The Hero Two Doors Down (4 page)

“That's the thing,” my father said. “My friend said he wasn't at liberty to share that information. I think they're waiting until the lease is signed. So I guess we'll just have to wait and see.”

“Aw,” I sighed. “Gee, Dad . . . do you think it's Pee Wee?”

Dad stood up. “I don't know.”

“Jackie?”

“Stephen, stop guessing. We'll know soon.”

I couldn't sleep that night. I stayed awake thinking about my new neighbors. I knew that when the baseball season was over, players usually returned to their home communities so they could work. At the start of the season, they had to find a new place to rent closer to their teams. Some players shared rooms in private homes and walked to work at Ebbets Field. So it could be any of the players.

At breakfast, I pressed Dad for more details. “Since the Palins are Negroes, it makes sense that they'd rent to a black family. So it's either the Robinsons or maybe Roy Campanella.”

“That's a possibility, but just because the Palins are Negroes doesn't mean their tenant will be black,” Dad reminded me.

“True, but you have to admit it's likely,” I pressed.

“The Dodgers have forty players on their roster. It could be any of those men.”

“I bet you it's Jackie,” I announced, jumping up from the table and dancing around the kitchen, shouting, “Jackie! Jackie! Jackie!”

“Sit down, Stephen,” Dad commanded. “You're getting ahead of yourself. And don't go to school bragging that Jackie Robinson is moving to Tilden Avenue.”

“Really . . . Dad? A Dodgers player two doors down. I don't care who it is,” I said. “This is a dream come true.”

He chuckled. “I understand, son.”

The next couple of weeks were absolute torture. In late March, a moving van pulled up in front of 5224. I ran out of the house without a jacket and plopped down on the top step. I watched as the Palin family's furniture was unloaded from the truck and hauled into the bottom floor. As evening set in, Mom called me inside for dinner.

“The new family has moved in,” I reported.

“Yes, I saw the van. Did you see any children?”

“A boy and girl, but they look like teenagers,” I told her.

“Is that why you look so disappointed?” Mom asked.

“I was hoping it was the ballplayer's moving van.”

“It shouldn't be much longer, Steve. I'm planning on cooking a pot roast and taking it over to Mrs. Palin tomorrow. Want to come with me?”

“Sure,” I replied. “Think Mrs. Palin will tell us who's going to be living on the top floor?”

“I don't know, Stephen. And you are not to bring it up. We're going over there to welcome the Palins to the neighborhood, not pry into their private business,” Mom scolded.

“But, Mom . . .” I moaned.

“Whoever moves into 5224 obviously wants privacy. They have to deal with fans at the ballpark. When they come home, they're family men just like your dad. He'll want time for his family. You will have to respect that, Stephen. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Mom. I won't be a pest,” I promised.

The next morning, we walked over to greet our new neighbors. It was cold, but I was sweating under my jacket. Would Mrs. Palin tell us who was renting her top floor? Would I be disappointed if it was an unknown player? Or would I get the best news of my life?

Mrs. Palin opened the door on the first ring.

“Good morning,” Mom began. “My name is Sarah Satlow and this is my son, Stephen. We are your neighbors. We wanted to welcome you to Tilden Avenue.”

“How lovely and unexpected,” Mrs. Palin proclaimed. “It's nice to meet you both. My name is Elinor Palin. Stephen, you'll see my children around the neighborhood. They're a bit older than you and go to Tilden High School. You must be at the elementary school, right?”

“Yes, Mrs. Palin,” I replied politely.

“We know how chaotic it is to move, so I baked a pot roast for you and your family,” Mom said, handing Mrs. Palin a covered pan, still warm, along with brownies wrapped in wax paper.

“It smells divine,” Mrs. Palin said. “Thank you.”

Sweat dripped down my neck. Should I risk making my mother angry by asking Mrs. Palin about her future tenant? Or should I keep quiet?

“Are you a Brooklyn Dodgers fan, Stephen?” Mrs. Palin asked.

“I'm a big fan,” I replied, relieved that she brought up the subject.

“Who are your favorite players?”

“Jackie and Pee Wee are my top two. But I also like Ralph Branca and Carl Erskine. Why?”

“Just curious,” Mrs. Palin replied, with a twinkle in her eye.

“But—” I started to push, then looked up at my mom and shut my mouth.

“I know there's a rumor that one of the Dodgers is moving in upstairs,” Mrs. Palin said.

I nodded.

“Well, Stephen. My husband made me promise not to tell anyone who our tenant is going to be. So we'll all just have to wait to see who moves in,” Mrs. Palin said with a warm smile.

I almost fell to the ground and screamed out in frustration. Not another person telling me to wait. No, I couldn't stand it! I barely heard my mother say good-bye. Tears in my eyes, I followed her back to our house.

I trudged up the stairs, feeling mad. “Why didn't she tell us?”

“For all the reasons we discussed earlier,” Mom said.

“I still think it's Jackie.”

 

That night I was sitting on the front stoop when Dad came home from work. He saw me staring down the block at our new neighbor's house.

“Your mother told me you met the Palins today.”

“Yes.” I nodded.

“I've been debating about when was the right time to tell you this,” Dad said.

“Tell me what?”

“I now know who is renting from the Palins,” he replied.

“Who is it, Dad? You've got to tell me. Please?” I begged.

“Until they move in, we won't know for sure,” Dad teased.

“Is it who I've been wishing for?”

Dad chuckled. “I think you'll be very happy,” he said.

“Dad, are you telling me that Jackie Robinson is going to be my neighbor?”

He beamed. “I saw Mr. Palin today. He told me that Jackie and his family have signed the lease for April first.”

I couldn't believe it! Jackie Robinson! I jumped into Dad's arms, yelling with joy. But Dad's laughter worried me. It was almost April 1 and he loved a good April Fool's joke. I pulled away from him. “Are you making up a story?”

“I wouldn't do that to you, son.”

“Is it
really
true, Dad?”

“It's true, son. Mr. Palin said that Mrs. Robinson is driving their Cadillac across country with her brother, Raymond, and little Jackie Junior. They're expected in New York sometime between April fifth and seventh—”

“What about Jackie?”

“He's still barnstorming with the team, Steve.”

“Oh, yeah. That's right. Is Jackie Junior my age?” I asked.

“I think he's younger than you. You'll know soon,” Dad replied.

“I'll bet they'll be here tomorrow. Can I stay home from school?”

“I'm not even going to respond to that question, Steve.”

I laughed it off. “All right, Dad, but will you come get me out of school the minute the moving van pulls up?”

“No,” my dad said. “I'll be at work and you'll be at school. You've got to give the Robinsons privacy, Steve. Promise me you won't drive Mrs. Robinson crazy with questions about Jackie.”

I slid down to the step below my dad. I honestly didn't know how I'd react to Jackie Robinson's living so close to me. It was just too important. None of my friends would even believe me until Jackie actually moved in. I looked up at my dad and shrugged my shoulders. “I'll try not to be a pest,” I promised.

I jumped off the stoop. “Time me,” I insisted before racing to Jackie Robinson's new house and back. “How long did that take, Dad?”

“Thirty seconds, tops,” Dad said.

“Just think, I'll be living that close to a Brooklyn Dodgers player!” I shouted.

 

Every day after school, Sena and I would race home hoping to find a moving van parked outside of 5224 Tilden Avenue. Wednesday, April 7, I got my wish. We broke into a trot, reaching the truck just as two men lifted an off-white couch from the back of the van.

My heart pounded so hard I was sure the men would see it beating under my coat. I wanted so badly to peek inside the house, but Sena wouldn't let go of my hand. Instead, we stood back and watched for a glimpse of the Robinson family.

We stood out there for what felt like forever without seeing anyone.

Finally, Sena had to get back home. I knew my mom wouldn't want me to be out there trying to see the Robinsons, so I headed home, too.

This wait was driving me crazy! I kicked a small stone in frustration as I walked toward my stoop.

“There's a moving truck outside the Robinsons',” I reported as soon as I got inside and Mom shut the door.

“I know, honey.”

We sat in the kitchen snacking on crisp carrots and apple juice. I was antsy to get back outside and continue looking for our new neighbors. “Can I ride my bike?”

“You promised your father that you wouldn't pester the Robinsons,” Mom reminded me.

“I just want to make sure it's them. That's all,” I protested.

“Move-in day is stressful. Give them space. Saturday, we can pick cherry blossoms and bring them over to Mr. and Mrs. Robinson. How does that sound?”

“Fine,” I muttered. “I'll just sit on the stoop.”

“You may not leave the yard,” my mother told me.

“I won't.”

I sat on the top step until the workmen brought the last piece of furniture into the house. I spotted Mrs. Robinson and her son once, but there was no sign of Jackie. I was being cool and staying at a safe distance from the Robinsons' home. But I couldn't guarantee how I'd react when Jackie appeared. My stomach was in knots. I almost cried when the moving van pulled away from the curb and Mom called me inside.

Saturday morning, I was up before sunrise. I opened my bedroom window and stuck my head out. I stayed there until Mom pulled me back inside.

“Stephen,” she scolded. “How many times do I have to tell you not to lean out of the window?”

“Oh, Ma . . . I was just looking for Jackie.”

“Get dressed. After breakfast, we'll pick some cherry blossoms from the tree in our front yard and take them over to the Robinsons' house.”

I jumped into my mother's arms, kissing her generously on both cheeks. She hugged me tight. “Thank you, Mom.”

Chuckling, my mother reminded me that Jackie might still be traveling. “Try not to show your disappointment, Steve.”

I looked up at her, wondering how to pull that off.

All this waiting to catch sight of Jackie was wearing on me. He'd been my favorite player since Dad announced that I was old enough to start listening to Dodgers games with him on the radio. That was on my eighth birthday last June, during Jackie's rookie season. Dad said that would make me into a true Dodgers fan! Then maybe I could go see a game live at Ebbets Field.

I'll never forget it. It was a warm Brooklyn summer night. Mom agreed that Dad and I could have dinner on the stoop. She fixed us a picnic meal of fried chicken, French fries, salad, and Kool-Aid. We ate with the small transistor radio between our plates. Dad sat on the top step. I took my position just below his knees. We turned the radio up loud and I chewed softly. I didn't dare talk.

By the time the game got under way, the porches of our neighbors were filled with eager Dodgers fans. A few women were scattered in folding chairs, supervising as kids played on the sidewalk. Part of me wanted to play, but my father's voice kept pulling me back to the game.

“Jackie Robinson is a rookie, Steve,” Dad said. “The Dodgers are in first place and drawing big crowds to Ebbets Field. Jackie's got a lot to do with that. He's batting over .300 and has four homers so far. He's been hit six times by pitchers and been insulted plenty just because he's a black man in a previously all-white game. Jackie hasn't let the pressure get to him. The whole country knows about Brooklyn now. We're special. That's something to be proud of, son.”

Dad stopped talking right when the announcer introduced Jackie. Then he said softly so we wouldn't miss a second of Jackie's at-bat, “Listen closely now, Stevie. You'll hear what I'm talking about.”

I bent down until my right ear practically touched the plastic box. Jackie's hit got him on base, and within minutes he was threatening the pitcher from third base.
Boy, is he fast
, I thought.

“Jackie Robinson takes a large lead off third base, waits for the Pirates' Fritz Ostermueller to take the full windup, and breaks for home!”

I sat up straight. Tension permeated the hot air. I fixed my gaze on my dad's face, seeing the joy in it as Jackie stole home base for the first time in his Major League Baseball career! Dad jumped to his feet and lifted me high into the air. Our screams of joy were echoed throughout the neighborhood. At that moment, I knew Jackie Robinson was my guy!