covered them up in a fresh pair of white socks and gingerly slid his cleats back on.

"Good as new," he said with a pained smile.

I don't think the sweat on his forehead was a product of the September heat.

Bob Pugh came out on the mound in the 10th inning just to spell Boney for a bit. That seemed like it might have been a bad decision when the first batter up singled and the second got a walk. The third batter hit a line drive to the short stop who tagged the runner at second for two quick outs. The next batter fouled out, and we got out of the side without any permanent damage.

Unfortunately, the Rocks only got one walk and no hits in the tenth. So, we rolled on into the eleventh.

No one got on base in the eleventh for either team. But, in the twelfth, Ted Yount hit a double. He moved to third on a sacrifice bunt, but that was as far as he got.

The thirteenth came and went with a single and a walk a piece but no runs were scored.

Finally, after Max Deal turned on the lights, we went into the 14th inning still tied at 4-4.

Bob Pugh came back in to start out the fourteenth and give Boney another breather. The first Morganton batter, Hal Harris got on base with a walk. Bob struck out the next batter. Then, Buck McAnulty singled for the Aggies and moved Harris to second.

So, there we were in the top of the 14th inning. Morganton had a man at first and a man at second. That is when everyone present learned something special.

That is when we learned about Official Rule 7.05 (h) paragraph three.

Bob Pugh was on the mound and watching Morganton's Buck McAnulty out of the corner of his eye. Buck had a suicide lead off of first, so Bob wiped some dirt on his left leg signaling a pickoff play to Rock's first baseman, Toby Fellar.

Bob appeared deep in thought. Apparently, he was concentrating exclusively on the next batter. Suddenly, he turned and whipped the ball to Fellar at first.

The Morganton runner dived back to the base just as Fellar slid his glove down to tag him.

Unfortunately, there was no ball in Fellar's glove.

The first baseman never got a firm grip on the sphere. It hit the top of his glove's webbing, but slid out and rolled about five feet beyond the base.

Meanwhile, right fielder Newton Rafer came running up to short stop the play. He was tearing in at full speed just as Fellar realized the ball was behind him. Fellar turned and dived for the ball, just as Rafer arrived.

It was the worst hustle crash I have ever seen.

Each player was so focused and trying so hard, they forgot about the other. Rafer was strait up and Fellar hit him low. As they smashed together, the outfielder went flying over the first baseman. He somersaulted and came down flat on his back, out cold!

Feller, the first baseman, took a wicked shot. From across the field I could see his head snap back, as if he had caught a haymaker to the chin. Fellar staggered for a second, but he never went down. Instead, he shook his head and turned to find the ball. But, the baseball was not there on the ground where it had been. When they collided, the outfielder accidentally kicked the white sphere up the foul line towards the backstop. Now it was rolling slowly toward the Aggies' dugout.

The next two seconds seemed to last forever. It was as if we were seeing it in slow motion.

Fellar took off like a shot towards the dugout. He was doing his damndest to intercept that ball. I thought he was going to make it, until he ran over a black practice bat that lay almost hidden in the shadowed grass.

Fellar's right foot hit that slick wooden surface, and he fell forward towards the dugout. He stretched his gloved out as he tumbled but that baseball was just beyond his reach.

That little white pellet continued rolling slowly over the top cement step of the dugout where it hung for a second...

And then dropped down inside.

Umpire Tommy Lantana immediately threw up his hands and stopped play.

****************

Of course there was plenty of confusion as Morganton base runners were running back and forth trying to figure out where they should be. Both managers came running over to Lantana for a ruling. For the Rocks that ruling came down as swift and painful as an executioner's sword.

Naturally the crowd booed and yelled and fussed at the Ump. Bob Pugh argued until he was red in the face and came near to being ejected.

But, what can you do? Lantana was right. It was all there in black and white.

Official Rule 7.05(h) (Paragraph 3):

If, however, the pitched or thrown ball goes through or by the catcher or through the fielder, and remains on the playing field, and is subsequently kicked or deflected into the dugout, stands or other area where the ball is dead, the awarding of bases shall be two bases from position of runners at the time of the pitch or throw.

Umpire Lantana awarded two bases to the batter and two to each base runner. So, the batter went to second. The man at first went to third, and the man on second trotted home to score.

Official Rule 7.05(h) (Paragraph 3) gave Morganton a go ahead run tied up with a bow on top. The Rocks were now trailing 5-4.

Bob Pugh was too angry to pitch. He took himself out of the game and put Boney back in.

Somehow Boney managed to focus and put the next two batters down. But, the damage was done. We were behind 5-4 which left just three outs for a miracle.

***************

Gene Abernathy came up to start the 14th for Granite Falls, and even though he swatted at more imaginary flies, there was no free trip to first base this time. Gene was forced to swing. And although he is a fair hitter, he was no match for Cuervo on this night. Gene struck out on three pitches.

Max Deal was next in the order. Max was batting well over .300 at the time. And he was patient and ready. He watched the first two go by. Then, Max swung, almost ahead of the pitch, and he got hold of a sinker and popped it up to right center field.

I swear, if the wind had been blowing out, Max would have homered. Unfortunately, the breeze was coming in and stopped the ball short. The center fielder caught that would be dinger right at the fence.

So, with two away, Chopper Gaines stepped up with that same short piece of MLB Grade Ash. The last game of the 1951 season would come down to a man with no toes and more heart than anyone I ever knew.

The crowd was on its feet now. Fingers were crossed. We held our collective breath. And, most of all, we hoped and prayed for a miracle.

The entire 1951 season had come down to this duel between the finest pitcher I have ever seen and the greatest hitter in Granite Falls history. It had come down to the best verses the best. It had come down to this very moment.

Cuervo took his position on the mound and Chopper stepped into the box. And, it was on.

*************

Once more, Cuervo tried to pitch Chopper outside. But, this time Chopper watched three balls go by. Chop stood like a statue and let Cuervo dig that deep hole. He realized that with a three and oh count, Jimmy would be forced to throw one down the center.

Everyone who attended the game knew it was coming. The fans all knew it. The players all knew it. And of course, Cuervo and Chopper both knew what it would be.

It was the Heat.

It was the blazing fast machine gun bullet right across the center of the plate. And, that pitch was exactly what Chopper Gaines was banking on.

Chopper swung with all the pain and fear and determination a man with wounded feet could muster. And, he nailed that next pitch as it rocketed high across the middle.

The bat cracked and my heart stopped. And I saw that horse hide sphere fly deep into left, just over the fielder's outstretched glove!

It was not a home run. It was a solid hit. But, did that ash limb strike hard enough to get a toeless man on base?

Chopper threw down his weapon and raced off like a three legged mule. He clomped and crashed his way toward first. And, it seemed like he was running in slow motion. Though, the crowd was roaring, I could not hear a sound. And I did not see the fans or the other players. Or, even the left fielder. All I could focus on was Chopper willing his way down the baseline. Running on the balls of toeless feet, each step like a paddle digging into the dirt. It was painful just to watch, but, slowly the distance closed between runner and base. Four paces became two paces became one. And, finally after breathless eons, Chopper Gaines stretched out and tagged that white cotton prize.

Chopper did it! He made it safely to first base. Against the odds... Against the pain... Against the best pitcher I have ever seen.

Then, Chopper and I both realized at the same time, that he had beaten the throw – because there was no through at all. Somehow, the left fielder was still hunting the ball.

It was an extra base hit. So, Chopper Gaines took off for second!

Clomp, clomp, clomp, clomp.

I cringed as he dug those bloodied feet into the base path. But, there was no hesitation in his stride. He just kept pushing with all he had.

By now the fielder found the ball and hurled it from deep left all the way to second base but it was too late. Chopper slid in headfirst to beat the throw.

But, the throw went wild! The adrenalin packed pitch passed way over the second baseman's glove.

Suddenly, Chopper Gaines realized it was a missed ball. So, he pulled himself up and damned if he did not take off for third base!

Once more, Chopper was clomping and digging with edges of his feet. He powered forward like a bulldozer plowing through the dirt. Meanwhile the Aggies's first baseman and right fielder streaked toward the ball that rolled dead in shallow right.

Chopper never even looked back. He just chugged and clomped. I winced as once more he threw himself into the dust and the ball came flying in above him.

The Aggie third baseman reached up and plucked that orb out of midair. He was like fluid in motion, when he brought it down to tag the runner. But, he was a fraction of a second too late.

Chopper Gaines was safe at third!

It was the gutsiest thing I have ever seen before or since. I knew every step was tearing flesh from his toeless feet, and that he was now wearing a second pair of 'two toned' socks. I had tears in my eyes when he stood up on third base and brushed the dirt off his shirt and pants.

And, that was the third immortal moment of the 1951 Granite Falls season.

Every fan in the stadium was on his feet. Men were hugging. Women were crying. Fans were chanting 'Chopper', 'Chopper', 'Chopper'. It was pandemonium!

Bob Pugh came out of the dugout and waved his arms and encouraged the fans to yell even louder.

Finally, Chopper Gaines took off his cap and waved it to the crowd. At that point I knew we were the best bad baseball team in the whole wide world!

**************

Bill Smith came up to bat following Chopper once again. I felt sorry for him as he fought Jimenez Cuervo for the last time that evening.

Bubba fought the good fight. And, he had a good eye. He watched balls go by, and he only swung at the strikes.

He took the count to 3-2 and then fouled off a couple but; he was forced to swing at one of those blurring Cuervo fast balls right down the center. And, Bubba was a fraction of a second too late.

Bubba Smith struck out to end the inning, the game, and the season.

It was all over.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter Twenty – Wrap Up

The Granite Falls professional baseball team, the Granite Falls Graniteers/Granite Rocks finished up 14-96. We lost 33 straight games and 59 of our last 60. But, we did finish the season and we were competitive to the very last pitch and, that counted more than our dismal record.

And, mostly it was a season of ifs.

If the National Guard had not called up so many good players...

If we could have held on to our top talent...

If we had more time to prepare for the start of the season...

If Bubba Smith had gotten one last hit...

If. If. If.

If we had won our last game, the 1899 Cleveland Spiders would have the worst record in baseball, instead of us. But that loss earned us a permanent corner in the cellar of baseball history.

However, we did what we started out to do.

We brought professional baseball to our little town and in spite of long odds and countless setbacks, we never quit. We did finish our one and only season in the Western Carolina League.

There would never be another.

Along the way, something special happened. We became the first professional sports team in the entire South to brake the color barrier. And, although we did not change the world, we did change some people and, that is always the first step.

Sportswriter Grantland Rice once wrote, "It's not whether you win or lose. It's how you play the game."

For the 1951 Rocks it was not whether we won or lost. It was whether we got to play the game at all.

There were lots of times we could have quit. But, the '51 Rocks kept playing, for one simple reason. We loved baseball. We flat out loved the game.

And when you think about it, that is probably why those Negro League players signed on with us.

Because when you really, really love something...

You just have to share it.

Some people might think that the 1951 Granite Falls Granite Rocks was a team full of losers. And, if you judge us by our record they could be right. But, that ball club from that little mountain town in North Carolina over came adversity and ignorance. And, instead of giving up and quitting, the 51 Rocks had the courage to try something that no other team had ever tried before. And that was back in 1951 – during the greatest summer of my life.

### * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Historical Note: As far as we know, none of those African American players ever played profession baseball again.

Boney Fleming moved to Morganton, NC where he spent 30 years driving a cab. Gene Abernathy married a teacher in Hickory, NC. Gene moved there and eventually became the Director of the Ridgeview Community Center. Russell Shuford went to work for the City of Hickory, where he was a little league Umpire for decades. Christopher Rankin, moved to Washington, DC. And, Bill 'Big Bubba' Smith disappeared after the mill closed back in 1986. He may still alive but, there are a lot of Bubbas in the South.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 "You just can't beat the person who never gives up."

Babe Ruth

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

About the Author:

Matt Musson was born in Austin, TX and grew up in San Antonio. He earned two degrees at the University of Texas and moved east to work for Ross Perot as a Systems Analyst. He has developed systems for Planters Peanuts, LifeSavers Candies, Sara Lee, and Bank of America.

Matt is currently in North Carolina developing banking software and working part-time for the Charlotte Bobcats. He has four incredible children: Skye, McClain, Granath, and Chandler. Matt collects vintage rodeo belt buckles and Indian jewelry when he is not prospecting for Carolina gold and emeralds.

He is a contributing author to the non-fiction anthology Sports in the Carolinas: From Death Valley to Tobacco Road. His adventure series about Jeep Muldoon – the boy who 'Finds Things' will soon be available through Smashwords.

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Secret Alternative Chapter 18!!!

Author's Note:

Below you will find the original Chapter 18. At the request of my editor at Baker Tritten Press, I rewrote the Chapter excluding the word "FART." Because Baker Tritten Press catered to the Home School market he was afraid the word would offend, "some of our Dear Mothers."

However, if you are not offended by that word, feel free to read the original Chapter below.

Matt Musson

Alternate Chapter Nineteen – The King of Farts

Peanut Fart Wilson quit coming to our games in August of 1951. I guess he just got tired of watching us lose.

I am sure the fellas sitting in the press box were happy that he gave up on the Rocks. They could certainly breathe easier with Mr. Wilson only a memory, fragrant as it might be.

You see whenever he came to the ball park; Mr. Wilson would stop by the concession stand and pick up three bags of roasted peanuts. Then he would wander up to his seat in the press box and attack those salty legumes like a black bear devours the first salmon of springtime, appeasing the gnawing hunger of a winter long fast.

No beaver alive could crunch through aspen faster than Mr. Wilson could grind through those light brown peanut coverings. Nor could that beaver hope to amass a pile of shavings to rival the shell litter that accumulated at Mr. Wilson's feet.

He usually finished all three bags before the first pitch of the game. So, if you timed things just right, you could arrive before the game started but after the peanut carnage was complete. Peanut Fart's overloaded digestive system was a ticking time bomb. No human body could ever contain that level of pressured peanut methane for long.

Now, in baseball, we have a tradition called the seventh inning stretch. It's when fans rise to stretch the muscles that may have stiffened while they sat watching the game.

Unfortunately, when Mr. Wilson rose up, it was not just the muscles in his legs that got stretched!

The baseball reporters said that when Peanut Fart stood up it was like a 'smelly symphony in the press box'. They claimed that when the fans sang 'Take Me Out to the Ball Game', Mr. Wilson accompanied them on the Butt Trumpet!

But, Peanut Fart Wilson did serve a purpose for the Granite Falls Rocks. He was the official record scorer for the team. Because he quit coming to the stadium, the statistics for last sixteen games of our season were never compiled or forwarded to the Howe News Bureau in Atlanta, Ga. So the Western Carolina League will forever have a blind spot covering those final Rocks games. The Official Baseball Guide and Record Book says:

"Note – Sixteen games missing from averages due to failure of Granite Falls' scorer to send box scores, but standing is complete."

Because of Peanut Fart Wilson, the Western Carolina League has no detailed written records of the five black men that played for the 1951 Granite Falls Rocks. Some years later a fire at the Chrysler Dealership destroyed the contracts and agreements and paperwork for the entire team.

Aside from a few columns in the Hickory Daily Record, there is no written history of those amazing events of August and September 1951.

So, when it came to the last game of the 1951 Granite Falls Granite Rocks – you just had to be there!

