Beyond the Shadow of War (25 page)

27

6 October 1945 

Chicago, Illinois
 

On Saturday morning, Danny joined his parents in the kitchen. Dad sat hidden behind the
Chicago Times
as usual, while his mother stood at the stove preparing breakfast. As she scrambled eggs in the skillet, Danny said good morning, kissed her cheek, then poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Have I mentioned lately how nice it is to have real eggs again?”

She chuckled. “Only every morning.”

“If there’s one thing the war taught me, it’s an appreciation for all the little things I used to take for granted. Like real eggs and good coffee. I sure missed your cooking, Mom.”

“And I sure missed cooking for you.” She scraped the eggs onto a serving platter alongside a stack of crisp bacon and set it on the table beside a basket of piping-hot biscuits. “What time are you and Joey leaving for the game?”

“Be sure to dress warm,” mumbled the voice behind the
Times
. “Forecast is for cold and damp through most of the day. Chance of rain.”

“Wouldn’t you know it? First home game of the series, and the weather’s gonna be nasty. To answer your question, Mom, I’m not sure yet when we’ll leave. Probably a couple hours before the game starts.”

Joey walked in with little Jimmy held snug against his chest. “Game? What game?”

“Good morning, honey,” Betty said, reaching for Jimmy. “And how’s my sweet grandson this morning?” Jimmy cooed as she kissed his rosy cheek then cradled him in her arms. She took her seat at the kitchen table beside Frank.

The wall of newspaper came down with the arrival of his grandson. “Well, hi there, little fella.” He patted Jimmy gently on his head as grandfather and baby shared a sweet smile.

Joey shot Danny a wink, acknowledging this new softer side of their father.

“He’s full of vim and vigor, that’s for sure,” Joey said. “I thought I’d let Millie sleep in. She was up with him around three this morning. It’s the least I can do since I’ll be gone all afternoon.”

“What time do you want to leave?” Danny asked.

“Funny you should ask. I don’t know if you heard the telephone ring earlier, but Marv Clancy called to make sure we’re coming plenty early.”

“I still can’t believe he’s
giving
us those tickets. He could make a fortune selling them.”

“Not if Mr. Wrigley has anything to do with it,” Betty said. She pointed to the
Times
headline, “We’re Burned Up, Too.”

“The paper says Mr. Wrigley didn’t go to Detroit for the first three games just so he could stay here and answer all the letters complaining about the ticket situation. Can you imagine? The owner of the Cubs missed the first three games of the series! I still don’t know why it’s legal for folks to scalp tickets. Mr. Wrigley is furious about it.”

“He may be,” Frank said, “but there’s not a lot he can do about it now. Another article stated that twenty-five IRS goons will be out and about today checking on scalpers to make sure they’re paying taxes on their ticket sales. If not, they’ll press charges.”

“What a mess,” Betty said.

“I’m just glad Marv has such a big heart,” Joey said. “I didn’t realize these were his season tickets.”

Danny set his coffee cup back down. “I didn’t either. Wonder why he keeps them since he’s working the gates?”

Joey took a seat across from him. “I asked him that this morning. He said he’s had those same seats for twenty years. He and his son never missed a game when the Cubs were in town.”

“Same son he lost at Pearl?”

“Yes, and he said after that happened, he couldn’t handle it emotionally. Too hard to sit there beside his son’s empty seat. So he got a job taking tickets, but held onto his seats. Just couldn’t part with them. Instead, he always finds someone to give the tickets to. Usually veterans like us, but sometimes fathers and sons, or school kids. Sometimes for just one game; sometimes a whole season. He said he can almost feel his son smiling down on him when he hands over the tickets.”

“What a wonderful gesture,” Betty said. “He must be a very kind man.”

“He is. After we got acquainted at the theater, he’d stop by my office to chat. He said I was the only one he felt he could talk to about his son. I guess because I was there at Pearl. I think maybe it’s helped him heal, you know?”

“I would imagine so, honey.”

“I hope so, but I never imagined all those long talks would land us in premium seats for a World Series game!” Joey shook his head and laughed. Jimmy held up his tiny fists and sputtered a happy squeal.

“That’s right, Jimmy. Your daddy’s going to see the Cubs play in the
World Series
today! Wish you were older so you could come along. It’s never too early to catch Cubs fever, little buddy.”

Jimmy giggled again, his bright eyes riveted on his father.

Danny smiled at his nephew’s antics. “Lucky for me you’re
not
old enough, or I wouldn’t get to go.” He turned to his father. “You’re still welcome to go with Joey, Dad. It’s been seven long years since the Cubs hosted a World Series at Wrigley. You’d be welcome to go in my place.”

The newspaper went back up. “They didn’t win in ’38, and I’m not holding my breath this time either. You boys go ahead. I’ll listen to the game here at home.”

“I thought you were opening the theater for Joey today?”

Joey fielded the question instead. “Dad and I decided to keep the theater closed today. No sense opening with everyone glued to their radios or at the game. Besides, our concession sales during the away games were fantastic, so we can afford a day off.”

“I still can’t believe we’ve got such great seats for this game.” Danny stood and took his dishes to the sink. “All this time, I was thinking we’d be lucky to get some bleacher tickets or standing room only spots. Instead we’re smack-dab in two of the best box seats in the stadium.”

“I doubt we would’ve been able to get tickets,” Joey said. “Marv was at Wrigley when he called this morning. He said the crowds started gathering yesterday afternoon shortly after the game ended in Detroit, and kept coming all night long. He figured there were maybe 5,000 or more waiting for the box office to open this morning. They kept a vigil all night. Talk about Cubs fever.”

“Sounds like a bunch of crazies, if you ask me,” Dad grumbled.

“No, they’re just anxious like we are to be a part of history,” Danny said. “I just wish Anya could be here for it.”

“I thought you said she hated baseball,” Betty said.

“Well, sure, but that’s only because she’s never been to a game. Imagine what a thrill it would be if her first game was the winning game of the 1945 World Series? She’d love it.”

“Sure she would,” Dad uttered with a hint of sarcasm. “You just keep telling yourself that, son.”

“You’ll see.” Danny dried his hands on a dishtowel. “So when do you want to leave, Joey?”

“Let’s head downtown around ten. I figure the El will be jammed today, so we want to allow plenty of extra time.”

“Sounds good. I’ll be upstairs studying until then.”

“How can you study on a day like this?” Joey teased. “Take a break, Einstein. It’s not every day you get to go to the World Series!”

Danny had never experienced anything quite like it. The minute he and Joey arrived at the corner of Clark and Addison, they could feel the excitement crackling through the crowds as they moved en masse into Wrigley.

Danny and Joey had just settled into their seats when a ruckus erupted just a few rows behind them.

“I can’t believe it.” Joey laughed. “Look, Danny. Old man Sianis brought his goat. How the heck did he get Murphy through the gates on a day like today?”

Everyone in Chicago knew the story of the Greek bartender who’d rescued the billy goat years ago after it fell off a passing truck. He took quite a liking to the goat he named Murphy who soon became a fixture at his tavern. Sianis even grew a goatee and started calling himself “Billy Goat Sianis” to drum up business for his bar which he’d renamed the Billy Goat Tavern.

Danny craned his neck to see. “What’s it say on Murphy’s blanket?”

“It says, ‘We got Detroit’s goat.’ I never understood why they let him bring that dumb goat during the regular season, but I sure didn’t expect to see him at a World Series game. Wait ‘til Mr. Wrigley hears about this.”

“Oh look‌—‌” Danny pointed toward the nearest stairs. “Here comes Andy Frain. This ought to be good.”

They watched as the owner of the company that provided ushers and security at the ballpark, pushed his way through the crowd, his face tight and pinched.

“Now, see here, Mr. Sianis. You take your billy goat back outside. I don’t know who let you in here today, but there’s no way I’m letting you‌—‌”

“But he’s got a ticket!” Billy yelled, waving two stubs at Frain. “We
both
have tickets for these reserved box seats. Besides, Murphy here always brings good luck! They let us in at the gate, so if you’ll stand aside, Murphy and I would like to take our seats.”

Frain’s face reddened as he muttered, “If he eats the ticket‌—‌that would solve everything.”

“No way he’d eat his ticket,” Sianis crooned. “Murphy knows how historic this game is. He’ll save his ticket stub just like me, and we’ll pin them both on the wall at the tavern.”

A mix of laughter and boos accompanied the scene, as Billy played to his audience. “Murphy’s a die-hard fan of the Cubs just like the rest of us!”

More laughter, more cheers.

“Mr. Sianis! I will not allow you to keep your goat here in the park today. You must leave at once, or I shall call the authorities!”

“That suits me just fine, Mr. Frain. Why don’t you ask Mr. Wrigley?”

“Oh, that’s exactly what I’ll do!”

Frain pulled a hand-held gadget from his jacket and spoke into it.

“What the heck is that?” Joey asked. “Looks like the HTs we had in the navy.”

“We had those, too,” Danny said. “Didn’t know they were available for civilians.”

A fan behind them joined in. “They call them
Handy-Talkies
. Bert Wilson was talking about them on his radio show this morning. Supposedly, Galvin Manufacturing outfitted all the Andy Frain ushers with them. First time ever. If you ask me, it’s just a big publicity stunt.”

The crowd grew more vocal as they waited while Frain chatted with others on his device. A brusque breeze fluttered through the stadium, and with it, a definite smell that was anything but pleasing.

Joey covered his nose. “Oh man, that’s disgusting.”

Others downwind of Murphy echoed similar comments.

“Hey, get that goat outta here! He stinks!”

“Frain, make him leave!”

“Sianis, take your smelly goat and go back to your tavern where you belong!”

Finally, as Frain finished the conversation on his device, he raised his voice toward Sianis loud enough for all to hear. “Mr. Wrigley says the goat goes! He’s already heard complaints from fans about the smell, so he is to leave at once. You can either tie the goat up outside and return to watch the game, or you and your goat can go home.”

Sianis left kicking and shouting as they escorted him and his bewildered goat toward the exit. “Well, that’s a fine way to treat two of your most loyal fans! You haven’t heard the last of this! I HOPE THE CUBS LOSE!”

The crowd booed, shouting for him to get out of the ballpark, amid a litany of colorful language, then cheered when the two disappeared down one of the tunnels.

“Well, that’s something you don’t see every day,” Danny mused. “I sure wish Anya could’ve seen that. She would’ve loved it.”

“Yeah? Well, let’s just hope the Cubs get the deed done and walk out of here as champions.”

A few minutes later, the crowd came alive as Roy Nelson’s familiar organ tunes filled the ballpark. And as the clock moved in on 1:30, announcer Pat Pieper started the game the usual way.

“PLAAAAAAAAY BAAAAALLLL!”

The crowd cheered as pitcher Ray Prim took the mound for the Cubs. Nicknamed “Pop” by his teammates for his gray hair and upcoming thirty-ninth birthday, Prim was the oldest player on the roster. Recently acquired by the Cubs after playing a stellar 1944 season for Los Angeles, the southpaw started Game 4 strong, shutting out the first ten Tigers’ batters in order. But Grimm didn’t hesitate to pull him when the hits started flying in the top of the fourth.