14 - November 1958

In those final days of the Negro League, it was more of a stopping point on the way down rather than a way up to the majors. The Negro American League struggled to keep afloat. So, too, did the players.

The league was foundering, down to only four teams at the end of 1956: Kansas City, Detroit, Memphis, and Birmingham. That core was successful for two main reasons. Firstly, only Detroit had a major league team back in those days. Secondly, each of those cities had a large black population, which meant a strong fan base.

  The league added Mobile and New Orleans in 1957, but Mobile couldn’t afford to travel. Worse yet, they couldn’t win at home, which meant they couldn’t attract a sufficient fan base of their own. Subsequently, they folded later that year.

In ’58, the league picked up the Raleigh Tigers and Newark Indians, black barnstorming squads from the northeast. The teams officially dropped out at the end of the season and returned to barnstorming. Like Mobile in the Deep South, Raleigh and Newark just couldn’t afford traveling the long distances. Additionally, they didn’t think the franchise fees were worth the minimal pay, especially when both teams were successful in larger markets like Boston, New York, and Chicago.

The same was true for Detroit. They already had a major league team in the Tigers and travel to and from the southern states was hardly lucrative. The Detroit team decided to split its franchise between Detroit and New Orleans, calling itself the Detroit-New Orleans Stars. This was the Negro League’s way of putting a Band-Aid on a broken leg.

The best players from the dissolved New Orleans team migrated to the other teams. Those who had been marginal players were dropped altogether.

During the 1958 Negro League World Series, the scouts finally returned to Rickwood Field. After the last game, a team roster was posted in the Black Barons’ locker room. Robert Johnson stood in the center of a crowd of players, pondering over the list.

“Read off the names!” someone shouted.

“Eddie Groves, Robert Johnson, Albert Manley, and Ty Willis are headed to the Denver Bears. Marcus Abrams and Alex de la Rosa are headed to Kansas City.  Daddy Long Legs and Eddie Mac are headed to the Harlem Globetrotters during the off-season.

At the bottom there’s a note: all other unnamed players are encouraged to return to Rickwood Field next spring and try out for the 1959 Black Barons.”

“Where’s my name?” said Sonny flatly.

“I don’t see it anywhere,” said Robert.

“That’s impossible. I’m better than everyone on this list.”

“Maybe someone else doesn’t think so,” said Albert.

“I’m surely better than you.”

“Sluggers are a dime-a-dozen, Sonny. The Big Leagues don’t want first basement with iron hands.”

Sonny charged at Albert and Chick stepped in his way.

“Get outta the way, Chick. This isn’t about you.”

“He’s right Sonny. The Major Leagues can afford to be picky.”

Sonny coiled a fist and pounded it against his locker. It boomed loudly as he landed a combination of punches. After a few tense moments, Andy Anderson came in to see what the ruckus was about.

“Stop it right now, Sonny!”

“Why didn’t they offer me a job, Mr. Anderson?"

“Sometimes it just doesn’t work out that way.”

Sonny’s shoulders slumped as he dropped his arms to his side. Robert patted him on the shoulders. Sonny simply nodded his head and took a seat on the bench.

Chick approached Robert at his locker and congratulated him.

“It’s nothing,” said Robert.

“Horse manure,” said Chick, “this is what you’ve always wanted.”

“You should’ve gotten a chance, too.”

“Thirty year old catchers are like five-year old fillies – better in the pasture.”

With good news for both Chick and Robert to share, there were numerous tasks to complete. For Chick, it would start at home. For Robert, it would start in Atlanta. He’d have to tell family and friends – especially Victoria. It was hard knowing how she’d react or what he’d do when she did not give him the answers he wanted.

Chick and Robert’s arrival in Denver would most likely be described as extra ordinary. By Alabama standards, the end of March marked the end of winter. Although the temperature did sometimes dipped below 50 degrees at night, it was warm enough that people didn’t have to wear long sleeve shirts during the day.  As Chick and Robert crossed the Great Plains states, fierce snowstorms and howling winds reminded them they were far from home.

During winter in Alabama, most of the Black Barons turned to other activities to pass the time and earn extra money to get by until the return of spring. Some did manual labor or worked in warehouses. Others picked up odd jobs where they could. At night, most of the Black Barons barnstormed.

Guys like Yogi Berra, Duke Snider, Pee Wee Reese, and Mickey Mantle traveled through the south, starring in baseball exhibitions against local teams. Sometimes, they’d play against the industrial teams; more often than not, they would play against teams from the Negro Leagues.

When the bus came into town, most of Birmingham was there to greet them. It was one of the rare times the stands filled for the Black Barons. The others were the World Series and All-Star games. The most notable, however, was against the House of David.

It was late November 1958 the first time the House of David team arrived at Rickwood Field. Two busses pulled into the Rickwood Field parking lot early in the afternoon. Mr. Johnson was there along with the rest of the Birmingham baseball players. Both the white Barons and Black Barons stood at the edge of the diamond and watched the House of David players disembark from their busses. Tall, well-built men with long beards and white woolen uniforms disembarked from the first bus, while a group of black men disembarked from the second bus. They mingled into one assembled crowd of ball players.

“Would you look at that,” said Chick, “I wouldn’t have believed it unless I saw it with my own two eyes. We’re playing against a bunch of Hasidic Rabbis.

The House of David team was comprised of Revelationist missionaries from the Detroit, Michigan area. Even though they called themselves Israelites, most of them came from Baptist backgrounds. They were people of temperance: they didn’t drink, they didn’t party, and they didn’t do much but live meek lives and play lots of baseball.

Often, the House of David team would play double headers, with the colored team playing first. If the host team refused to play against the colored team, neither team would play. This also applied for housing; the Colored House of David was expected to have adequate motel lodging for their stay. If they didn’t, the team just got back on their busses and moved on to their next stop.

For the boys, this was quite a sight. Often, the Black Barons waited on the outskirts of town and came in under cover of darkness. The Black Barons were seldom given a place to sleep by local motel owners, so they spent their nights on the bus. Other times, they’d just head back home after the game was over.

One of the long-bearded men talked at length with Mr. Sims and Andy Anderson. Finally, the men shook hands and the busses parked at the far end of the lot. The House of David players headed toward Rickwood Field in a herd, their cleats clicking across the pavement. Andy Anderson approached Chick and the rest of the Black Barons.

“Looks like the Colored House of David is playing against the Birmingham Barons and you’ll be playing against the House of David afterwards.”

“The whites are playing against the blacks?”

Andy nodded.

Chick shrugged and went about his business. As he headed back to the field, Andy spoke.

“Chick, you’re playing later.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think you understand. You’re playing later.”

Chick stared blankly at Andy.

“Are you saying we have to stay in the showers until game time?”

“I’m saying you have to sit in the colored bleachers until game time.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“Never mind where it’s coming from. I’m saying it.”

Chick ran his tongue over his teeth and pulled his lower lip over his upper. His lips popped as he unfolded them. His tongue rolled uneasily behind his teeth. He pulled his catcher’s mask off his head and trotted towards the House of David players, who were gathered on the visitor’s bench.

“Hey, guys, I’m Byron Washington from the Black Barons. Where’s your manager?”

A man approached Chick with an outstretched hand, “I’m Zacharias Flynn. I’m the coach for the House of David.”

Zacharias Flynn carried almost three hundred pounds on a 6’6” frame. He towered over the six-foot tall catcher from Birmingham. His beard, thick, black, and gnarly, lay atop his massive chest. His hands were like that of a lumberjack. He gripped Chick’s hand and shook it firmly. Chick did all he could to keep from wincing in pain.

“What can I do ya for?”

“I noticed you talked to Mr. Sims when you arrived.”

“I did…”

“He wants us to sit in the bleachers for the first game.”

“Nonsense! Why don’t you and the fellas join us in the dugout?”

“I was thinking more of sitting in the home team dugout.”

“I don’t think that’d be a problem. Let me have a word with Chuck.”

Few people ever called Mr. Sims by his first name. Mr. Flynn, however, dropped all the formalities. After all, he was a not only a man of business, but a man of the people.

He hobbled across the infield to the home team bench and talked to the Baron’s coach. The coach stuffed his hands into his back pockets and shook his head repeatedly.

Finally, Mr. Flynn shook his hand and trotted up the steps to the announcer’s box on the roof. Mr. Flynn invited the Black Barons into the visitor’s dugout as he returned to the field.

“I thought you were going to talk some sense into him,” said Chick.

“Sometimes some people just aren’t worth the hassle.”

Chick conceded that and joined the House of David team., while other Black Barons remained in the colored section of the stands. When the first game was over, they shifted to the home dugout as the white Barons cleared out and went home.

Both the white and Colored House of David teams took the field between games. They played games of pepper in the infield, palming and juggling baseballs and pulling all sorts of tomfoolery. The Black Barons, however, were all business, taking batting and fielding practice.

The Black Barons took the field first, and that was the end of the funny business for the House of David. The batters shelled Robert. At the bottom of the first, it was 4-0.

The hitting calmed down a bit in the second inning, but the House of David still scored a couple more runs. At the end of a shortened five-inning game, the Black Barons were losing 9-0.

Afterwards, all four teams joined forces and set up chairs for a concert between first base and home plate. While they did, Mr. Flynn approached Robert and patted him on the back.

“You pitched a great game.”

“It didn’t feel like it. I pitched awful.”

“We’ve scored just as many runs off of all-star teams.”

“Then why don’t you play in the pros?”

“They don’t represent what we’re about. We love baseball, but we believe in good, clean living. The major leaguers are drinkers and smokers and gamblers and a whole slew of other behaviors we just don’t accept, like hatred.”

“Wasn’t the thing with the dugouts a bit of hatred?”

“It’s better to win the war than it is to win every battle. Look around you.”

Robert looked around, but didn’t notice anything different.

“What?”

“Look at the chairs. Everyone’s mingling freely. They’ve already started to forget about the color of everyone’s skin. Time is an even better healer than a preacher’s voice.”

Robert did notice the intermingling of whites and blacks. Sure there were still color lines, but there was grayscale, too.

“That’s really what baseball is about, isn’t it?”

Robert gave him a puzzled look.

“It’s the one place people are figuring out that skin color means absolutely nothing. Baseball is a miracle worker, constantly helping the blind to see.”

People assembled on the old wooden folding chairs arranged in a semi-circle on the lawn while a small fifteen-piece orchestra finished setting up in front of them. Robert and Chick led Pauline and Victoria to the uppermost row in the stands. Robert unbuttoned his dirty gray and black uniform and relaxed on the back row bleacher.

It afforded only a little piece of mind at first; children flocked around the baseball heroes, seeking autographs. One child pulled the wadded program from his back pocket and laid it carefully on the bench. He pressed it as flat as possible on the bench and produced a pencil for Robert. Robert bent over and signed it and filled requests until every boy and girl was satisfied.

After it was just the four of them, Robert stretched his long, lean legs over the seat in front of him and tossed an arm around Victoria. Crisp November breezes blew over the field and through the stands. Victoria cinched her coat and pushed closer to Robert. His jersey was soaked in sweat, but she didn’t mind one bit.

“What are your plans for next spring?” asked Pauline.

“I’m not sure.”

“You should come with us to Denver.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“There are plenty of opportunities out west.”

“I know, but…”

“But what?”

Victoria did not respond. Instead, she pursed her lips and cinched them closed. She nestled against Robert and went quiet.

The House of David played a mixture of jazz and classical standards long into the night. When the musicians were finished, the remaining crowd gave them a standing ovation.

There were other games and other teams throughout the winter, but none had quite the impact as the men from the House of David.

Midway through December, Eddie Mac and Daddy Long Legs (Eddie MacGillicuddy and Leon Wagner) went on tour with the Harlem Globetrotters. They’d travel much further than the baseball barnstormers, ranging from coast-to-coast aboard a cramped bus. Still, accommodations were good enough for them. Eddie Mac became known as the Globetrotters’ basketball dribbling and juggling ace while Daddy Long Legs wowed crowds with his dunks and trick shots. After that wiinter, neither of them returned to Negro League baseball.

With the league on its last legs, the league owners placed classified advertisements in cities from Houston to New York searching for potential investors. The ad offered chances to purchase Negro League franchises in hopes of rebuilding the dying league.

About the same time Eddie Mac and Daddy Long Legs started touring with the Globetrotters, most everyone but Chick took on part-time jobs at the warehouses surrounding Rickwood Field.

Robert worked a forklift for the paper warehouse. Sonny worked the dock, loading and unloading tractor-trailers. When it became evident Robert’s math skills were better than everyone else (including the manager) the warehouse owner put Robert in charge of all accounting duties, from shipping and receiving to inventory. His workdays grew longer with the new responsibilities, sometimes keeping him at the warehouse until midnight.

Chick, on the other hand, spent his extra time relaxing at home on the porch listening to the radio and enjoying a cold beer. It was always a good thing when Robert arrived at home and Chick was waiting on the porch with a beer cooler nearby.

“How was work?”

“Work is work.”

“That’s why I don’t believe in it.”

Robert laughed as he snatched a beer from the cooler and plopped into the chair beside Chick. Chick leaned back and closed his eyes. Robert kicked off his shoes and propped his feet on the tool chest he’d been using ever since he broke the first coffee table with, as Pauline called them, ‘his big lunk feet.’

He thought of that night every time he sat down on the porch. He’d miss Birmingham more than he could’ve ever imagined. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The chilly January air felt just about perfect.

Robert thought to himself, “Life couldn’t get much better.”

.