The Innocent Man by John Grisham Read Free Book Online Page B

found refuge in booze. Finally he got the call and left for Oregon.
    Playing part-time for the Coos Bay-North Bend Athletics, he had 41 hits in 155 at-bats, an unimpressive average of .265. He caught forty-six games and played a few innings in center field. Late in the season, his contract was assigned to Burlington, Iowa, of the Midwest League, still Class-A ball, but a step up and much closer to home. He played in only seven games for Burlington, then returned to Ada for the off-season.
    Every stop in the minor leagues is temporary and unsettling. The players earn very little and live off meager meal money and whatever generosity the host club might offer. At “home,” they live in motels offering bargain monthly rates, or cluster in small apartments. On the road, along the bus routes, it’s more motels. And bars and nightclubs and strip joints. The players are young, rarely married, far away from their families and whatever structure that gave them, and so they tend to keep late hours. Most are barely out of their teens, immature, pampered for most of their short lives, and all are convinced they’ll soon be making the big bucks playing in the big ballparks.
    They party hard. Games start at 7:00 p.m. Over by 10:00. A quick shower, and it’s time to hit the bars. Staying out all night, sleeping all day, either at home oron the bus. Drinking hard, chasing women, playing poker, smoking grass—it’s all part of the seedier side of the minors. And Ron embraced it with enthusiasm.
    Like any father, Roy Williamson followed his son’s season with great curiosity and pride. Ronnie called occasionally and wrote even less, but Roy managed to keep up with his statistics. Twice he and Juanita drove to Oregon to watch their son play. Ronnie was suffering through his rookie year, trying to adjust to hard sliders and sharp curveballs.
    Back in Ada, Roy received a phone call from an A’s coach. Ron’s off-field habits were of some concern—lots of partying, drinking, late nights, hangovers. The kid was being excessive, which was not that unusual for a nineteen-year-old in his first season away from home, but perhaps a strong word from the father might settle him down.
    Ron was making calls, too. As the summer wore on and his playing time remained marginal, he became frustrated with the manager and staff and felt he was being underutilized. How could he improve if they left him on the bench?
    He chose the risky and seldom-used strategy of going over the heads of his coaches. He began calling the A’s front office with a list of complaints. Life was miserable way down in A ball, he simply wasn’t playing enough, and he wanted the big shots who’d drafted him to know all about it.
    The front office had little sympathy. With hundreds of players in the minors, and most of them miles ahead of Ron Williamson, such calls and complaintsquickly wore thin. They knew Ron’s numbers and knew he was struggling.
    Word came down from the top that the boy needed to shut up and play ball.
    When he returned to Ada in the early fall of 1972, he was still the local hero, now with some California edges and affectations. He continued his late-night routines. When the Oakland A’s won the World Series for the first time in late October, he led a boisterous celebration in a local honky-tonk. “That’s my team!” he yelled repeatedly at the television while his drinking buddies admired him.
    Ron’s habits changed suddenly, though, when he met and began dating Patty O’Brien, a beautiful young lady and former Miss Ada. The two quickly got serious and saw each other regularly. She was a devout Baptist, drank nothing, and didn’t tolerate bad habits from Ron. He was more than happy to clean up and promised to change his ways.
    In 1973 he found himself no closer to the big leagues. After another mediocre spring in Mesa, he was reassigned to the Burlington Bees, where he played in only five games before being transferred to the Key West Conchs of