42 by Aaron Rosenberg

Author:Aaron Rosenberg
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 2012-12-18T05:00:00+00:00

The next morning, Rickey sat in his office, clutching that morning’s edition of the New York Sun. Parrott listened as Rickey read aloud from an article that had incensed him.

“ ‘Branch Rickey cannot afford to upset team chemistry, and so the only thing keeping Robinson off the Dodgers now, plainly, is the attitude of the players. If it softens at the sight of Jackie’s skills, he’ll join the club sometime between April tenth and April fifteenth. Otherwise, Robinson will spend the year back in Montreal.’ ”

Rickey hurled the paper down onto his desk. “For the love of Pete,” he shouted. “He batted six twenty-five in the exhibition games against them . . . us . . . them — against us! Judas Priest!”

In the outer office, he heard the phone ring, but he ignored it. His secretary, Jane Ann, would handle it. That was what he paid her for, after all.

“Maybe you could have Durocher hold a press conference,” Parrott suggested. “Demand that he get Robinson on his team.”

Rickey calmed down a little. “Durocher. Of course; he’s my ace in the hole. Very good, Harold.” He knew there’d been a reason he’d stolen Harold away from the newspapers to be the Dodgers’ traveling secretary. He was a good man, and a sharp one. And he was right. Durocher could handle this for them.

The phone was still ringing, Rickey realized, and he glanced toward his door. “Jane Ann!” he called. “Are you out there?” No one answered — perhaps she’d taken a bathroom break or run out to get a coffee. Well, the ringing was driving him mad, so there was nothing for it — Rickey leaned over and grabbed up the phone on his desk. “Branch Rickey,” he announced into the receiver. “You’re speaking to him . . . the commissioner of what? Oh, yes, put him on.” He dropped back into his chair and looked over at Parrott. “The commissioner of baseball.”

“Branch, how are you?” Rickey could almost see Happy Chandler through the phone — the commissioner was a big, cheerful man with a large, flat head, hair carefully parted in the middle, and an ever-present jovial smile. But behind that smile he was all business, and Rickey could already guess he wasn’t calling with good news.

Still, it was important to mind his manners, so he answered, “Fine. What can I do for you, Happy?”

“Branch,” Happy said, as casually as if he were calling to talk about the weather, “how would you feel about losing Durocher for a year?”

What? Rickey frowned and switched the phone from one ear to the other. “I’m sorry, Happy, I thought you said ‘lose Durocher for a year.’ ”

“I did,” the commissioner replied. “He was seen in Havana with known gamblers.”

Rickey laughed. “Anyone who sets foot in Havana is seen with known gamblers.” Which was true, though he knew Durocher was worse about it than most. He was a great coach, but he did like his card games. Among other amusements.

“It’s not just one thing,” Happy explained, “it’s an accumulation.

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