Color: Special Edition

13. Unexpected Meeting

Tuesday, March 5, 1918

Something was wrong!

On Monday, Coach Brown cancelled Tuesday's practice. He sent the Rooks' bat boy, Juju Young, to summon the players. In the morning, the thirteen-year old hustled to each player's home. By mouth or by note, his message was the same:

Report to Richie's Diner tomorrow. One o'clock sharp!

Coach Brown

Anxiety simmered among the players like a kettle of water steaming over a blazing fire pit. Including Henry, the entire team was present. Fifteen members. They occupied the back dining room, which as the stained paper taped above the men's urinal stated: Great for birthday, poker, and bachelor parties.

Henry surveyed the scene. It was odd seeing his teammates out of uniform, dressed in casual button-up shirts, plaids, and the darker shades marking a solemn wartime trend. In this public venue, Henry felt a twinge of self-awareness accompanied by a light throb in the fading lump on his forehead, the only remaining sign from being whacked by a baseball.

In the room, there were nine tables with round wood tops, scratched and worn by generations of calloused elbows, mugs of beer, and plates of greasy heaven. About half the men were sitting down, a few of them feasting on large juicy pieces of barbecued chicken, a drumstick or leg in one hand and a glass of beer in the other.

Henry spotted Big Willy at a table and took a seat between him and Maurice Jones.

Across the table, Charles Parks was working on the lunch special – fried liver and onions with a side of home fries. At forty-nine, he was the oldest Rook on the team and still a damn good battler in the box. Hence his nickname, Old Man Charles.

Henry inhaled the heavenly aroma, and his stomach growled its approval.

"Any idea what's going on?" Henry asked.

Big Willy shrugged. "No one's sure."

Maurice leaned forward and spoke quietly. "Some of us think it's about the riot." The speedy second baseman emphasized the word riot. He grimaced at his own words, flashing the largest teeth Henry had ever seen in a human being.

Henry lifted his eyebrows. "The riot? I thought that was old news."

Charles swallowed a bite and set his fork down. "I heard the whites held a secret meeting yesterday." He paused. "To vote if they should retaliate."

"Retaliate for the riot they caused?" Big Willy asked in disbelief.

Charles nodded. "They're blaming us. Henry in particular."

"That ain't right," Maurice said. He shook his head, lips pressed as thin as a pencil.

Henry nodded at Maurice, then turned to Charles. "How'd you hear about this secret meeting?"

"Not all whites are bad," Charles said. "There're a few good apples in the bushel, if you know what I mean."

Henry nodded. "So did this apple tell you the result of the vote?"

"Not yet," Charles said.

Henry blew out a long breath that was interrupted by a sudden commotion.

"Gentlemen!" That came from Coach Brown, entering the room. He strode to the front of the dining area and held up a hand.

The room fell silent, except for the sounds of chewing, gulping beer, and glasses tapping the tables.

Coach inhaled, nostrils expanding. "You wondering why I wanted to talk with you? I'm going to cut to the chase." He shook his head once before leveling his gaze. "The team is being disbanded ... for good."

The players erupted all at once, talking over each other, voices filled with anger and shock.

Henry shot to his feet. "Coach, why!?"

"Yeah, why?" shouted another player.

"Team's been struggling money-wise," Coach said. "Attendance was down last year ... way down. Plus a lot of our boys, they heading overseas, joining the war. Everyone left behind, they're filling jobs at the mills and factories, working fourteen hour shifts. They got no time for baseball. So Mr. Benedict decided to cut his losses before the season got underway. His final decision as owner."

The chatter grew louder.

"Let's start our own team!" shouted Tyree George, the third baseman, his arms stretched over his head, swinging in circles like lassos. Several players cheered in agreement.

"What do you say, Coach?" Henry said.

Coach Brown shook his head rapidly, stress lines deepening between his brows. "I'm afraid my coaching days are over. And starting up a team and keeping it running ain't easy. Trust me, you're all better off finding another club, maybe down Pittsburgh way."

Again the volume in the room surged, a rowdy mix of anger, disbelief, and loss.

Big Willy rose and expelled a loud ahem. Several players turned their attention to him.

"What if we all agreed to play for less money?" Willy said, waving his tree-sized arms emphatically.

Players cried out in protest.

"I'm not playing for less money!" one player shouted.

"That's right!" yelled another. "I got a family to support."

Henry's head began to spin. He felt tiny pops of electricity firing off in his head. Felt a quiver in his arms as his hands balled into fists at his sides.

"Coach!" he cried out. "This isn't right! There has to be something we can do!"

"Listen, Henry," Coach Brown said. "Mr. Benedict made up his mind, and I can't say I blame him. In tough times like this, nobody's going to put their money into a team that's already losing money, especially after a game that ended up in a riot. That's it! We've all just got to accept it and move on."

"This is bullshit!" Maurice yelled. "We're the best team in town. And that riot wasn't our fault!"

"I wish I had a hand in the matter," Coach said. "If it was up to me, we'd be out there practicing right now."

That sent everyone into another uproar.

Henry felt the air rush out of his lungs. Deflated, he sat back down, leaning against the hard back of the chair as if his soul had abandoned his body. He couldn't believe this was happening.

Maurice bolted to his feet, blood rushing to his face, baring his enormous teeth like an angry Chihuahua.

"That's it!" he snapped. "I'm done with baseball!"

With that, Maurice brushed past several players and stormed out of the room.

Coach watched his former second baseman leave. Then he turned back to the rest of the players. "One last thing," he said sharply. "One last thing!"

When the room finally settled down, Coach Brown began to address the players, this time with a new gentleness in his voice.

"I just want you to know how proud I am of all of you. We've climbed mountains as a team. Every one of you is a talent, and I wish you the best of luck finding spots in other clubs ... or finding work. It's been a privilege. God bless you all."

The anger in the room transformed into sadness, deep and profound. Players clapped Coach on the shoulder. Bump hugged him. Praised and thanked him.

Henry looked around at this band of now-displaced baseball players. He met Big Willy's watery gaze for a split second before turning away, fighting back his own flood of emotions.

The only thing Henry knew was baseball. The only thing he cared about was the game. His passion and livelihood had just been ripped from his heart. His entire world was slipping away, leaving him suspended in a gloom of disbelief. What was he going to do?

Maybe it was a silly child's dream to think he could make a living playing baseball. Henry's heart plummeted like an anchor cast into a dark, churning sea.

If he couldn't be a baseball player, what could he be?