A Well-Paid Slave (22 page)

Cooper took every opportunity to ham it up for the press. After Goldberg's 40-minute argument, Cooper said: “The Court announces a seventh-inning stretch.”

When the hearing resumed, Hughes countered that Flood had shown no chance of winning at trial and no irreparable injury. An injunction, Hughes said, would disturb rather than preserve the status quo. He also said that Goldberg was basically asking the court to ignore a binding Supreme Court decision in
Toolson
.

Hughes attacked Goldberg's slavery argument by drawing attention to Flood's salary: “It is very difficult to come to any conclusion that he is a slave. He is certainly making more money than most professional people. He is making more money than most well-paid executives. He is making more money than any judge I know or any writer or any poet or any other occupation you choose to name. It is his choice, your Honor, either to stay within the framework, the reasonable framework of the reserve system, or not to play.”

Hughes also exposed weaknesses in Flood's contention that his “business may fail if I am forced to leave St. Louis.” Flood had opened two photographic studios and a portrait studio in St. Louis. Hughes said that Flood's request to negotiate with other teams conflicted with his argument that he needed to stay in St. Louis to support his “fledgling business.” Hughes also read a January 18
St. Louis Post-Dispatch
advertisement for Curt Flood Studios, Inc., listing its headquarters as Lincoln-wood, Illinois, a Chicago suburb. Hughes and the owners never pursued Flood's photography or portrait business any further. If they had, they might have uncovered the secret behind Flood's portraits.

Hughes concluded his argument by taking the sky-is-falling approach. He claimed that “if this system as it now exists and has worked through the years is destroyed, your ball players coming up won't have any leagues to play in.”

Porter briefly added that the commissioner took no position in the dispute, but that the way to modify the reserve clause was through labor negotiation.

In rebuttal, Goldberg argued that the status quo was keeping Flood in St. Louis.

Judge Cooper declined to decide on the spot whether to grant the injunction. Instead, he gave both sides 20 days to file any additional briefs. Cooper, however, could not resist showing the press that he was a great baseball fan. “You have thrown the ball to me,” he said. “I hope I don't muff it.”

He concluded the hearing by comparing his job to that of an umpire: “You do not ask that he shall never make a mistake or always agree with you or always support the home team. You want an umpire who calls them as he sees them. That, I promise you, I shall do.”

Flood was not amused by Judge Cooper's comments. Nothing amused Flood these days. There had been an unreality to the first few months of his decision to quit the game and sue baseball. Aside from the added media and fan attention, November, December, and January had seemed like any other offseason. But by February's preliminary injunctionhearing, the reality had begun to sink in that for the first time in 13 years he was not going to spring training with the St. Louis Cardinals. As part of his ongoing effort to undermine public support for Flood, Dick Young reported that the Phillies had increased their offer to $105,000 and that Flood was “having second thoughts about his slave-status.” Flood's only thoughts were of not playing baseball in 1970 and of despair.

Flood's world came crashing down. He had put his portrait sales on hold. His photography business was on the rocks. So was his relationship with Claire, the woman he had met in Denmark. His chances of opening a bar in Copenhagen crumbled along with it. Flood went from not being able to sleep at night to not being able to keep food down. The tension also took its toll on his good friend Marian Jorgensen, whose nose began to bleed so badly that she had to be hospitalized. Flood cried over how his lawsuit had affected both of their lives.

Needing money and a new challenge, Flood embarked on a career as an author. He collaborated on an article for
Sport
magazine's March 1970 issue titled “Why I Am Challenging Baseball.” He also began working on a book, thanks to a phone call from an old Sally League adversary, Dave Oliphant. Oliphant had pitched against Flood as a member of the Macon Dodgers. Originally signed by the Yankees for $3,000, Oliphant, a Jew, experienced so much anti-Semitism from his minor league manager that his father purchased his contract for $2,000. The Yankees gave Oliphant's family $1,000 back after he hooked on with the pitching-rich Dodgers. Oliphant never made the major leagues, but the unfairness of the reserve clause stuck with him as a Connecticut businessman. The president of a small publishing company and a consultant for Simon & Schuster, Oliphant set Flood up with Herbert Alexander, an editor at Simon & Schuster's Trident Press.

Alexander found Flood a collaborator in Richard Carter. The author of several nonfiction books about science and medicine, Carter also wrote books about handicapping horses under the pseudonym Tom Ainslie. To disassociate them from gambling, Carter wrote under his given name with Flood. In late February, Carter arrived in St. Louis and stayed at the Holiday Inn on the publisher's dime. After a few weeks, Alexander became alarmed because he could not reach Carter. Flood's collaborator had neglected the book and immersed himself in the ballplayer's lifestyle of drinking and partying, spending his nights at Flood's favorite hangout, the Playboy Club in St. Louis. In mid-March, Alexander ordered Oliphant to pay Carter and Flood a surprise visit. “I read them the riot act,” Oliphant recalled.

“The book's gone,” he told Flood. “You will have to return the money.”

He was even harsher with Carter, accusing him of acting like a drunk.

That same afternoon, Flood pulled two baseball gloves out of the trunk of his car. He and Oliphant played catch in the parking lot of Flood's apartment building, the Executive House. Flood's mood lightened. Later that afternoon, he and Oliphant put on an impromptu Ping-Pong exhibition at a nearby recreation center. For three hours, Flood was like a different person—upbeat and sober. Without baseball, drinking had come to dominate Flood's life. He no longer had an incentive to remain sober each day. “Curt was addicted to alcohol,” Oliphant said. “There's nothing new that I can tell you about that. It was his demon.”

Flood and Carter promised to change their ways and get to work on the book. After Oliphant returned home to Connecticut, they finished most of the book in about 30 days. “I really thought Curt was getting it turned around,” Oliphant said. The drinking, however, resumed. And the bad news kept coming.

Judge Cooper's inevitable decision came down March 4, denying Flood's request for a preliminary injunction. Cooper issued a scholarly 55-page decision replete with 71 footnotes. He wrote about every facet of the case and, despite only denying the request for an injunction, indicated how he was likely to decide a possible trial. Cooper's order made no secret of his love of the game:

Cooper was not likely to find that baseball no longer deserved its antitrust exemption. Nor did anyone expect him to make such a ruling. Only the Supreme Court could reverse its own precedents. Cooper's overriding concern seemed to be the legality of the reserve clause. In concluding his opinion, he acknowledged that “[f]or years professional ballplayers have chafed under the restrictions of baseball's reserve system. . . . Many of their grievances appear justified.” Cooper said that the only way to resolve them was through a “full trial.” Nine days after the March 4 order, the chief judge of the district court permanently assigned the case to Cooper.

The day of Cooper's decision, Flood released a statement announcing what he had known all along—he would not be playing baseball in 1970. Flood called Zerman, who lay in bed with the flu and a 102-degree temperature, and Zerman drafted and released a two-paragraph statement. “The failure to obtain a restraining order means I've lost my one chance to play ball this year,” Flood's statement said. “I can only hope that after a full hearing on the merits that my position will have been vindicated and that my career will not have been ended by the time lost pursuing what I believe to be right.”

Flood told Jorgensen to put off numerous interview requests. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to the press. He told Carter that he did not want to lie to reporters that his photography business was booming (it wasn't), that he was painting portraits (he certainly wasn't), or that he could live without baseball (he couldn't). Four days earlier, the St. Louis Cardinals' position players had reported to spring training. Flood's body— except for that brief afternoon playing catch with Oliphant—was going through baseball withdrawal. “I'm a baseball player and I'm supposed to play out my string,” Flood told Carter that day. “I'm supposed to be in Florida now, romping around and hitting the ball and cussing with Gibson and banging the chicks.”

Flood confronted the reality that his baseball career was over. He decided to make his conclusions public by instructing Jorgensen to arrange a press conference on the afternoon of March 5 at Zerman's Clayton, Missouri, law office. That morning Flood took Claire to the airport for her noon flight back to Denmark. It was a permanent farewell. Flood drowned his sorrows at the airport bar and hid his pain behind a pair of big, dark sunglasses. At the press conference, he wore a double-breasted black sport jacket, light purple shirt, and plaid trousers. Before the assembled reporters, he removed his sunglasses and then exposed his soul. “It's my life, and I'm on pins and needles,” he said.

Flood shared his belief that Cooper's order meant the end of his baseball career. “Let's face it, I'm 32 now and if the case does drag on for two years, I'd be 34. It would be difficult to come back. And besides, I don't think I'll get the opportunity to play again. As big as it is, base-ball is a closely knit unit. I doubt that even one of the 24 men controlling the game would touch me with a 10-foot pole. You can't buck the Establishment.”

Flood said the Phillies had offered him a salary “very close” to $100,000 but he had turned it down. “I'm not a millionaire but I'm not that bad off, either,” he said. “Sure, it's tough to turn your back on $90,000 or $100,000 a year, but the reserve clause is not democratic and I intend to continue my fight.” He denied rumors that he was being compensated by the Players Association. He mentioned his new book contract with Simon & Schuster as proof that he would not starve. He tried to place Judge Cooper's decision the previous day in perspective. “It's just the first step in a long battle,” he said. “I do not intend to give up. People literally died for a cause such as mine, and I feel as strong as ever about my rights.”

Flood felt better after getting all that off his chest. His appetite returned. He found peace of mind with the idea of not playing baseball and turned his attention to the action in the courtroom.

The day after Judge Cooper's decision, Mr. Justice Goldberg delivered an unexpected blow to Flood's lawsuit. Goldberg gave a speech at Columbia University designed to revive his candidacy for governor. He had been meeting with New York politicians since February about a possible gubernatorial run while continuing to deny publicly any interest in electoral politics. Several former aides were trying to talk him into the race. Before Goldberg's speech at Columbia, the
New York Times
ran a front-page story saying he was using it to test the political waters.

New York politics at that time was dominated by four parties: Conservative,Republican, Democratic, and Liberal. Liberals blasted Goldberg for his role in promulgating Johnson's Vietnam War policy as UN ambassador. Despite Goldberg's behind-the-scenes efforts to end the conflict,
New York Post
columnist Pete Hamill wrote that Goldberg should be tried as a war criminal. But the polls still showed that Goldberg held a sizable lead over incumbent Nelson Rockefeller. Goldberg went to Columbia, the heart of the antiwar student movement, to test out his message before 400 students and 17 radio and television stations. “I don't want to contribute to the polarization of liberal forces in this country,” he told a student who asked about his possible candidacy. Goldberg talked about the Black Panthers and criticized the contempt convictions of the “Chicago Seven” by Judge Julius Hoffman. He attacked Governor Rockefeller but again denied any interest in being a candidate. “How can you revive a non-candidacy?” he asked.

In an interview at his office the day after his Columbia speech, Goldberg pointed to another reason why he was not running. “Meanwhile, goddamnit, I have to take care of Curt Flood!” he told the
Village Voice
. “We'll be asking for an immediate trial—he
ought
to proceed at once. So
that's
where I'll be
next
week in New York!” At least one newspaper columnist suggested that the
Flood
case would propel Goldberg toward the 1972 Democratic presidential nomination. But Goldberg took on the
Flood
case—just as he had appealed William Sloane Coffin's draft conspiracy conviction, fought for the Alaskan Indians, and co-chaired the Black Panther commission—because of his profound belief in social justice, not for political gain.