Thompson—hits a towering fly ball to left. Delahanty’s ready to tag up from third when John McGraw moves up behind him and loops his finger through the back of Delahanty’s belt. So what does Big Ed do? He unfastens the buckle. The ball drops into Joe Kelley’s glove, Delahanty takes off for home, and John McGraw’s left holding a dangling strip of leather—looked like a dead snake! Delahanty runs all the way home holding his pants up with one hand and scores!”
We both laughed. I’d heard the tale before, but never from someone who’d been there.
“McGraw told me another one where they got caught,” I offered.
Harrington nodded for me to go on.
“The Orioles used to have their groundskeeper keep the outfield grass real high so they could hide extra balls in it. The other team hits a ball that looks like it’s going through for extra bases, and hey, the Oriole outfielder just picks up one of the planted balls and throws it in.”
Harrington roared, “That’s a good one!”
“Here’s the best part—I think it happened against Louisville. Joe Kelley usually played left field for the Orioles, but this game he was playing center and Willie Keeler was in right. A Louisville batter hits a low line drive that goes right between Kelley and Keeler. Both of them ran in the general direction of the ball, both of ’em pretended to field it, and they each picked up a different ball stashed in the grass. So what happens? Two balls are thrown in to second base when only one was batted out. Umpire forfeited the game to Louisville.”
“That’s what you call getting caught red-handed!”
“Sure is. And you know why McGraw told me the story?”
“Why?”
“Not because he thought it was funny. He still didn’t forgive Keeler and Kelley for costing them the game!”
Harrington shook his head. “That’s McGraw all right. I remember the tall grass in the outfield. Right field was really tough. Know how Fenway has that hill in left?”
“Yeah, I played there.”
“Orioles Park went downhill as you went back. And it was just about always wet. There was a crick—Brady’s Run it was called—that ran behind the fence. Water would overflow into right field. Keeler played it well, but I saw more than one visiting player take a header in that swamp.”
“Are you from Baltimore?”
“Born and bred.”
Funny, from his clothes he looked like he was from Georgia or Mississippi or somewhere. I never really thought of Baltimore as southern.
We swapped a few more stories about the old Orioles. The cracker barrel baseball talk was nice, but I still wanted to know what Willie was doing at his plant. The next time he paused for a sip of water, I said, “Say, Mr. Harrington, do you think you can give me a job, too?”
His face turned businessman. “What can you do?”
A little bit of everything, after working for industrial leagues. But the only thing I was good at was baseball.
“Chemistry?” he asked.
I shook my head no.
Of course, Willie couldn’t have known much either, I thought.
“Plumbing?” he tried.
“I can do anything Willie could,” I said. “You must have an opening for his job. Can I have that?”
Harrington smiled. “I have more than a thousand employees. I don’t know if Kaiser’s job has been filled yet. But if you want it, you’ve got it. I’ll check with the foreman.”
“Thanks Mr. Harrington. Oh, and I don’t want it publicized either.”
“Very well. Of course, it wouldn’t help as much with you as it would have with Kaiser anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“Kaiser. A ‘Kaiser’ working for the American war effort? It would have been great publicity. Not just for baseball. It would have shown that Americans of all backgrounds are united. We’re fighting the Germans ‘over there,’ not here. Anyway, how about starting Monday?”
“That would be great. We’re going on the road end of next week though.”
“No problem. Like I said, baseball comes
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