The Hero Two Doors Down (6 page)

I listened intently as my dad talked baseball with Jackie and Roy. He made it look so easy, I couldn't even get my own name to come out of my mouth! Jackie turned away from my father and looked directly at me.

“Now that we have a few home games, you'll be seeing me around,” he said.

I smiled. If words wouldn't come out, at least I could get my mouth to do that. I handed Jackie my baseball and watched as he and Roy signed it. “Thank you,” I whispered when the autographed ball was back in my hand.

My dad shook hands with the ballplayers and wished them a successful season.

“Steve, Roy and I have to get inside for batting practice. Why don't you drop by the house sometime? My son would get a kick out of having a big boy to play with.”

“Okay,” I whispered.

“Thank you,” Dad replied.

I looked over at my dad. He'd set this up just for me. But how?

When Jackie turned to leave, I called out, “What should I call you?”

Jackie flashed me a smile that would warm the North Pole. “Call me Jackie.”

Dad and I maneuvered our way through crowds down to the field. We stood among hundreds of fans who were cheering on their favorite players taking batting practice. I looked over the faces in the crowd when Jackie got up to take his practice swings. They burst into loud cheering when he hit his third homer in a row!

“Did you see that, Dad?” I shouted over the roar of the crowd.

“Sure did, son. Roy's up next,” he replied.

We welcomed our new catcher by screaming, “Roy! Roy! Roy!” He rewarded us with a solid line drive that hit the outfield wall.

“Hit it higher,” I screamed, hoping for a home run the next swing.

As batting practice wound down, players made their way over to the crowd to sign baseballs. I leaned over the wall, extended my arms toward the players, and called out to my favorite stars. Pee Wee, Duke Snider, and Ralph Branca signed the same ball as Jackie and Roy. By the time Dad and I took our seats, my heart was racing. The game hadn't even started yet and it was already my best day ever!

I handed Dad my signed ball. “Please put it away for me, Dad. I want to save it forever!”

Dad slid my precious baseball into his jacket pocket. “Don't worry, son. I'll keep it safe.”

More than 25,000 fans attended the season home opener. My eyes filled with tears as we all stood to sing the national anthem. Many of the Dodgers fans stayed on their feet to boo the Phillies lineup. But the stadium rocked with cheers when the Brooklyn Dodgers players were announced.

A few minutes later the crowd roared again when a padded Roy Campanella came out of the dugout and squatted behind home plate. Campanella caught a few warm-up pitches from the Dodgers starter, Joe Hatten, until finally the announcer yelled, “Let's play ball!”

The crowd's energy could be felt throughout the stands. Our Dodgers were back! I looked around in amazement. I was so pumped up, it was hard to settle into my seat. At each new roar from a section of the crowd, I jumped up to see what was happening.

Across the park was the Dodgers Sym-Phony—a group of fans with instruments who played off-key as fans gathered around, cheering them on. No one minded that they didn't sound like a real symphony. If an umpire made a questionable call, the Sym-Phony played “Three Blind Mice,” which sent laughter from one side of the park to the other.

“This is
so
much better than listening to the game on the radio,” I said, giddy with anticipation.
What was going to happen next?
Just as I thought that, Philadelphia's base runner, Richie Ashburn, stole home. The Phillies were off to a strong start.

“You're right. There's nothing like Ebbets Field.”

Jackie Robinson was the first Dodger up to bat.

“Hit a homer, Jackie!” I yelled with all my might.

Jackie singled to the shortstop. Next, Arky Vaughan popped out and Preston Ward struck out. I was still cheering for Jackie when he was caught on an attempted steal. I wasn't worried. It was only the first inning.

“Did you notice that Branch Rickey padded the outfield wall?” my father asked me as the Dodgers took to the field.

“Um,” I murmured, looking toward the outfield wall. “I see it now.”

“Mr. Rickey did that to prevent another Pete Reiser injury,” Dad said.

As the game progressed, I paid close attention to Jackie and Pee Wee Reese. Jackie had only just moved to second base at the start of this season. With Pee Wee at shortstop, they had to work together. I watched closely as the two talked to each other while turning a beautiful double play.

Jackie was at bat three times and got two hits. Preston Ward and Carl Furillo were the only two Dodgers to score. The Phillies demolished Brooklyn 10 to 2. Still, Dodgers fans spilled out onto the streets of Brooklyn with their heads held high. “We'll get 'em next time!” was our battle cry.

“What did you think about the game?” Dad asked as we waited for the train to come into the station.

I smiled up at my father. “Even though we lost,” I began, “this was the most exciting day of my life. But . . . Dad,” I continued, “I have one question.”

“What is it, son?”

“How did you arrange for us to meet Jackie Robinson?”

Dad chuckled. “That was between your mother and Mrs. Robinson. They made all the arrangements. You're a lucky boy, Steve.”

“I am lucky, Dad,” I replied.

The next day was Saturday, so I wandered over to the Robinsons' house to thank Mrs. Robinson.

“Good afternoon, Steve,” she said, opening the front door. “Please come in. Jackie Junior will be so happy to see you.”

I stepped into the living room, where little Jackie was on the carpet playing with a set of wooden blocks. “Thank you for setting up the meeting between me and Mr. Robinson.”

“I hope you thanked your mother, Steve. She had more to do with that meeting than I did.”

“How come?”

“I ran into your mother early in the week and she told me you were very disappointed that you hadn't met Jack.” Mrs. Robinson paused. “I guess he's Jackie to you, right?”

“He told me that it would be all right if I called him Jackie instead of Mr. Robinson,” I explained.

“Perfectly all right, Steve. And you can call me Rachel, too. Anyway, your mom told me that you were upset because you hadn't met Jack. We decided to do something about that. It was simple, really. Jack was happy to meet you,” Rachel said.

“But I didn't say anything to him,” I protested.

“That was part of your charm, Steve. He knows that you'll get more comfortable being around him. At home, Jack's a husband and father. He'll be easier for you to relate to.”

“That's what my mom says, too.”

“Want to stay and play with little Jackie?”

“Sure do,” I replied.

 

It was well into summertime, when everyone in the neighborhood basically lived out of doors. One evening I was outside playing stoopball by myself when the Robinsons came out on their stoop.

“Hey, Steve,” Jackie yelled over to me.

I waved and went back to hitting the Spalding against the corners of our steps. I hardly noticed Jackie walk over to get a closer look.

“What game is that?” he asked me.

“We call it stoopball,” I replied.

“Can I see the ball?”

I handed Jackie the rubber ball. He squeezed it several times, then handed it back to me.

“Wanna try?” I suggested.

“You bet,” Jackie replied.

“You've got to hit the ball against the corners of the step and catch it before it bounces. Like this,” I said, then demonstrated the perfect hit.

Jackie and I battled it out for over an hour. He was a natural. I also found out how competitive he was! Luckily, we didn't keep score. I was finally starting to feel comfortable around him!

As the season progressed, a friendship between our two families grew. Sometimes I'd visit the Robinsons alone. Other times Mom came with me. A couple of times the Robinsons came to our house for dinner.

The shyness I initially felt around Jackie passed. One night, over steak and baked potatoes, Jackie brought up fan mail.

“Quite honestly, I'm overwhelmed by all the fan mail,” he told us. “I just don't have the time to answer each and every fan.”

“Jack, I think I can help,” my mother offered.

“Sarah, are you sure?” Rachel cut in.

“Absolutely, I'd love it,” Mom said.

“Archie, do you have any objections?” Jackie asked.

“It's fine with me,” my father replied.

I sat back, listening to the adults talk, thinking this was too cool. Maybe I'd also get to read fan mail for Jackie. What a treat!

Some evenings after a hard Dodgers game, I'd wait on my stoop, hoping to chat with Jackie when he got home from Ebbets Field. I kept up with all of the team's batting averages and stolen bases so we'd have something specific to talk about.

One afternoon I was at the Robinsons' house building blocks with Jackie Junior when Jackie showed up. I watched as he bent down and scooped his son into his arms. Little Jackie squealed with delight. I couldn't take my eyes off the two. As Jackie set his son down, I very nearly expected to be picked up next. I smiled up at Jackie as he patted me on my head. “Hello, Steve. What have you and Jackie been playing today?”

I looked down at the half-built house, then back up at Jackie. “A house in the country,” I told him. “We're going to make a barn, too, so the animals will have a place to live.”

Jackie chuckled. “Funny, that's my dream. Well, maybe not the animal part, but I'd like a house with enough land so Jackie could have a dog.”

When Rachel walked out of the kitchen, Jackie hugged her and asked, “What smells so good? I'm starving.”

Rachel chuckled. “I'm making a roast and baked potatoes.”

“Steve, can you stay for dinner?” Jackie asked.

“I have to ask my mother,” I said, following Rachel into the kitchen.

“Call your mother, Steve. I'd be happy to talk with her,” Rachel offered.

As soon as Mom gave the okay, Jackie and I cleaned up the building blocks and chased each other around the house, playing tag until dinner.

“Rachel tells me that you have a birthday coming up,” Jackie said to me after he'd blessed the food and served our plates.

“I'll turn nine on June nineteenth,” I replied.

“Nine,” Jackie repeated. “You're in third grade. How are your grades?”

“Pretty good,” I replied. “I even got satisfactory grades for my behavior! Did you ever get into trouble when you were my age?”

Jackie laughed. “When I was your age, I joined a gang. We called ourselves the Pepper Street Gang. We didn't do anything really bad . . . stole some golf balls and sold them back to the golfers . . . took fruit from the stands. We got lucky. A young minister came into our lives and helped turn me around. I got out of the gang. Reverend Downs stayed on me through my army days. Later, he married Rachel and me. I loved that guy and didn't want to disappoint him. I never knew my father, Steve. Reverend Downs died recently. I was crushed. He was still a young man. That news hurt me deeply, as if I'd lost my best friend . . . I'm sure that has something to do with my not playing my best at the start of the season.”

“That's a sad story,” I told Jackie. “I'm lucky to have my father around. I don't want to disappoint him, either.”

“You are lucky, Steve,” Rachel added. “Reverend Downs was a major force in Jack's life, but Jack's always had a great deal of self-control. Even when you're an adult, there are times when you need willpower.”

“What's self-control?” I asked.

“It's the ability to stop yourself from doing the things that might not be good for you,” Rachel said. “Like staying cool and controlling your impulses and feelings.”

“Oh, I get it. Like when I get mad now, I try not to hit someone or say mean things to them. Sometimes I ride my bike really fast up and down Tilden Avenue. It usually works, but not always.”

“That's right, Steve. Sometimes you've just got to stop and remind yourself that there's another way. I take a deep breath. Let the anger settle. It's best not to act out of anger,” Jackie suggested.

“You're lucky, too, Jackie. When you get mad you can steal a base or hit a homer,” I added.

“I haven't hit a homer in a while, Steve,” Jackie replied with a chuckle.

“You will soon, right?”

“Soon, Steve. I'm less uptight. More focused. It's bound to pay off,” Jackie assured me.

“That's good to hear,” I said.

“Speaking of baseball, I have a gift for you,” Jackie said, passing a baseball mitt to me. “It's more for show then actual use, but I thought you'd like to have this.”

I slid my stubby fingers into the leather glove. It was much too big for me. I looked up at Jackie with questioning eyes.