Twice Retired (5 page)

He walked to McDonalds and ate a quick
breakfast before collecting his friends. He went back to the
counter and bought a couple of Egg McMuffins for the guys. He
crammed them in his back pack and walked towards the forest. The
sun was bright and lively, the air crisp but not too cold. The old
man would probably be perfecting his slider when they got
there.

He wasn’t. Webster was sound asleep in
a sitting position on the slashed leather sofa. There was a
blinding rectangle of sunlight encasing him from the waist up, but
he wasn’t even flinching his eyes. The three kids were less than
furtive in making their entrance- a herd of cattle wearing tap
shoes might have made less noise- but Webster didn’t open his eyes.
Catcalls and screaming didn’t wake him up. Kenny actually had to
shake him with some solid force in order to wake the man
up.

Grudgingly, Webster sat up and rubbed
his eyes to greet the day, a sunny day half over. He’d fallen
asleep on the sofa a little past midnight and had slept almost to
noon. He started coughing, heavily, as though he’d accidentally
inhaled the contents of a bottle of ammonia. He leaned forward on
the sofa and began hacking into his open hands. He yanked a
handkerchief from the chest pocket of his flannel shirt and to the
disgust of the kids he horked a massive gob into it, then shoved it
back in his pocket. He shook his head almost as if to recover and
took a deep breath.

“You okay, mister?” Philip asked. “You
were sawing logs pretty heavy.”

“Ah, I’ve got this damn sleeping
disorder. Sometimes I fall asleep sitting up. Sometimes fall asleep
right in the front seat of my car before I get it in gear. It’s
crazy and annoying as hell, but a man never died from sleeping, now
did he?”

“What about the coughing? I was waiting
for a lung to land in your lap.” Kenny said.

“Had the window open all night.” He
said. “Fell asleep without a blanket. That’s all.” He stood up and
walked over to the woodstove. “You kids want coffee.”

They each turned up their noses, but he
still brewed a full pot on the grated cover of the stove. The fire
was out, but like a master survivalist he stoked it into an
orange-tongued fury without lighting another match.

No beating around the bush for Jacob
Camden. Kenny had wanted to ease tactfully into the conversation,
but Jake jumped Webster before the old man poured his first black
coffee.

“Mister, what team did you play for?”
Jake asked.

“I played for a couple different teams,
kid.” He answered, blowing gently over the tin cup as he sat down
on the sofa. He took a slurp while he waited for Jake to
continue.

“Well, who were you playing for when
you pitched this
no-hitter
of
yours?” Jake said it sarcastically, if not with
condescension.

The man shot Kenny a derisive frown and
rested his coffee cup on his knee. “What’s with the tone,
kid?”

“Well, we checked an did a ton of
research about no-hitters. None of them had your name on the page.
Did you lie to us?”

The old man should have snapped, but he
calmly took another sip of his coffee and set the dented tin cup
back down on his knee. He balanced it precariously, taking his hand
away from the crooked handle.

“Kid, that hurts.” He said.

“Well, Mr. Webster, we did check a
bunch of sources.” Kenny said. “We couldn’t find your game in the
stats anywhere.”

“Yeah, it just sounded like you were…”
Jake trailed off.

“Lying?” The man finished his sentence.
“I’ve lied twice in my life.
Twice
. Once I told an ump that an inside pitch
scraped my arm in order to advance a runner. I felt like hell and
never lied again until I had to convince my wife I didn’t go to a
nudie bar after we won a big series in 1974. I felt like hell after
that too. I’ve been honest as a boy scout ever since. And what
would I have to gain by making something like that up?
Nothing.”

“I don’t know… it might be natural that
you’re a little, maybe.. jealous of your son.” Kenny
said.

“Jealous? Not likely. He’s the one
flushing his family down the toilet, not me. I’ve made efforts to
get things straightened out, and he’s blown me off every
time.”

“Yeah, but there’s gotta be some
way.”

“I’m sure there is, but we’ve blown
every way so far. And sure I regret it. You know? All I ever wanted
from life was to make it to the Hall of Fame. That was all I ever
wanted.”

The kids understood, or so they
thought. “You think that would have brought you two together?”
Kenny asked.

“Would have been a big step. You know,
if I could have been there with him. Might have made him feel a bit
better. I told him all through his career I was going to be there
with him and I didn’t do it.”

The kids could almost smell the
jealousy. Webster seemed bitter that his son had been inducted and
that he, despite his claim, had never even made the majors. His son
would go down in history as a step up on his old man.

“It’s never too late to make up,
mister.” Kenny said. “In fact, I read on the ESPN site that there’s
going to be an old-timers game in Pittsburgh in April, you know, to
commemorate the two Series teams of the ‘70’s. I’m sure your son’s
going to be there.”

“Yeah,” Webster muttered, “I heard
about that.”

“Why don’t you call him up and ask him
to save you a seat. Don’t kiss his ass or anything, just ask him
and say good-bye. He’ll know where you’re coming from.” Jake
said.

“Ah, he’s probably still mad that I
didn’t come to his Cooperstown induction. He’ll blow me off like he
always does.”

“Try, mister.” Philip said. “You’ve
gotta try. One of the beautiful things about life is that every
once in a while you come into a situation where you want to, and
where you have to, reach down and prove something”

The old man stared at him, as did Kenny
and Jake. Philip calling on the words of Nolan Ryan in the name of
motivational speaking seemed odd. Webster knew where Philip was
coming from, and revered him for it, but he changed the subject and
took the kids outside. They pitched balls into the side of the shed
for most of the afternoon, each mastering the mechanics they’d
lacked before meeting him. He made them a quick dinner and bid them
goodbye. Before leaving, Kenny made him promise to call his son
about the game and the ceremony. Webster promised, and he never
lied.

The next day, the old man left his
cabin and returned home to Dayton, never handing over the
explanation the kids had wanted.

Winter hit hard.

In late November, their part of Ohio
was swallowed by heavy snowfall and the cabin finally gave in. The
logs in the eastern wall shifted under the brooding mass of snow
stacked against it and gusts of wind tilted the structure farther
and farther until one apocalyptic nighttime huff sharply brought
the cabin down. The roof with its three generations of shingles
laid down awkwardly on the floor.

The kids wouldn’t see the remains until
spring.

Christmas came and went and Webster
didn’t make the call. His son’s birthday passed, as did the
anniversary of the death of their wife and mother. No call was
made. He didn’t break down until the start of Spring Training. He’d
promised the kids, and wasn’t sure if he was doing it for them or
for himself and his son.

His son was a conditioning coach for
the Phillies and took the call one sunny Florida
afternoon.

The conversation didn’t last long.
Father invited himself and son accepted. Gene would save his dad a
seat at center stage. He promised.

April 15, 00 Three Rivers
Stadium.

The Pirates beat the Mets in the first Saturday
home-game of the season and over half of the crowd of forty
thousand left as the field cleared. The rest were old-timers,
waiting behind in Three Rivers Stadium to honor the team they had
followed through its most recent hey-day, although in this case
recent was over twenty years previous, While most of the ceremony
would hinge posthumously on Roberto Clemente, the others would also
be honored. Soon a new stadium would be erected and this segment of
the revolutionary cookie-cutters would be a parking lot. Fans new
and old would usher in a new age of baseball in Pittsburgh, but not
until the past had been given its just appreciation.

Gene Webster sat dejected in the
private box with his son and eleven other men- past teammates at
the height of his career. There was an empty seat beside him, where
he had laid out a brand new Pirates jersey with his old number on
it.

While the emcee rambled, Gene yanked
his cell-phone out of his starter jacket and dialed a number. He
hunched over and quietly whispered into the phone to avert any
glares. “Hi, it’s Gene Webster again. Has my dad come for his
ticket yet?”

Gene shook his head, and reached into a
bag of sunflower seeds. The stage was being erected by the grounds
crew, directly over the pitcher’s mound. In preparation for the
ceremony, there were dozens of folding chairs being lined up, for
the players and their families. Gene’s wife insisted on making the
trip, but Gene ensured her there was no reason for her to miss the
time off work. He brought his son of course. The youngest Webster
was sitting quietly beside him munching on peanuts and Cracker
Jack. The eight-year old looked up at his dad.

“I thought my grandpa was coming.” He
said.

Gene placed his arm around his young
son and shook him affectionately. He spat a sunflower shell onto
the stage. “He is, kid. He is.”

Up on the scoreboard, the lineup for
the alumni game was displayed. On the home side, Gene was batting
second, Stargell was behind him. Barry Bonds was in the cleanup
role, and behind him was Manny Sanguillen. Then

Pops was one of the three Bucs to have
played on the team for both World Series wins in 1971 and 1979. The
others were Manny and Kison, the starting pitcher. Manny and Bruce
were both whispering secrets off to the right

Gene smiled. He still had a few gappers
left and he knew that if they didn’t clog him up, he could maybe
stretch a triple out of the withered outfield. He knew
that.

The opposition’s roster was comprised
of various all-stars and hall-of-famers from the National League’s
past.

A half-hour passed and the stage was
completed. A aging Pirates broadcaster emceed. He invited the
honorees to line up along the third base line as they would do in
the All-Star game. He announced the players one by one. Gene tipped
his hat to the crowd and when they sat on the stage, he took a seat
beside his left-fielder, and his son sat nervously alone amongst
the strangers in the second row. There was an empty seat beside
him. Gene turned and smiled at his boy, then scornfully eyed the
empty seat reserved for his own father. There were to be three
generations represented here today. Hopefully, Gene’s son would
grow up to be a superstar and take his own place on a stage
someday. That was how things were supposed to happen. But the chair
remained empty. Gene Webster’s father didn’t show- at least hadn’t
by the time the players took the microphone and stood before a
legion of screaming fans. Memories of the glory years melded with
the timeless appreciation of the game, and aroused them into a
ritualistic symphony of passionate guttaral roars and
ear-shattering whistles.

Stargell talked, as did Kison. Barry
Bonds, years away from his records and scandals, looked on, flanked
by his dad and Andy VanSlyke.

As the crowd calmed down after the
speeches, some fans in right field started a chant for Gene. He
rose and took the microphone. He whipped Three Rivers back into a
frenzy by doffing his cap and spinning in a circle on the very spot
where a car would be parked next year. The new park would be ready
for opening day, and Three Rivers would be replaced by
pavement.

He grinned deviously waiting for them
to settle down again. When only an inevitable scattered din bounced
through the cavernous stadium, he continued.

“First, allow me to thank you for
making this day possible. To play major league baseball was a dream
of mine since I was my son’s age, and to make it come true was
unbelievable. To do so in the best city in the world was an honor.
The time I spent here in Pittsburgh was the best of my life, and
being cheered on by the best fans in baseball was what helped me
get to the park each day.”

Again, he turned in a complete 360,
waving his hat to the cheering crowd. His eyes scanned the empty
chair beside his son. It hurt.

“By now, my career is only a scrapbook
of memories, almost all of them good ones. Almost all of them right
here at Three Rivers.” The crowd buried him under more cheers. “I
do know, however, that all these memories will pale in comparison
to the day I’ve been blessed with here today. I have my son by my
side, and some of the best friends I ever had. I hoped my father
could be here today, but I’m sure there’s a good reason why he’s
not.

“It’s kind of funny in a way. I got a
call from my dad a month ago, and he told me how badly he wanted to
make it here. Then he said something kind of confusing. He told me
that all he ever wanted to do in life was make it to the Hall of
Fame. Now at first, I thought he might have meant that he wanted to
be
inducted.
That he was
jealous because I got in. But then through a suggestion by my wife,
I realized that wasn’t what he wanted at all. I know now, thanks to
her, that what my dad really meant was that he wanted to come to
Cooperstown when I was honored, when I went into the Hall of Fame.
I know that now. That would have buried all our troubles, our
childish pride and our meaningless fight, all underground. If he
had made it, he would have been the bigger man- bigger than me- but
for whatever reason it didn’t happen. But dad, if you’re watching,
you
were
there. And you’re
here. You’re inside me and you’re inside my son. Without you,
neither of us would be here. If you’re stuck in traffic or you’ve
got a flat, it doesn’t mean you’re not here.” A tiny tear crept
down his cheek. This would probably be one of his last shining
moments on a baseball field. There would be more old-timers games
and he would see a lot of games from the bench as a coach, but he’d
never again be the star. He’d never plant one in the bleachers or
make a diving catch. His finest moments had come and gone, and he
knew the Pirates weren’t going to honor him and his teammates every
year. He’d likely never hear another cheer directed at him. God, he
wanted his dad here. For whatever reason, he stared at the
scoreboard while wiping the emotions away from his cheek and was
startled when he saw his number disappear from the
lineup.