Around the Horn

My grandfather taught me how to fish, hunt, bowl, and golf, but more importantly, how to learn from my mistakes. He drilled me on proper posture, a firm handshake, looking people in the eyes, keeping a cheerful, positive disposition, enjoying life but remaining firm to your convictions, and the importance of having faith in God. I really loved him for all he did for me in place of my missing father. He was on my mind as I traveled to the biggest baseball game of an incredible season. “It’s going to be a thrill to pitch in front of my grandfather for the first time in my life,” I thought to myself as our team pulled out of Columbus, Texas, halfway on our trek to the state finals. Willie sat beside me in the last row of the bus as the mid-summer worn Texas countryside passed by the window. We were playing Twenty Questions using only famous baseball players, when we noticed Travis approaching down the aisle. “Well, boys, tomorrow you find out if you’re men,” he said to no one in particular. Then he leaned over to Jack, who was sitting across from us and asked, “Jack, do you mind if we trade seats for a little while, I need to discuss some things with Willie and Mickey.” “Sure thing, Coach,” Jack said as he jumped up and lumbered to another seat. Travis sat down and turned to face us. “Willie, Mickey, we need to talk about a decision we made. The area of Houston where we’re going to be playing the next couple of days is restricted. Do you know what that means?” I didn’t, but I looked over at Willie who had a pained expression on his face as he grimaced and said, “No Coloreds allowed.” “That’s right. We know it’s not right,” Travis said. “It’s downright backwards, but it is a fact. One we have to deal with and then move on. Hopefully, Willie, your play and attitude may wake up a few of the folks in the stands tomorrow, but it’s not going to help us get you into the motel where we are staying. Even though it won’t make you feel any better, I want you to know that all the great Negro ballplayers had to suffer this indignation. Willie Mays, Hank Aaron, Frank Robinson and Jackie Robinson have all told horror stories of traveling and playing in the South.” I interrupted him, asking, “You mean Willie can’t stay with the team?” “Unfortunately, yes. But, we have a solution that will work out and allow us to concentrate on the ball game tomorrow. I spoke with your mother during the lunch break in Columbus, Mickey. Your grandparents have agreed to put you guys up with them for the next couple of days to avoid trouble. So, we’re going to drop you fellas off first so you can get situated and your grandfather is going to bring you to the practice later this afternoon.” “Practice?” I spurted out. “Light hitting. No hard throwing. No running. We need to get the jitters out of the way,” Travis said sternly. “So, yes, Mickey, we are going to practice.” “I’m sorry Travis. I love to practice. I just thought since we had a big game and all,” I said apologetically. “You leave the thinking to the coaches for now, Mickey. You concentrate on what is important -- staying relaxed and taking care of your arm. I think we’re going to ride it to victory fellas. I’ve got a good feeling.” Travis stood up to start for the front of the bus. He paused, turned back to us and said, “Willie, you know, if there was anything I could do to alter this mess, I would.” “I know Coach,” Willie said. “It’s not your fault. My pop says prejudice is like a disease. We have to stand up to it, and be patient.”