Baseball Card Adventure: Satch And Me Part 7

"Yup, 1940," Satch said. "This baby can really scoot. Just about rubbed the paint off, polis.h.i.+n' her so much. Used to belong to Bette Davis, y'know."

"Who's Bette Davis?" I asked, and Satch looked at me strangely.

"She's a movie star," Flip told me.

"Say, where are you fellas from?" Satch asked.

"Louisville, Kentucky," I said. I had the feeling that Satch was sizing us up to see if it was safe to let us in his car.

"And you hitched all the way from Louisville?"

I didn't know what to say. I've never been a very good liar. Luckily, Flip bailed me out.

"We took the bus most of the way," he said. "We're down to our last five bucks. We've been wash-in' dishes to pay for food."

"I been there," Satch said. "Where are you boys headin'?"

Flip and I looked at each other. The only place we were heading was wherever Satchel Paige was heading.

"Pittsburgh," we said at the same time.

"Just so happens I'm headin' to Smoketown myself," Satch said. "I reckon you boys look like fine upstandin' citizens. You're welcome to accompany me, if you don't mind makin' a stop or two 'long the way."

"That'll be fine!" Flip said.

Satch opened the door and I got in the backseat. Flip grabbed his suitcase, but when he picked it up by the handle, it opened. He must have clicked the latches accidentally when he was sitting on it.

When the suitcase opened, the radar gun fell out and landed in the gra.s.s.

"What's that thing you got there?" Satch asked.

Flip and I looked at each other.

"You'd never believe us," I said.

"Try me," said Satch. "I seen it all."

"It's a radar gun," Flip said. "It uses micro waves."

"Microwaves?" Satch said.

There was no point in lying. I decided just to tell him the truth.

"Satch," I explained, "Flip and I don't live in 1942. We live in the twenty-first century. You see, I have the power to use baseball cards to travel through time."

Flip shook his head, like he couldn't believe I would be so dumb as to tell Satchel Paige the truth about us. But what was I supposed to say? How could I explain this machine that wouldn't exist for thirty years?

"I heard taller tales than that one," Satch said. "What can you shoot at with that thing?"

"You don't shoot at anything," Flip said. "It tracks the speed of moving objects."

There was a car coming down the road from the right. Flip turned on the radar gun and pointed it at the car as it pa.s.sed by. The little screen on the back of the gun flashed "38."

"That car is goin' 38 miles an hour," Flip said.

"It's digital," I added. Satch let out a whistle.

"Lucky the police don't have one of those," he marveled. "I'd be in big trouble."

Flip and I looked at each other again. There was no point in telling Satch that someday the police would have radar guns.

"Can that thing track a bird?" Satch asked.

"I guess so," Flip said. He pointed the gun up in the air. A few seconds went by before a bird flew overhead. The little screen on the gun flashed "31."

"Never seen nothin' like that!" Satch said.

He helped Flip close his suitcase and we piled in the car. Flip got in the pa.s.senger seat. Satch put the key in the ignition, but he stopped before turning it.

"Say," he said to Flip, "can you track a baseball with that thing?"

"That's exactly what it's made for," Flip said. "In fact, we came here to see how fast you throw."

"Well, I just might break that contraption," Satch said, "'cause n.o.body can throw a ball as fast as old Satch. Shucks, I'm the fastest there ever was. Fastest there ever will be. Don't let anybody tell you different. Does that thing go up to 100 miles an hour?"

"It sure does," Flip said.

"Faster?" Satch asked.

"Yup," said Flip. "Why don't we find a ballfield and see how fast you throw?"

"My thinkin' precisely," Satch said.

He turned the key and the engine roared to life. He gunned the accelerator a few times before s.h.i.+fting the car into gear.

"You say you're from the future?" he asked.

"That's right," Flip said.

"Well, that's where I want to go," Satch said. "The future. Maybe that gun of yours can help me get there. But first I got a business meetin' to attend to in Pittsburgh."

"A business meeting?" I asked.

"I got me a business meetin' with Josh Gibson and the Homestead Grays," he said. "We're playin' in the World Series."

He hit the gas, the wheels spun on the dirt, and we roared off down the road.

10.

On the Road THE WORLD SERIES?.

Why would Satchel Paige be playing the World Series? I don't know as much baseball history as Flip does, but I do know that Jackie Robinson's rookie year was 1947, and this was only 1942. Satch couldn't be in the World Series.

"Is there a World Series in the Negro League?" Flip asked.

I didn't even know that the Negro League had a pennant race. It wasn't mentioned in my baseball books at home.

"Guess they didn't tell you much about our league, huh?" Satch asked.

"Not much," I admitted.

The car was b.u.mping along a dirt road, and the needle on the speedometer was just about touching 50.

"You fellas need a little history lesson," Satch said. "The Homestead Grays topped the National League in '37, '38, '39, '40, '41, and '42. We won the American League pennant in '39, '40, '41, and '42. But there ain't been a World Series 'tween the leagues since '27. So this is it. The best against the best to see who's best."

Satch was driving just a little too fast. The road was usually paved, but it wasn't like a highway. I didn't even know if highways existed in 1942. Satch was taking back roads. Making U-turns across pedestrian islands didn't bother him, and he thought nothing of going the wrong way down a one-way street and zigzagging around the oncoming cars.

Flip was in the front seat, and he was gripping the seat like it was a life raft. Forget about airbags, padded dashboards, and safety gla.s.s. This car didn't even have seat belts. I guess when cars crashed back in the old days, people just went flying through winds.h.i.+elds.

"Slow down!" Flip finally barked, and Satch eased off the gas a little.

It didn't look like he was in a big hurry. This was just the way he drove. Once I was in a car driven by Babe Ruth, and he was even worse. But that's another story.

"How come you don't take the bus with the rest of the Monarchs?" Flip asked.

"I ain't gonna beg some fleabag hotel to let me sleep in their bed," Satch said. "I ain't gonna beg some greasy-spoon restaurant to let me eat their food. I sleep where I want and I eat where I want. I get my own food. I got my dignity. Besides, I like to fly free. I ain't one for the settled-down life. A man rusts sittin' in one spot."

We had come to a stop sign in a little town. There was a row of stores on the left side of the street. A sign on one of them read: IMPERIAL LAUNDRY COMPANY.

WE WASH FOR WHITE PEOPLE ONLY.

"I see what you mean," Flip said.

"Are you boys really from the future?" Satch suddenly asked after we had pa.s.sed through the town. "You got television in the future? I heard about television, but I ain't seen one yet."

"Oh yeah," I told him. "We've got wide-screen TVs and DVDs and digital cameras and video games-"

"Here's somethin' you can take back with you to the future," Satch interrupted. "This one game we were leadin' 10 in the ninth, and they had runners on first and third. n.o.body out. Full count on the batter."

"You were pitching?" Flip asked.

"Not yet," Satch said. "But they called me in to put out the fire. Well, I didn't have my good stuff that day, and I knew it. If you can't overpower 'em, you outcute 'em. So I had to use psychiatry. I come out of the bull pen with a ball hidden in my glove. The manager handed me the game ball. So now I got two b.a.l.l.s in my glove."

"What did you do with them?" Flip asked, snickering. Flip loves those old baseball stories. He eats that stuff up.

"So I go into my windup," Satch said, "and I throw both b.a.l.l.s at the same time. One to first and one to third. I picked off both runners, and my motion was so good, the batter took a swing, and he struck out too!"

"Triple play!" Flip said, collapsing with laughter. "Game over!"

"If you can't strike 'em out, you gotta psych 'em out," Satch said.

It occurred to me that Satch didn't care about TV or the technology we would have in the future. He cared about how history was going to remember him.

Major league players got written up in the newspapers every day, even back in the 1940s. Their statistics and accomplishments were preserved for posterity. But Negro League players must have been ignored. n.o.body knew what they did. No white people, anyway.

Satch wanted to be remembered. That's what he meant when he said the radar gun could take him to the future. If we returned to the twenty-first century and told everybody that he could throw a baseball faster than anyone, he would go down in history.

"How about pulling over and we'll see how fast you throw?" Flip suggested again.

"Yeah," Satch said, "soon's I find the right spot."

We climbed up a short mountain road, and Satch didn't seem to want to take his foot off the gas, even though the wheels were skidding around the hairpin turns. One slip and the car would go sliding off the side of the mountain.

"How did you get the name Satchel?" Flip asked, once the road finally leveled off.

"I grew up in Mobile, Alabama," he said, "with twelve brothers and sisters. My momma took in was.h.i.+ng. We didn't have no money. I used to go down to the train station and carry people's satchels for 'em. Ten cents a satchel. That was good money back then. Anyways, I got me a bright idea. You always got to be thinking if you wanna make money. I got a pole and rope so I could sling three or four satchels together and carry 'em all at one time. Looked like a big old satchel tree. So folks started callin' me Satchel."

I could tell that Flip was filing this stuff in his brain. He was having the time of his life. I was so glad I took him with me.

"We b.u.mped into Josh Gibson and the Home-stead Grays before we met up with you," Flip told Satch. The road was winding through woods now.

"That a fact?"

"Josh said he's gonna shut your big mouth in Pittsburgh," I blurted out.

"Stos.h.!.+" said Flip.

"That what Josh said?" Satch threw back his head and let out a good laugh. "I'm the best pitcher in baseball, and Josh is the best hitter. When we played together on the Crawfords, me and Josh always said we'd like to face off in a big game one day with the bases loaded. That would be somethin' to see."

"What do you think would happen?" Flip asked.

"Don't rightly know," Satch said. "But I'll tell you this. Josh can't hit what Josh can't see."

Suddenly, without any warning, Satch slammed on the brakes and the car screeched to a stop. I almost went flying into the front seat, and Flip nearly banged his head on the winds.h.i.+eld.