City of GlassWritten by Jim & Becky Beard | | firstname.lastname@example.org
Chapter 6: 10:16 p.m.
I met a man today.
Okay. A guy. I, who haven’t had a date since Carty was mayor the first time, met a likely prospect. Not that he pencilled me in or anything.
I was at the ballpark, perusing items being included in an upcoming exhibit. I don’t even follow the game, but this stuff had me anticipating the first pitch of the season. There were old programs and scorecards, autographed balls, uniform pieces, you name it. What really grabbed me were the photos, like the one of Moses Fleetwood Walker. He was the first black man to play for the majors. “Fleet” and his brother Welday Wilberforce Walker (what a wonderful name!) were members of the 1884 Toledo Toledos, apparently a major league team that year. Then there was the shot of Jim Thorpe. He’d been a Mud Hen in ‘21. What a surprise! Matt and I bawled like babies over that old Burt Lancaster biopic.
Baseball nuts and local history buffs’ll go gaga when this show opens, and I decided it’d make a great little story. Armando was a little late meeting me when I spotted him across Washington giving money to a homeless man, one Mr. Nancy, he said on joining me. He took a few snaps of the artifacts and memorabilia, grew restless, and said he was heading toward King Road to check out a reported sighting of Sylvania’s Skunk Ape.
“The Good News does not do Bigfoot!” I hollered after him as he left.
That’s when I met Jack. I was rummaging thru a carton marked ‘70s, when a voice behind me said, “Hey! You found my favorite glove. I’ve been looking for that.”
I whirled around and bumped smack into a good six foot of ballplayer staring down at me out of eyes every shade of blue.
“Pardon me, miss. I didn’t mean to startle you.” A smile played across his lips. We stood gawping at each other for several seconds before I handed him the glove, or rather, attempted to do so, as I had suddenly become bumbling and dropped it. We both grabbed for it, knocked heads, and landed on our keisters laughing. The scene could have been in a Harlequin Romance.
We got to talking, and he told me that he was an outfielder, and that he loved baseball more than anything. Said he could barely stand waiting for the season to begin so that he could “live again.” Wow. If every guy on this year’s roster is as excited about his job as Jack, it’ll be another winning team.
I didn’t want the conversation to end, but I was due elsewhere, so I excused myself, thanking him for a lovely chat. He helped me to my feet, and I told him where he could reach me for a possible interview (good one, McDonald!).
I ran down the street, returning Mr. Nancy’s jaunty wave, and floated thru the rest of the day.
To be continued.