1927

1

Yankee Stadium
May 1, 1927

A great ball club, like a remarkable woman, comes around once in a lifetime. Charlie listened to the rousing crowd. The spring air, fresh and cleansing, filtered through the ballpark, ruffling the tiny flags atop the stadium wall. The crack of the ball against the bat sent tingles up his arms. If someone handed him a glove he would probably run out on the field.

In the midst of the colorful multitude, his eyes were drawn to The Babe. It was only the beginning of May, and Ruth had six home runs, two in this very game. It might be possible, if he continued at this pace, to break his 1923 record of fifty-nine home runs. The Babe trotted like a bow legged ox across the outfield, loosening up between innings. Charlie's eyes darted across the field to Pennock, sizzling the ball into the catcher's mitt. This team had it all. The superb pitching, only one component, complimented the hitting attack. Charlie shook his head as he watched Gehrig throw practice balls across the infield grass. He had never seen a team like this. God, they were good. Not only could they head to The Series, but might just squash everyone along the way.

He looked at his friends back in the seats. They would razz him if they knew earlier he was watching the cavalcade of women under the grandstand. He could not keep his mind off one woman he had seen near the concession. Tall, with expressive blue eyes, she mysteriously walked under the stands with that odd beeping leather radio box strapped to her shoulder and had had disappeared just as he carried his food from the counter.

Joel cupped his hands. " Hey, Charlie! Either go get some more food or sit your arse down!"

" I need a smoke, Joel," said Charlie. He took a pack of Luckys from his shirt pocket.

Ray, rapped on his leg. " Francine know you're at the ballpark, Charlie?" Charlie, cigarette hanging from his mouth, squinted at Ray, and then lit up. He shook the match and tossed it to the cement as he exhaled." I don't discuss baseball with Francine."

Ray leaned toward Joel. " Any dame that wouldn't let me go to the ballpark."

" I know you guys don't like her."

" It's not that we don't like her, Chuck." said Joel. Charlie squeezed toward the aisle. " She's just not right for you."

" Rumfords have too much dough," added Ray.

" You can never have too much dough, Bud. I'm getting some more food."

What he really wanted was to find that dame again. Phily was batting and Pennock fired a strike, but Charlie had lost interest and plodded down the ramp. Ray was right. Francine would be upset if she knew he had traveled to the stadium. She was the boss's daughter, but the old man had pushed the relation-ship. Rumors abounded about her alleged affair with a guy named Rick Serone from Chicago, and she had seen her old beau, Wil Dillin-gham, on occasion, but the Rumfords were stinking with money and Charlie was set for life.

Once under the grandstand girders, he searched for her blue chiffon frock. The crowd cheered above and realized how much he loved the game. He could taste the feeling, a raw combination of hot dogs, onions, and cold beer, accented with passing stale cigars and pungent bags of second-rate peanuts.

Starting at the concession, he thought about his ambition and began a methodical march under the grandstand. After his arrival from his parent's Ohio farm, subsequent graduation from New York University and employment at the Woolworth Tower, he remained fueled by a lust for wealth and power.

He snuffed out his cigarette on the concrete. Then he saw her. She was tall and slender within the transient crowd, but over-dressed in the blue frock, and her rusty hair was bobbed in the shingled look. Something about her, an aura of mystery, drew him closer. He drifted inauspiciously under the grandstand and stared at her large leather case, but this time it emitted no beeps. Sweet jasmine filled the air even before he was near her. She panned the rafters as if she were structural engineer. He could not keep his eyes off her tight, tanned face, scattered with freckles. As he inched closer, the stadium light cast an iridescent glow within her blue eyes.

" You come to the stadium often?" he asked.

She kept studying the girders. " You've been watching me."

" Who me?"

She lifted her brows and her tiny mouth evidenced a smile as she turned. Her perky but proper, almost British accent, surprised him. " To answer your question, not as often as I would like."

" I'd like to get out here more often, too," said Charlie.

" Then again, actually being at the ballpark is better than watching ... news reels."

In her face he sensed a youthful exuberance and appreciation of life, but the glint in her eyes suggested she was holding something back. She pushed something inside the leather case.

Charlie folded his arms. " Right. It's like reading about the game in the Sun or the Times. Not the same."

He could sense, as she stared at the girders again, she was not the typical Yankee fan. " This is a unique era. Babe Ruth had two home runs today. I actually saw the second one."

" The Babe's gonna have a good year, I can feel it."

" Oh, he definitely will."

" Is that right? And how do you know that Miss ..."

" Jamal."

" French?"

" No, no." She covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.

" Did I say something funny?"

" No, you didn't. I'm laughing because I do have a unique name." She stared into his eyes. Charlie knew that look. What would Francine say to the old man if she saw him talking to this bright-eyed chickadee? Returning to the stands would be the smart move, but wanted to know more about Jamal.

" You live around here?"

Before she could answer, the leather case erupted with a series of high-pitched tones and static. She backed away with a panicky look and spoke into the case. " Not now, Elf. It's a malfunction, that's all.

Charlie stepped toward her. " Hey, what is that, some kind of radio?"

She stopped, still flustered. " Right, radio ..."

" Are you with the army or something? It's none of my business, but I've never seen people carrying around a radio."

" It's really not important." Her smile was fixed.

" Who's Elf? Are you in the army?"

" Well, I am on a mission of sorts."

" I don't understand."

" I'm sorry," she said, extending her tiny hand.

" My name is Charlie."

" I'm sorry, Charlie."

She started away, but he caught her." Hey, was it something I said?"

" No, maybe it's better I don't get involved. This is all so precarious. I'm afraid I might change some-thing. I know you don't under-stand."

" No, I don't."

She paused, again staring into his eyes, and shrugged her shoulders. " Enjoy the game, enjoy the season. You won't see the likes of it again."

With ambivalence in her eyes she turned and scurried toward the gate. Charlie took two steps and then stopped. The fact she was hiding something made her more appealing. He watched her frock swaying at the hips all the way to the turnstile. She stopped on the other side and gave him a quick wave with her fingers.

As quickly she had come into his life, she vanished into the stadium parking lot. He had no business chasing after her, but she had sent his head spinning. Without a second thought, he sprinted across the concrete and rushed through the turnstile. " Where did you go?"

He chided himself as he surveyed the area. For a few moments a hint of jasmine lingered in the fresher air. He checked the stadium and the mass of parked cars. That bright-eyed woman, tall and slender, was gone with her radio bag.

He shook his head all the way back to the grandstand ramp. The crowd buzzed as Yankee pin-stripes and the trimmed green outfield grass rose above the ramp. Before he returned to his seat, he looked toward the turnstile one more time. Letting her leave was a premier boner.

As he took his seat, Charlie heard Ray's prattling. " Do you realize how many clean plays he's made?"

" Who?" asked Charlie.

" Tony the Wop. It's like he can't make an error."

Charlie, still distracted, bit his thumbnail as Joel leaned over.

" Hey, what ya say we get outside after and see if we can catch The Babe before he leaves."

" Great," answered Charlie.

" Somethin' wrong, Charlie?" asked Joel.

Charlie lit another Lucky and shook his head. " Nah. Everything is fine, Bud. Just fine."

Copyright c 2000
by Robert P. Fitton