The Hero Two Doors Down Read online

  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.”

  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 burs
t 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.”