The Southpaw (32 page)

He is a first-rate friend but a second-rate ballplayer.

We had supper that night at Dempseys over on Broadway and then we seen Squarehead off on the train, me and Canada and Coker and Perry and Lindon, and it was sad, and he wished us luck and we said the same, and I was sorry for all the things I ever said and done, all the gags we pulled on Squarehead. He said he never minded, but he must of. Squarehead is 1 of them people that you knock them down and they get up and ask you did you hurt your hand. I am sorry if I run down Squarehead as a ballplayer anywheres in this book, but the main thing you must remember is what I said a few lines above, that Squarehead is a first-rate friend. That is the
most
important thing about Squarehead Flynn. Sometimes I think friendship is more important then even being an immortal.

It was about this time that the discussion begun over whether Perry Simpson was a faster runner then Heinz, the Boston left fielder. I don’t know how it begun. It is another 1 of them things that took place off the ball field. Things that start in hotels and amongst the writers I got no way of tracing them down.

There was a piece in the “Mirror” saying that Joe Jaros said that he believed Perry was faster then Heinz. Joe said he never said no such thing. He said that what he said was that he believed Perry
run
bases
better then Heinz, which is a different thing, not so much a matter of speed as brains. A writer in Boston told Heinz what the writer in New York said Joe Jaros said, and it was then wrote up in the Boston papers that Heinz said he could beat Perry any old time.

Heinz told me later that he never said no such thing. 1 day Krazy Kress said to me did I think Perry or Heinz was the fastest. I said I did not know. I said I believed they was both fine ballplayers, Heinz a harder hitter but Perry maybe a better all-around ballplayer. Krazy wrote that I said Perry could beat Heinz in any department any day of the week. I told Krazy a day or 2 afterwards that if he was just going to write what he pleased why in hell come to me in the first place. He just laughed. “You know,” he said, “I been thinking it over, and I believe anybody would be crazy to bet 100 on a white man to run faster then a n—r anyways.” I said who bet 100. “Oh,” said he, “some of the boys up in Boston.”

“Well,” said I, “I will match that 100.” Then he wrote it up, saying that I said I would put up 100 on a race between Perry and Heinz.

Before a week was out there was 1,000 in the pot. Boston matched my 100, and then the boys come around, saying they would cover me, and they done it so enthusiastic we had 400 collected. Boston matched it and went 150 better. By the time it stopped there was 1,000 on the line with everybody in that was coming in, meaning all the Mammoths plus 100 from Patricia Moors. Folks started sending it in through the mail.

The club sent it back. If there was no return address they give it to the cripple soldiers to buy chewing gum and such.

Perry was against it from the start. He went around and told the boys to draw out and stick to baseball. But it had went too far to draw out now, and 1 of the writers was holding the money, and the time was set for between the games of the doubleheader in Boston on Memorial Day in baseball suits but running shoes. We bought Perry a pair and he busted them in a little bit every day in drill. The writers fought over whether it should be against the clock around the bases or man against man in a straightaway. Then they argued if it should be on grass or dirt. It was decided that it would be part on each, man against man in a straightaway, and whoever umpired that day would be the judges. It got so that there was so much talk about the running race that nobody noticed the baseball much.

We moved into Boston for a night game on the Wednesday before the holiday, the holiday being scheduled for Friday. We went in 51/2 games to the good, Boston second, Brooklyn third, Cleveland fourth and beginning to fade. The lead was cut to 41/2 Wednesday night, Piss Sterling dropping a close 1.

About 100 folks come up from Perkinsville that night and give me a Day. They give me a wrist watch and a traveling bag and a suit of clothes and a lifetime pass to the Embassy Theater in Perkinsville and Government Bonds worth 300 plus 100 more in credit coupons on the Perkinsville stores plus 4 new tires for my Moors. They also brought along that corny picture of Borelli’s where it says “Mammoths” on the shirt. It looked like I had rouge and
lipstick
on, for Christ sake. I was hoping Holly and Pop and Aaron might come, but they did not.

After the ball game the Perkinsville crowd come to the hotel to a party give by Patricia Moors. She says whatever they spent on the trip and gifts they drunk back 2 times over. I said I believed she could afford it, and she said she could. She had a lot of friends up from New York, all a bunch of regular snobs, plus about 60 of the same from Boston itself, and they drunk Perkinsville under the table.

I will say 1 thing for Perkinsville, it ain’t full of a lot of snobs. I said to Patricia I believed there was as many rummies in high society as there was in Perkinsville. “More,” she said. She said they fornicated less, however. She said she read in a book where the higher you go in society the less you fornicate, but when you fornicate you take off more clothes then the lower classes. She asked me if this was true in my opinion. I said I had no opinion. I do not believe she would of went into the matter with me at the time if she had not of been so looped. She said I was the first man she ever met that did not have no opinion on fornication.

I said I would certainly like to fornicate with her.

She slapped my face.

After she slapped it she said she was sorry, and she rubbed my cheek.

Everybody was falling-down drunk, folks from New York and folks from Boston and folks from Perkinsville and writers from both places and a few ballplayers as well, tomorrow being an open day and all.

I remember seeing a high society lady flat on the floor and Mayor Real of Perkinsville beside. Somebody picked them up and sat them straight in a chair. Wherever Patricia went I went. Everything she told me to do I done. “Move that body out of the line of march,” she said, and I done so, and the longer things went on the more people was strewed about. There was 1 society girl from New York that about every 20 minutes tried to jump out the window. There was 3 or 4 big society ladies that give me their jewels and bracelets and such.

Patricia told me keep everything that they give me lest the hired help grab it off, and she give it all back the next day. “Just follow me,” she said, rather thick of tongue. But later, when I was not looking, she slipped off. I had the feeling that I had got the gate.

I wandered around a bit, munching on the food, not drinking, for I never drink. Bill Duffy of the Perkinsville “Clarion” was there. He was standing with a glass in his hand reciting “Casey At The Bat,” and I listened to him awhile, and then I drifted off. Here and there a lady would give me her jewels.

There was 1 girl, no more then 19, high in society in Boston and formerly married to a San Francisco Seal. She snaked up to me and asked me if I believed she had the nerve to strip down and go walking on Beacon Street. I said I believed she did, for she was drunk enough, but I said she would only get hauled in and I could not see no sense in that. She agreed there was no sense in it, but she said she never done anything in all her life that you could call distinguished. “I wish I was a ballplayer,” she said, “for a ballplayer is a man that lives by what he does in life.”

In the morning I took all the jewels to Patricia’s room. She knowed who they all belonged to. She give me a tall glass of seltzer water with different pills in it, saying this would fix my hangover. I told her I was not hung over, having drunk nothing the night before but Coke, but she did not seem to hear. I drunk 1 glass slow while she drank 3 or 4.

She told me we was busting all attendance records, with Boston sold out for tomorrow and the Stadium sold out for the 2 with Brooklyn before the club headed west again. The telephone rung all the while, and people asked her this place and that, and she told them no, saying she was in conference with 1 of her ballplayers.

I cannot understand it now, but at the time I would of give anything I owned or could beg or borrow or steal to fornicate with that woman, and every time I thought I might be able to edge around to the subject the telephone rung. Finally the call come that she was waiting for, and she hung up and she said, “Well, Henry, I guess that winds up our business for the morning,” and she went inside to another room, and I sat there awhile clinching and unclinching my hands and not knowing what to do next. I had half a mind to go after her. I thought I might charge in there and do with power what I could not do with strategy.

After awhile I got up from the chair and turned and heaved the glass against the door that Patricia disappeared behind. It smashed to pieces. The door opened cautious, and she looked out, all bare at the shoulder. “Somebody knock?” she said, and I picked up the nearest thing, an ash tray, and she closed the door quick and locked it, and I went back up after Perry and Coker and Canada and Lindon, and we went out to the ball park to give Perry the chance to stay loose for the race tomorrow.

Friday the park was full by noon, with as many standing as the law allowed, plus about 2,500 more roped off in the right field corner. Any balls hit in the crowd behind the ropes was declared doubles only, and it turned out fine for us, for Sid and Lucky and Ugly and Sunny Jim between them popped about 12 in the crowd during the afternoon.

Sam Yale worked the first game. Goose caught him, leaving Red rested and free to handle me in the nightcap, and Sam coasted through, and we took it 9-4. Perry was beside me on the bench, so nervous he could scarcely see, sitting with his glove in his hand that by the end of the ball game he twisted the lacing until at last it snapped in 2. You should of saw him try to work a new lace back through the holes with his hands trembling like a schoolboy asking a girl for his first date.

After the game I begun to warm with Bruce, and the umps laid out 100 yards, stretching in from left, cutting across the skin of the infield and finishing up at the first-base line. 3 writers come down on the field, 1 from Boston, Krazy Kress from New York and a neutral from Washington. They had the 2,000 wrapped in a silken handkerchief.

Perry and Heinz practiced starts. 4 umps worked the race, 1 at the start, 1 in the middle and 2 at the finish. The boys run without their caps.

There was 2 false starts. Heinz jumped the gun the first time and Perry the second, and then they was off, neck and neck until the very last. About 5 yards from the finish Heinz give a spurt, and he won it, and Perry kept right on going, circling around and heading for the dugout and disappearing through the door, never even stopping to shake hands. He got booed a-plenty by the crowd, almost as much as Heinz got cheered, and Boston come rushing over for their money, and the Mammoths turned and ducked back in the clubhouse. I stood and warmed with Bruce 15 minutes or so before going in.

Perry was crying and laughing at once. The boys was sitting around jawing, drying off, taping theirselves, getting a rub from Mick. I told Perry he run a good race and it was all over now, so forget it. I guess that was what all the boys been saying. What was 900 dollars to a bunch of fellows that figured to cut up a Series melon in October coming close to a quarter of 1,000,000? Now and again 1 of the boys would come past Perry and swat him 1 or spit water at him or call him a name, all in fun, and when they done so he laughed and the tears run down his cheek, and Dutch took him by the shoulder, and he said,

“You took up his challenge. You done the best you could. You run a good race. Take off them mean-looking shoes and put on your shoes, for you are starting at second.” That give Perry back his good spirits, and he dressed and went out and drilled.

Dutch juggled the order a bit, batting Perry second and shoving Lucky down to the number 3 spot, Swanee 6, and it never bothered us a bit, all that patchwork, for we bunted Boston crazy, and when we was not bunting we was dropping doubles in the roped people. Perry got booed in the first, in thanks for which he ripped off a single, stole second, and then come home on a single by Lucky.

Heinz got all the cheers and none of the hits. He got on base once on a cheap single and tried to steal, and Red throwed him out by a good foot and a half. Running bases is more then simple speed. If you wish to learn how to run the bases watch Perry Simpson, not Heinz. We won the ball game 8-2 without straining, and we left Boston sadder then it was when we come, and 61/2 games behind besides.

We swung west and then again east. We was 81/2 to the good after the Washington doubleheader July 4th. The band played “Happy Birthday to You” to me, for it was my twenty-first birthday. The boys chipped in and bought me a couple very beautiful shirts with a note inside saying now I was 21 and a man like all the rest. I am the youngest fellow on the club, though to tell you the truth I believe many of them still act like kids about a lot of things. We split with Washington, Boston splitting with Brooklyn.

We had hopes of maybe clinching the flag about early September. We made up a pool, writing down dates on shreds of paper and throwing them in a cap, all the dates from September 1 through 30, enough for all the players, 3 coaches, Dutch and Mick. Clinching the flag is where you have got the mathematics beat, so even if you lost all your ball games and the nearest team won all theirs nonetheless you would win, because of the mathematics. We all throwed in a buck and drawed a shred of paper. I drawed September 5. It seemed a little early, yet possible. Then Ugly said we ought to throw in more, for what was a pot of 30 dollars to some fellow that had a share of the Series melon coming up. So we throwed in 2, and Sam said “Goddam it, how about 5?” and we all throwed in 5 and wrapped it in a towel, all 150, and laid it up on the shelf in Dutch’s office, and everybody wrote their name on the shred they drawed and put it in a glass. Somebody figured to have 150 extra come September. Red said it would pay a part of the tax on a Series share. The boys all gripe about taxes.