TWENTY
BROOKLYN, NEW YORKThe Dodgers president leaned back in his chair, telephone receiver in hand. “Clyde?”
“Yes, Mr. Rickey.”
“How’s the weather in Chicago?”
“It’s sunny today. Has been for a few days, now. Though, I heard there were some hit-and-miss storms around.”
“Did you catch the game today?”
“No, sir. The train was late.”
“Too bad.” Rickey blew out cigar smoke before giving scout Clyde Sukeforth some instructions. “I want you to go out to Comiskey Park, tomorrow. Early. See Jackie Robinson. I want you to pay particular attention to his arm. There is some discussion among the other scouts about his defense. Then I want you to bring him to me. Identify yourself as with the Brown Dodgers. Do you understand, Clyde?”
There was a pause at the other end. “Yes, sir. I do.”
“Good
