Pennant Man

TWO

TWO

DENVER, COLORADO — MAYThe black cab driver wheeled over to the curb. “There she is, there, lady.” He got out, took the money, handed the passengers their luggage and roared off.

Ramona and Chester found themselves in the colored section of Denver. From what they could tell at first glance, the ratio of blacks to whites in this modern western city was far less than they were used to in the small towns in Louisiana. A lot less. The Denver black neighborhood — known as n****r Alley to the whites — was tidier by comparison to anything they had seen in the Deep South. Most of the houses here had a fresh coat of paint. Boulevards were reasonably well kept. Trees were pruned, the grass and the bushes trimmed. The people seemed happier, including the black cab driver who had dropped them off in such a hurry. All he talked about along the way was the latest news of the day. Germany’s surrender to the Allies. The war in Europe finally over after nearly six bloody years. The driver didn’t need to tell Ramona and Chester that because they saw it for themselves. Downtown Denver was coming unglued. Screaming, drunken people blocking the downtown streets. Everybody whooping it up, it seemed, except for Ramona and Chester, two small-town Southerners out of place in the North country. A couple of square pegs in two round holes.

“Let me do the talking,” said Ramona, suitcase in hand, pondering the beige, three-story house with the blue shutters. “I have me a good story.”

“I was hoping you might, mama.” Chester rubbed his hands together. He was cold and the sight of snow patches on the distant mountains made him shiver all the more. Denver felt like another planet to him. How would they ever fit in? What were they doing here?

“This is one harsh part of the country, boy.”

“It sure is, mama.”

“Come on, son.”

Chester grabbed his suitcase and hurried after her, up the porch, to the wide, shiny, wood-grained door. Chester ranged nearly a foot over his mother at an inch past six feet on a frame that tipped the scales at an even 195 pounds. He had his father’s solid build, his mother’s mouth and nose on a friendly, trusting face. Light-skinned like Ramona, he appeared to be a well-tanned white man if not for the kinky hair under his fedora.

Ramona knocked and waited, peering over her shoulder, a habitual quirk she had picked up after leaving Louisiana so suddenly.

A black woman’s face appeared, transfixed through the window. “Ramona!” she burst out, swinging the door open. “Oh, God. Ramona! The war’s over and my sister visits me on the same day. I don’t believe it!”

The two women hugged for a long time.

“And Chester! I do declare. It is Chester, ain’t it?” the woman said, as she broke away from her sister.

“It’s me, Aunt Anna.”

“Lordy, Lordy. Such a handsome young man. Yer all grown up.” The woman hugged Chester.

“Well, sis, aren’t you going to invite us in?” Ramona asked.

“Of course. Come quick and set yerself down. I still don’t believe it!”

They placed their suitcases on the area rug inside. A black man in his twenties walked by, smiled, and proceeded to a room around the corner on the main floor.

Anna was the older sister of the two, shorter and overweight. She’d been widowed for a year. She removed her tomato-stained apron and held it in her hand. Her flowery dress had tomato stains on it, too. “What in blazes are yuh doing here in Denver? Why didn’t you tell me yuh were coming for a visit?”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why? What’s wrong? I always could tell when there was something wrong, girl. I can read it in yer eyes.”

Ramona cleared her throat. “It’s Clyde.” She held her breath. “We’re... fugitives.”

“Fugitives? What you mean, girl?”

“We’re on the run.”

“Pretty far to run. What did he do this time?”

“Let’s just say things haven’t gotten any better.”

“Uh huh, honey. Can’t lay off the liquor. Gosh, sis. Fool man.”

Ramona hoped her sister would believe the story. “He threatened to kill me and Chester with a shotgun. We left Grambling and Louisiana too, for good. Sold what we could. We’ve had it with the South.”

Anna sighed, looking to the ceiling, clapping her hands once. “Thank God, you finally came to yer senses and got outta there. Didn’t I always tell you that you were too good fer that place?” She shook her head. “But, wasn’t this Chester’s last year in senior high?”

“It was.” Ramona stole a glance at Chester, relieved that Anna had fallen for the story. “I was forced to remove him early.”

Anna pouted. “What a shame. So, you two need a place to stay, do yuh? I just happen to have a room for each of yuh, until yuh get on yer feet. Or if yuh want to stay a spell, that’s just fine too.”

“We’re thinking of being around for some time.”

“That’s OK, honey. Men on the first floor. Women on the second floor. Those are the the rules.”

“Fair enough.”

The door opened behind Chester, bumping him in the elbow.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” It was a woman’s voice.

Chester turned around to see a young lady in a bright, white dress and brown hat. She had plain features, yet pretty in her own way. She was slim, with dancer’s legs, medium height, and rich, dark eyes with a whisper of pink make-up.

“That’s quite all right, ma’am. I was in the way,” he said to her, shyly.

“Agnes, what yuh doing back so soon?” Anna asked. “Come home to celebrate?”

The girl smiled at Anna, shaking her head, her long hair swinging back and forth. “No, ma’am. They closed the pharmacy down early.”

“Did they now?”

“What with the war news and, of course, the ball team coming home tomorrow.”

“Ball team?” Chester asked. “What ball team, ma’am?”

“Don’t you know?” the girl told him. “The Black Sox.”

“They ain’t from around here, Agnes,” Anna said. “This is my sister, Ramona. Moved up from Louisiana way.”

“How do you do? I’m Agnes Hudson.”

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Ramona... Parker.”

“And this is her boy, Chester,” Anna said, glancing at her sister then to Chester. “He’s played a hot game of baseball down in Louisiana.”

“That so? How do you do, Chester?” Agnes held out her hand. Her smile showed off perfect white teeth.

Chester pumped her hand gently. “Fine, ma’am.”

“I know a couple of the players. I hear they need a player or two. What position you play?”

“Outfield, ma’am.”

“What do you know? I think they’re looking for another outfielder for this summer, come to think of it. They’re professional. Barnstormers. They pay good, too, I hear.”

“They do?”

“Now, Chester. Remember your schooling.”

Chester grinned. “Mama, you know there won’t be any schooling for me until the fall.”

“That’s right, honey,” said Anna.

“You stay out of this, sis,” Ramona said to Anna.

“I don’t want to start a family squabble,” the girl smiled, moving gracefully up the flight of stairs. “Pleased to meet you both.”

“The pleasure is ours, ma’am,” Chester replied, watching her until she was out of sight.

“Supper’s on in thirty minutes,” Anna shouted up the stairs.

“That’s swell, Anna,” Agnes called down. “Thank you.”

“Come on,” Anna said, an eagerness about her. “Let’s go to the kitchen. Coffee’s on.”

“Anything to warm us up,” Ramona said. “It’s going to take me a spell to get used to this weather. It’s freezing.”

Anna laughed. “You’ll get used to it. Most Mays are like this. It’ll warm up soon enough.” She lowered her voice. “Ramona Parker, huh. How did yuh come up with that one, girl?”

“We’re on the run, remember.”

Anna winked. “Oh, yeah. I’ll play along.”

“Aunt Anna?” Chester asked.

“Yeah, boy?”

“Tell me more about this baseball team?”

Anna talked nonstop as she poured strong coffee in the kitchen. The Denver Black Sox were run by a well-to-do black man real estate operator, the owner of the boarding house that Anna had been running for him since she had moved from Joplin, Missouri almost a year ago. Dead in winter, the colored section of Denver came alive during baseball season, especially when the Sox came to town off a road trip. The players and their families and girlfriends always needed a place to board. The team traveled most of the time, but returned once a month for a few days. The merchants, of course, looked forward to it because the players always had money to spend.

“You’ll like Denver in no time. You’ll see,” Anna went on. “It’s a nice place for blacks. No KKK around neither. No lynchings, that I know of. It’s not perfect, but not bad either. The air is dry and sometimes hard to breath seeing that we’re up so high. Like everything else, it takes some getting used to. The snow in the winter, well, let’s take that step when we come to it. It can snow here in September or October, and stick around till April.”

“Snow!” Ramona winced, her forehead creasing.

“Yeah, snow! What you expect in the Rockies, honey, palm trees?”

* * * *

Chester couldn’t sleep. He just lay there, staring at the ceiling. After what Anna told him earlier about the ball team, Chester decided that Denver wasn’t going to be such a bad place after all. Like she said, it’ll warm up. It always did every spring, she said. And what luck. A professional team, all the way out here. Chester grinned to himself in the darkness. Every spring, the urge called out to him. The smell of green grass meant the smell of baseball, no matter where he was.

He was hooked. And he knew it.

That one day did it. April 9, 1936. The Pittsburgh Crawfords were touring the South, and expected to play an exhibition game at Shreveport against a local colored semi-pro team. Ten-year-old Chester, older brother Billy, and their father made the trip across the state to catch the game. In his Denver bed now, Chester closed his eyes and could still see it all... nine years later. The more than 13,000 fans did not leave disappointed. That mild afternoon, the great Satchel Paige hurled an 8-0 shutout, striking out fourteen men. Chester was stirred by Paige’s performance, but he was absolutely awed by the catcher, Josh Gibson, an all-muscle six-foot, 200-pounder. Chester loved how Gibson kicked up his lead foot like a bronco before he swung at the ball with a vicious, yet controlled, compact swing. He had a fluid way of moving his huge arms and meaty thighs into the ball. In his first two times at the plate, the right-handed Gibson hit two line-drive homers to left-center. Then he walked twice. But in the ninth inning, he ended the day by hitting one loud, tremendous blast over the grandstand roof in left field.

Never in his life before or since had Chester heard such an explosive sound, and never had he seen a ball get so small so fast. Once he saw Gibson in person, Chester Henry made up his mind then and there he would one day be a professional ballplayer.