There was plenty of loose straw scattered around the floor between the stalls of the cattle, and Phil soon had enough collected to fashion a warm comfortable bed. The gentle rocking and rythmic clacking of the train moving over the rails lulled the pilgrims into a deep sleep soon after leaving the Grubville station, a sleep from which they did not awake until the next morning. They awoke with a start when the quiet lowing of the cattle was suddenly interrupted by the shattering sound of the door to the cattle car being crashed open. Bright morning sunlight flooded the car and caused Jaybird and Phil to shield their eyes from the brilliance.
Phil grabbed his pack and said, " Come on Jaybird, time to git movin', ah think ah know where we might can catch us some breakfast. You hungry?"
Jaybird and Rin jumped down from the cattle car. "I sure am, Phil," said Jaybird, "and so is Rin." They followed Phil who was moving at a quick trot across the lattice of tracks covering this part of the stockyards in South St. Louis. Phil moved with the sure step of a man who had been here before, and knew exactly where he was headed. He was headed for a far corner of the stock yards where a more or less permanent hobo village had sprung up in the early days of the Depression.
As they approached the warren of corrugated tin lean-tos that served as shelter, Jaybird noticed Rin moving faster and shortly he understood why. "I smell somethin' cookin', Phil," he said.
Phil nodded. "You shore do, Jaybird," he said, "you ever had any Mulligan Stew?"
Jaybird shook his head. "I don't think so," he said.
Phil smiled. "You in for a treat," he said.
When they rounded the edge of the first shelter they saw a group of three shabbily dressed men sitting around a fire smoking cigars and watching steam rise from a kettle that was hanging from a metal rack suspended over the flame. The men looked up quickly as first Rin, followed by Phil, and then Jaybird came into view. Their initial concerned reaction quickly gave way to a friendly greeting. "Chief," one of the men called, "If it ain't ole Chief Hogsett hisself." They jumped up and began clapping Phil on the back.
Jaybird stepped back and watched the enthusiastic display. He was confused. Crazy Dan, alias Phil, had suddenly taken on yet another identity. Rin sat by Jaybird's side looking up at him.
"You in town for the games?" Jaybird heard someone say.
"Them Brownies can use all the help they can get," said somebody else.
"I hear they expectin' a big crowd today."
"Come sit right down over here, Chief, this here stew is now about ready to eat, Mysterious here done cranked up his secret recipes, he must of knowed you was comin'."
Phil stood receiving the eager acclaim with a wide grin on his face. Presently he looked around and spotted Jaybird standing off to the side. "Come over here, Jaybird," he said, "it's time you got to meet some friends of mine."
Jaybird came forward shyly, pleased with Phil's reception, but uncertain where he would fit into the group. Phil introduced him. "Gentlemen," he said, "meet my brother, Jaybird."
Jaybird blushed. It was the second time Phil had called him his brother. He had always wanted a brother he could call his own, and now that it was almost too late he had a baby sister. He looked at Phil trying to decide what kind of brother he would make ... maybe it didn't matter if Phil was old enough to be his dad as long as he didn't act like a grown up.
Phil's friends, Mysterious Brown Blinky, and Frog, were a scruffy bunch, Jaybird wondered why Phil called them gentlemen. He also wondered why somebody would have the name Mysterious, and he especially wondered who Phil was, really. His questions would have to wait. Mysterious was handing him a tin cup filled with Mulligan Stew. "Sit down and eat brother Jaybird," he said. "What happened to your hand brother?"
Jaybird said, "I hurt it."
Phil explained. "He got hit with shrapnel from a German shell."
"You don't say," said Mysterious Brown who apparently did not find anything unusual about someone being wounded by a German artillery shell in the middle of the U.S. "Well then here's a spoon ... you can set that cup right down here on this rock. Look's to me like the Chief here been starvin' you, young brother."
Phil was right, the stew was a treat. Jaybird shared it with Rin. Jaybird wanted to ask why they called Phil Chief, but it didn't seem to be the right time as Phil and the three men were engaged in animated conversation. Also it occurred to Jaybird that maybe Phil had some secrets he might not want to share with these men. He sat quietly and listened.
"Does Hornsby know you comin'?"
" Hornsby knows. I always show up when they come back off the road. He knows," said Phil. He reached into his pack and withdrew a pair of baseball spikes and a baseball glove for the inspection of the interested group. "I'll be ready when he needs me." The men nodded approval.
Jaybird knew that Rogers Hornsby, possibly the greatest right handed hitter ever to play the game, was the Browns' manager. Jaybird knew that over a six year period from 1920 to 1925 Hornsby had hit for an average above .400, including 1924 when he set the all-time highest batting average in major league history, .424. He also knew that Hornsby was the Cardinal's manager in 1926 when they beat the Yankees of Ruth and Gehrig to become world's champion. What he didn't know was why Hornsby would need Phil.
"Hornsby don't like pitchers," somebody said.
"He mostly don't like Browns' pitchers."
Everybody, including Jaybird, laughed loudly at that observation. They laughed because over the last five years, while Hornsby was manager, the Browns had averaged almost 90 losses every year and had never finished higher than 6th in an 8-team league. The St. Louis Browns had become the symbol of failure.
"What he don't like above all is left handed pitchers. He thinks all lefthanders, especially pitchers, is crazy."
"Whadda you think of that, Chief? Is all lefthanders crazy?"
Everybody looked at Phil. Jaybird knew that one of the Browns' regular pitchers was a lefthander named Chief Hogsett. What did that have to do with Phil?
Phil laughed. "Ah hope so," he said.
They all laughed. Jaybird wondered if they would ever let him in on the joke.
Phil stood up and rubbed his stomach. "That was mighty fine stew, Mysterious Brown," he said. "Ah hope you won't mind if we eat and run, but it's a long way from here to Sportsman's Park and me and Jaybird don't want to miss batting practice, do we Jaybird?"
Jaybird agreed. "No sir, we don't want to miss batting practice, and yes sir, that was mighty fine stew Mr. Mysterious."
As they turned to leave, Phil asked, "You all comin' to the games ain't ya?"
"Them White Sox is pitchin' Lyons and that young Stratton, ain't they?" said Mysterious Brown, "we be there Chief."
Headed north toward Sportsman's Park on the Grand Avenue streetcar, Rin sitting beside him, Jaybird finally got to ask his question. "I didn't know you played baseball, Phil, how come they called you Chief Hogsett?"
Phil smiled. "Baseball is the one of the things my daddy left me, Jaybird," he said. "My daddy taught me how to throw a ball, and he took me to Sportsman's Park the year before he went away. I got to see Babe Ruth pitch for the Red Sox . Now there was a left handed pitcher ... I wish you coulda seen him pitch, Jaybird," He paused to think about Ruth, the pitcher. "... I reckon he was a little crazy too."
Jaybird said, "My daddy took me to Sportsman's park too. Just last year. I saw Carl Hubbell pitch for the Giants against the Cardinals, he had some kind of a crazy pitch that made them Cardinals look like babies the way they was flailin' at that ball."
Phil nodded. "Another pretty good lefthander," he said, "he was throwin' a screwball ... a screwball throwin' a screwball." He laughed ... a loud cackle that caused heads to turn all around the car.
The streetcar moved past Chippewa, Gravois, Arsenal, and Chouteau avenues, and approached the corner of Grand and Olive in downtown St. Louis. "So why did they call you Chief Hogsett? Jaybird asked.
Phil laughed, thinking of his hobo friends,who had called him that, then he became serious as his mind went back. He did not answer right away. Jaybird saw his eyes grow misty. "Jaybird," he began, "... with me it's like it always goes back to mah daddy. When he went away ah didn't understand what was happenin'. He told me he would come back, but he never did. After a while ah just got mad. Ah started throwin' rocks at trees and such, and the madder ah got, the harder ah threw, and the next thing ah knew ah could throw harder than anybody around, and pretty soon ah got to be the best lefthanded pitcher the town of Grubville ever saw, except maybe mah daddy before me." He paused as the image of his father swinging into a windup passed before his eyes. He cleared his throat and continued. "Ah got so good that ah signed a contract with the St. Looie Browns, and they sent me off to pitch for the Brookfield Hustlers in the Missouri State League. Ah wasn't no more than 18 years old and they was payin' me $35 a month just to play ball. Imagine that Jaybird! Gettin' paid to play baseball ... ah was a Pro. It's a wonder, Jaybird."
Jaybird listened with wide eyes. "Wow!" he said, "you was a professional ballplayer? That's what I want to be when I grow up. My daddy has been teaching me ..." He stopped abruptly and looked at his hand, still wrapped in a bulging bandage.
Phil noticed. "Don't worry, Jaybird," he said, "once that there hand heals up, ah bet you gonna be better than ever."
Jaybird was quick to agree. "I know I will," he said.
The streetcar stopped and the conductor called out, "Grand and Olive."
"Won't be long now," said Phil.
Grand and Olive reminded Jaybird of Cottage Farm. "You ever been to Cottage Farm,Phil?" he asked.
Phil nodded. "Well ah was down there by the river with you that time," he said, "but ah don't think ah ever seen any of them cottages. Ah hear they got a baseball team."
"My Grampa named the two streets at Cottage Farm Grand and Olive, he built a baseball field at the top of Grand Avenue, too."
"Did he name it Sportsman's Park?"
"I think he did," said Jaybird, "but Phil you goin' to tell me why those guys called you Chief Hogsett?"
Phil nodded. "Ahm getting' to it, Jaybird.... Now where was ah?"
"You was a Pro," said Jaybird.
Phil picked up the story as if he hadn't been interrupted. "It wasn't a great league, Jaybird," he remembered, "but some of them boys from the Kirksville Osteopaths was pretty good hitters... But, hell, Jaybird nobody in that league could come close to touchin' mah cheese ... in pro ball they call yer fastball yer cheese, Jaybird," he paused again, thinking of befuddled batsmen whiffing helplessly at his high riding cheese.
Jaybird interrupted again. "How come they call a fastball cheese, Phil?"
Phil looked at Jaybird and scratched his ear. "Okay, that's a good question, Jaybird, and ahm gonna tell you why." He put his hand over his mouth thinking. He pulled at his ear lobe. He looked at Jaybird. "Ah don't know," he said.
The streetcar stopped again and the conductor callede out "Easton Avenue."
Jaybird looked out at the busy street with interest. People moved purposefully everywhere he looked. "My Grampa always says you could get shot on Easton Avenue for cheating at cards," he said.
Phil nodded. "You should listen to your Grampa, Jaybird, he knows what he's talkin' about." The streetcar moved on. Jaybird waited for Phil to continue his story, but Phil sat quietly trying to remember why they called a fast ball cheese. Finally Jaybird prodded him once again. "Chief?"
Phil continued. "The next thing ah knew them Brownies sent me up to the Toledo Mudhens in the International league. But never mind that, ah only stayed there long enough for them to see ah was ready for the big club. They sent me right on up to join the Brownies."
Jaybird almost jumped out of his seat. "You played in the major leagues?"
"Ah did, Jaybird, ah pitched in Yankee Stadium, but ..."
Jaybird interrupted. "Wow! You pitched in Yankee Stadium? You hear that Rin? Phil pitched in Yankee Stadium." Rin looked at Jaybird and wagged his tail. It was his way of smiling; if Jaybird was happy, he was happy.
"But you see, Jaybird, that's where the trouble started."
"What trouble?"
Just then the streetcar clanged to a stop. "Sportsman's Park," shouted the conductor.
"Come on Jaybird, we is here."
Sportsman's Park, occupied a full city block on the north side of St.Louis bounded by Grand Avenue on the east, Spring Street on the south, Sullivan Street on the west , and Dodier Street on the north.
Jaybird stood across Grand Avenue staring at the massive steel beams of the stadium which seemed to rise almost into the sky. Cars, trucks, streetcars, and an occasional horse-drawn buggy were moving back and forth along the wide boulevard; people were milling about, waiting for their chance to cross the street and line up at the Grand Avenue ticket booth located beneath the right field pavilion. Jaybird and Phil were not the only ones to come early for batting practice. It was a hot, dusty 4th of July day, at 10 o'clock in the morning the summer sun already boiling the humid air rising from the Mississippi River only a few miles east of the ballpark. Jaybird was thrilled by the sights and the sounds, oblivious to the choking exhaust of the sputtering horseless carriages, and the stifling summer heat. Hawkers were already hard at work. Jaybird heard the cries of `peanuts, get yer peanuts here' and `beer, cold beer' before he even crossed the street.
Phil said, "Come on Jaybird, they is somethin' you need to see." He moved to cross the busy street, dodging in and out between the slow moving vehicles. Jaybird and Rin followed.
Phil led the way to the corner of Grand and Dodier, then down Dodier in the shadow of the left field bleachers and the giant 50 foot scoreboard rising over the back of the bleachers. At the corner of Dodier and Sullivan he found what he was looking for. A floating crap game. "Come on, Jaybird," he said, "ahm goin' to show you how to win some money." He smiled as he remembered something. "... Mah daddy taught me how to shoot craps too," he said.
Jaybird thought of his own father. "My daddy taught me how to play poker," he said.
The game was underway on the front lawn of a house just across Sullivan Street from the ballpark. A large blanket was spread on the grass and the dice were rolling. "Seven come eleven," Jaybird heard somebody shout. He saw a pile of paper money lying on the blanket in front of a man holding a fistful of money in both hands, the man had a glowing cigar butt in his mouth, and a straw hat on his head. "Roll dem bones," somebody called. Shouts and imprecations rolled around the fevered crowd of men squeezed in a loose circle around a man who was down on his knees shaking the dice with both hands, and then blowing on them. "Papa needs a new pair of shoes," he cried and let the dice fly with a loud, "Ha!"
"Snake eyes!" called the man with the money in his fists. Amid a mixed chorus of loud curses and yee-has of joy, the money man began to collect and disburse.
Phil grabbed the dice. "Watch this, Jaybird," he said.
Jaybird watched. Jaybird had never before seen a crap game so he did not know what to look for. He knew something good had happened when Phil's first roll came up a 4 and a 3, and Phil picked up $20 off the blanket and winked at him. When Phil's second roll came up a 5 and 2, Jaybird knew from the groans, and from Phil's million dollar grin that his friend was making money just as he said he would.
Phil was now receiving taunts from around the circle as he shook the dice again. Jaybird saw him throw down a handfull of money without even bothering to count it, laughing happily at his antagonists. It looked to Jaybird like at least a hundred dollars, maybe more. Phil held the dice tightly in his hand and looked around. At the far end of the circle his eyes stopped when they came to a familiar face that was grinning broadly at him. He handed the dice to Jaybird. "Here, Jaybird, he said, "roll me a seven, ah got to talk to that guy down there." He walked away leaving Jaybird with the dice and his handfull of money lying on the blanket.
Jaybird looked around uncertainly at a sea of sweaty faces all yelling at him it seemed. "Roll the damn dice, kid," was among the kindest things he heard.
Phil seemed to have entirely forgotten about the crap game when Jaybird caught up with him walking towards the ballpark in earnest conversation with the man he had spotted at the end of the circle of players.
Jaybird called breathlessly. "Phil," he said, "I rolled a six and a one ... I got all this money." His pockets were stuffed with bills.
Phil smiled. "You done good Jaybird," he said. He took two more steps then stopped as he seemed to remember something. "Jaybird," he said, pointing to the man beside him, " this here is Chief Hogsett."