Satch & Me by Dan Gutman Read Free Book Online Page B

don’t play for the Homestead Grays,” the boy said. “He plays for the Kansas City Monarchs. Everybody knows that.”
    Well, I didn’t know that.
    â€œTell me,” Flip asked, “is Paige as fast as they say he is?”
    â€œFast?” Josh Gibson said. “Me and Satch used to be teammates on the Pittsburgh Crawfords. I was his catcher for five years. And believe me, nobody can fish like Satch, nobody can flap his gums like Satch, and nobody is faster than Satch. Greatest pitcher I ever seen.”
    â€œSatch throws fire, that’s what he throws!” added Cool Papa Bell.
    â€œIt’s like he winds up with a pumpkin and he throws you a pea,” somebody else added.

    Cool Papa Bell
    â€œOh, I’m gonna take care of Satch and his big mouth when we meet up in Pittsburgh, believe you me,” Josh said. “I’m gonna shut him up.”
    â€œYou’re playin’ the Monarchs in Pittsburgh soon?” asked Flip, throwing me a look.
    â€œYou got that right, mister,” Cool Papa Bell said. “We’re on our way there now.”
    Laverne came out of the diner with a big platter piled high with burgers. The players looked at her like they’d never seen a pretty girl before. She seemed hesitant to step inside the bus, so Flip took the platter from her.
    â€œDaddy says these fellas are welcome to eat here,” she told Flip, “so long as they don’t come in the restaurant.”
    â€œThank you kindly, miss,” Flip said.
    The players started pulling out money to give to Flip, but he wouldn’t take it. “Lunch is on me, guys,” he said, passing out the burgers. Grateful hands reached out to grab them.
    Flip signaled for me that we should go, but Josh Gibson invited us to stay until they had to get back on the road. The seats were all filled, so we stood.
    â€œHey, I’m sorry about what happened in there,” Flip told them.
    â€œAin’t your fault,” Josh said, biting into a burger. “Ain’t nobody’s fault.”
    In school I had learned a little bit about the prejudice and discrimination that took place inAmerica before the civil rights movement. I had also taken a time travel trip to see Jackie Robinson become the first black major leaguer in sixty years. Seeing bigotry with my own eyes made it more real. It was so unfair. I couldn’t imagine how anybody, black or white, could put up with it.
    â€œAren’t you mad?” I asked.
    â€œWhat’s the use?” Gibson said. “Ain’t nothin’ we can do about people who don’t like us. What are we gonna do? Write to our congressmen?”
    â€œSon, we’re just tryin’ to survive,” said Cool Papa Bell. “Put food on the table.”
    â€œI heard the Red Sox are gonna hold tryouts for Negro players,” one of the other players said.
    â€œOh, that’s just talk,” said Gibson.
    â€œSomeday there’ll be black players in the big leagues,” I told them. I didn’t want to tell them I was from the future, but I wanted to give them hope.
    â€œYeah, well, someday ain’t today,” said Bell.
    â€œI’ll believe it when I see it,” somebody else added.
    â€œIn a few years—,” I started.
    â€œSon, I’m thirty years old,” interrupted Josh Gibson. “Cool Papa here is thirty-nine. In a few years, it’ll be too late for us.”
    â€œWhere are you staying tonight?” Flip asked, changing the subject.
    â€œThere’s a hotel an hour or so north of here,”Gibson said. “We hear they take in colored folks. If not, we’ll have to sleep on the bus, like last night.”
    What a rotten life. They can’t just walk into any restaurant and sit at a table, like I can. They can’t just pull into a hotel and expect to get a room. They have to sleep and eat and ride all day on a crummy bus.
    â€œWhy do you do it?” I asked