Danny and Sophie made their way downstairs, he heard his
mother’s voice calling from the kitchen. “So you had another letter from Hans’
sister?”
His pace slowed as he felt his face warm. Would his mother
still ask lots of questions as she’d always done when Hans wrote? The thought
of it sent a prickly, odd wave over him.
He wasn’t at all sure he was ready to be pen pals with . . . a girl.
6
June 1939
With another year of school under his belt, Danny looked
forward to the summer ahead. He would soon celebrate his seventeenth birthday, but
dreaded his last year of high school. He was itching to go to college, tired of
working two jobs, and weary of the strained air filling his home. Sure, he had
friends he hung out with, but he missed Joey terribly. Had it really been a whole
year since Joey left to join the Navy? Thankfully, his brother sent frequent postcards
describing life on a battleship and all the colorful places he’d visited. Once
he’d even called when the Oklahoma was in
port on Guam , but spent
half his time reassuring his worried mother.
“Yes, I’m doing fine. Yes, I’m staying out of trouble, and yes,
I’m healthy as an ox, Mom. But please stop fussing about how much this call is
costing me! I saved plenty of money to pay for it. I promise you!”
Despite the static-filled connection, Danny could hear the growing
confidence and pride in his brother’s voice each time he called. He tried to
imagine the smell of the salt water Joey always talked about and the feel of
the ocean wind against his skin. He couldn’t help it—he was just plain jealous.
Nevertheless, Danny quickly settled back into his familiar
summer routine, mowing lawns and helping out at Mr. Chaney’s grocery store.
Sophie often accompanied him on his mowing days, tagging along from house to
house, usually finding a spot of shade as she waited on him. She seemed to
enjoy all the attention from neighbors who stopped to pet her or offer her a
dish of water. Danny couldn’t imagine how he’d ever lived without her
companionship. It seemed the feeling was mutual.
Then one Sunday, out of the blue, he and his dad went to a
Cubs’ double-header against the Brooklyn Dodgers. Normally Mom didn’t like them
doing things on Sunday, but the tickets were a gift from one of his dad’s theater
clients, and rather than cause a heated discussion, she relented. “Just this
once,” she added, with a touch of warning. This was a first—Dad had never
included him on anything this special. He wasn’t sure how much fun it
would be, but for a double-header at Wrigley, he’d take his chances.
On June 18, the Windy City felt
hotter than usual by the time Danny and his dad switched from the trolley car
at 59th and Wentworth to catch the El to Wrigley. When they got off at the Addison exit,
even the breeze off Lake Michigan couldn’t keep Danny’s
shirt from sticking to his skin. Using his baseball glove to fan himself, they
joined the bustling crowd filing into the stadium and found their seats just minutes
before the first pitch. The bleacher seats weren’t the greatest, located behind
the right outfield, but Danny didn’t care. The Cubs were finally home after a
five-game losing streak away, and the faithful fans seemed energized to cheer
on their beloved team. Win or lose, Danny loved the games at Wrigley. There, he
felt a part of something special, something so much bigger than his own little
world.
Dad hadn’t said much of anything since they left the house. Saturday
nights were tough for Frank McClain. Those nights, his film routes kept him out
until seven or eight the following morning. With Hollywood studios releasing one blockbuster after another in 1939, the movie business stayed
busier than ever. But for Danny, Hollywood ’s
success meant a tired, cranky father. He knew his dad had slept a few hours
before the game, but fatigue only dialed up his father’s perpetually sour moods.
By the top of the fourth