The Hero Two Doors Down (5 page)

That was a year earlier. Since then, I'd read Jackie's book,
My Own Story
, and studied his baseball cards until I was an expert on Jackie's first year in baseball. The 1947 Dodgers were the first time that a racially mixed team ever played in the championship.

Now with the 1948 season looming, I wondered how Jackie would do this year. More important, I looked over at the house where Jackie was set to live, I wondered what he was
really
like. The closer I came to actually meeting Jackie Robinson, the more I worried that I'd be disappointed. I really wanted to like him and to have Jackie like me. But what if he was too busy to notice me? Or what if he saw me and didn't care to get to know me better? Was it even possible for a boy to have a famous man as a friend? I was driving myself nuts trying to figure out who Jackie was, so I decided to ask my mother.

“Mom, do you think Jackie's nice?”

We were cleaning up my room. Mom stopped vacuuming the rug and looked over at me. “I guess so,” she said. “He's definitely a strong and courageous man.”

“And a great baseball player,” I added. “He's gonna play second base this year. Dad says that's his best position. I can't wait to go to Ebbets Field to see Jackie and Pee Wee work together.”

“Your father told me last night that the Dodgers opening game is on April twentieth against the Giants. The Dodgers home opener is April twenty-third,” Mom said.

“That's less than two weeks away!” I exclaimed. “Think Dad will take me to the Dodgers home opener?”

“Not sure, Stephen. But keep up your good behavior at home and school and anything is possible,” Mom replied.

“I'm doing my best,” I said.

“Yes, you are,” Mom agreed. “Now put on your shoes and come down to the kitchen for breakfast.”

I followed my mother to the kitchen. Dad was already at the table with his newspaper in hand. We ate together. Since it was Saturday, I didn't have school, but my father had to work. Saturdays were Dad's busiest day. Mom and I were walking Dad to the stoop when I had an idea.

“Dad, you make and sell custom shoes, right?”

“That's right, son.”

“Do you think you could make a special shoe for Jackie? I bet he'd like that! A cleat that would protect him in case a mean player tried to spike him again.” Dad told me once that players often slid into second base with their cleats pointing forward. It was dangerous and could lead to a serious injury for the second baseman. I didn't want to see Jackie get hurt!

“You know, Steve, that is a wonderful idea,” Dad said as he waved good-bye.

Mom and I picked the brightest cherry blossoms off the giant tree in our front yard. It was still too early to drop by the Robinsons, so we sat at the kitchen table and read the
Archie
comic strip. Mom and her friends liked the love triangle between Archie, Betty, and Veronica. I liked all the crazy things Jughead would do.

While we cleaned up the kitchen, Mom chatted on and on about Mrs. Robinson. I could tell she was nervous about meeting a famous woman.

“You know, Steve, I admire Mrs. Robinson as much as you do her husband. She's so elegant and beautiful.”

I was a bit surprised that my mother had paid such close attention to Mrs. Robinson. I'd never heard her talk about any of the other Dodgers wives.

“She and Jackie met in college,” Mom added. “I read a story about them in the
Brooklyn Eagle
last year. University of California, wasn't it?”

“Jackie lettered in four sports at UCLA in just one year,” I answered. “He was a famous athlete even before he joined the Dodgers. I read his biography.”

“And Mrs. Robinson is a nurse, just like me.”

“Mom, it's after ten,” I whined. I was impatient to meet our new neighbors. “Can we go?”

I was blown away when Mrs. Robinson opened their door and smiled down at me.
She is pretty
, I thought.
And nice
. A little boy clung to her leg.

“I'm Sarah Satlow and this is my son, Stephen. We live two doors down and wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood,” Mom said.

“How nice of you,” Mrs. Robinson replied. “I'm Rachel and this is my son. Jackie's a little shy right now, but give him a few minutes and he'll want to play. How old are you, Stephen?”

“I turn nine in June,” I said, then peeked around Mrs. Robinson so I could see into the living room. There was no sign of Jackie Senior.

“Jackie is almost two and a half,” Mrs. Robinson told me.

“Steve and I picked these from our tree for you,” Mom said, handing Mrs. Robinson the bouquet of flowers.

“They're lovely! Thank you, Sarah and Steve,” Rachel said.

“Is Jackie—”

“Stephen!” Mom scolded me.

“I mean, Mr. Robinson at home?” I asked.

Mrs. Robinson chuckled. “No, Steve. But I'll tell him that you stopped by. Are you a Dodgers fan?”

“You bet!”

“Great! Would you like to go to a game with little Jackie and me this summer?”

“You've got to be kidding? Would I ever!” If I couldn't go to the Dodgers opening home game with Dad, at least I'd be able to go to a game with Mrs. Robinson.
Pretty cool
, I thought.

“I'm serious as long as your parents give you permission,” Mrs. Robinson replied.

“Please forgive my son, Rachel. Steve and my husband, Archie, share a deep love for the Dodgers and for your husband. He's thrilled to meet you and a bit too excited to have you as a neighbor,” my mother explained.

“I can imagine,” Mrs. Robinson said, then gave me another warm smile. “Jack and I love children, Sarah. You don't have to apologize. I'd invite you inside, but we're still unpacking boxes.”

“Of course. I understand completely. It was lovely to meet you,” my mother said, tapping me with her elbow.

“Nice to meet you,” I echoed.

“Thank you for the warm welcome and beautiful flowers,” Mrs. Robinson said. “We'll see you soon.”

I was totally disappointed and didn't feel like pretending. My head was hanging low as we left the Robinsons' front yard. All I could think of was, would I
ever
meet Jackie Robinson?

Every day during the two weeks leading up to the Dodgers opening game, I woke up thinking this would be it. I decided that the only way I'd spot Jackie Robinson coming out of his house was to be visible. I came up with a plan.

On Monday morning, I got up at six, dressed for school, and had breakfast with my dad at seven o'clock. That left me with an hour before school to spot Jackie. I parked myself on our stoop, read the sports page, and kept my eyes on the redbrick house two doors down.

After school, I played stoopball and finished my homework outside. Waiting and hoping Jackie would come home while I was outside. No luck. Days passed without a single sighting.

“I can't believe he's two doors down and I haven't bumped into him!” I vented to Sena on our walk home from school one afternoon.

“Stephen Jay Satlow, give it a rest!” Sena shouted at me.

I was shocked. Didn't she get it? He was my hero. He was my neighbor. Spotting Jackie Robinson was the only goal. Speaking directly to him would be a bonus. My whole life depended on a handshake. A wave of the cap. Hearing Jackie say my name. “Oh, Sena,” I replied in disgust. “If you weren't a Yankees fan, you'd get it.”

The closer we got to the home opener, the more obsessed I became. The Robinson family had lived in the neighborhood almost two weeks and I still hadn't spotted Jackie.

The next thing I knew, it was April 20—opening day! The Dodgers were opening the season on the road. Dad and I sat on the front porch listening to the first game of the 1948 season. The Dodgers were playing their crosstown rivals, the New York Giants, at the Polo Grounds. With Jackie on second and the newly acquired catcher, Roy Campanella, at home plate, the Dodgers were once again making history. They were now the first Major League team to have two black players in the regular lineup. It was a three-game series at the Giants' stadium. By the end, the Dodgers took two out of three games.

Friday, April 23, our beloved Brooklyn Dodgers returned to Ebbets Field! Their home opener was against the Philadelphia Phillies at two in the afternoon. I begged Dad not to send me to school. I simply had to stay home and listen to the game on the radio.

“Please, please, please, Dad,” I pleaded.

He looked up from his plate of scrambled eggs and wheat toast and smiled at me. “Got a surprise for you, son.”

I sat up straight in my chair. “What is it, Dad?” I asked.

While my curiosity mounted, my father toyed with the saltshaker, then reached into his pocket and pulled out two tickets. He handed them to me and I jumped out of my seat!

“This is unbelievable! I thought you'd forgotten. Or didn't want to go. Dad, I'm the happiest kid in Brooklyn.” I leaned in and kissed my father on his cheek.

“You've worked hard to improve your attitude at school and home,” Dad said. “Miss Maliken's reports are all good. And I wanted to share this special day with you.”

“I've never been so excited!” I told my father. “Maybe now I'll finally meet Jackie Robinson. Think so, Dad?”

“I don't know, son. It's possible.”

“Mrs. Robinson said that Jackie liked children,” I told him. “Maybe he'll come over to me after batting practice and I can get him to sign my baseball,” I said.

“If you meet Jackie Robinson, I imagine he'll sign your ball.”

“Can we go early?”

“That's the plan,” Dad said with a chuckle.

Dad and I took the train to Ebbets Field for five cents. On the ride there, I rehearsed my first words to Jackie. I turned the new baseball in my hands. I'd planned on meeting Jackie in our neighborhood, but it didn't matter. If I saw him, I'd tell him that we're neighbors. That would be just as good.

“Dad, were the tickets very expensive?” I asked.

“It was worth every penny. I don't know when you've been this happy.”

“I am happy, Dad. I will remember this day always,” I said, leaning in and hugging his shoulder. “Thank you so, so much!” I looked away. My smile was mixed with tears in my eyes, and I didn't want my father to see them. I went back to rehearsing what I'd say when I met Jackie Robinson. “I live two doors down from you,” I repeated softly. Yes, that would make me different from all the other kids. Or I could just say, “I'm your neighbor.” Yes, I decided. That was simpler.

We reached our train stop and exited in the direction of Ebbets Field. “Let's wait here, son,” Dad said. We stopped by a side gate of the stadium.

“Why are we stopping here?” I asked, wanting to go inside the stadium and make my way down to the field so I could get autographs.

“I'm meeting someone,” my father replied.

“But, Dad . . .” I moaned. “I'm going to miss batting practice.” I tossed my baseball into the air and caught it. As we waited, I threw the ball higher and higher before getting bored. “Dad . . .” I pleaded.

“Patience, son.”

“What time is it?”

My father looked at his watch. “It's noon,” he reported. “The game doesn't start until two.”

“What time does batting practice end?”

“Our team warms up last. That should be around twelve thirty,” Dad replied. “We've got time.”

I kicked the stadium wall hard, then remembered that Ebbets Field was old and fragile. At least that's what everyone was saying. It had been built in 1913 right in the middle of the neighborhood. The stands were so close to the field, you could hear players talking to each other and see the expressions on their faces. But now they needed a new stadium. I wondered if they'd knock Ebbets Field down and build a new one in the same spot.

“Gee, Dad,” I said after we'd been standing outside the park for what seemed like a very long time. “I'll never get any autographs here. We need to be inside near the bullpen like the other kids.”

“In a minute.”

“You keep saying that, but we're wasting time. Let's go. Please,” I pleaded unsuccessfully. Frustrated, I turned away from my father. When I turned back around, Dad was grinning. I looked around again and spotted two men walking fast and right toward us. “Dad!” I said. “How'd this happen?”

“What?”

“I think it's Jackie and Roy Campanella,” I said.

“So it is,” Dad replied.

“Are they coming to meet us?” Could this be possible? Had my father made this happen, too? My heart pounded against my chest so hard it frightened me. I was frantic. The moment I'd been waiting for had arrived and I couldn't think of anything to say.

My father grabbed my hand. “Let's go, Steve. I know this is what you've wanted.”

We closed the gap between the famous ball­players and ourselves. I looked up at my hero and my mind went blank. I stood frozen.

“Steve,” Jackie said, extending his hand toward me.

My eyeballs nearly popped out of their sockets.
He knows my name?
I reached out and took Jackie's hand. No words came to mind or out of my mouth. I just stared like a starstruck kid.

“Thank you for the cherry blossoms. They looked great on our dining room table,” Jackie said easily, like we were friends already. “My wife tells me that you're one of our biggest fans.” My head bobbed, but I still couldn't speak. For weeks, I'd played this very scene over and over, and now that Jackie was standing in front of me, I balked. In my head, questions collided and disappeared. I couldn't speak.

“I'd like you to meet Roy Campanella,” Jackie said to me.

Again, I dropped the ball and nodded at Roy instead of speaking. Forcing a smile, I stared up at these two great men, hoping they'd understand.

“I'm afraid you've rendered my usually talkative son speechless, Mr. Robinson,” Dad said as he stepped in to fill the void. “I'm Archie, Steve's dad. This is such a thrill! My son has been on neighborhood watch for weeks hoping to catch a glimpse of you. He was rehearsing his first greeting up until a few seconds ago. Guess all the practice fogged up his head.”