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Little White Lie

By Ronald Brunsky

“Hey pop, wake up,” said Alice. “The president is holding a news conference.”

“Don’t bother me with that political slop — just tell me when the ball-game is on.”

“You should have some interest in what our president has to say.”

“When our presidents put our interests ahead of their own I will.”

“Oh, never mind then … the ballgame will be on afterwards.”

Fleckie Barnes had been retired from the love of his life for over thirty years, but his passion for baseball continued, even as he approached his eighty-fifth birthday.

The former voice of the Spirits — famous for his unforgettable quotes: “They should have made you buy a ticket” — when an opposing batter got caught looking at a third strike, or “He couldn’t find the plate if it had a t-bone on it”, after the rival pitcher walked a couple.

Just the thought of baseball and Fleckie’s mind quickly returned to the old days. He dozed off again, and soon was revisiting a dream that was all too familiar — the season of 1938, although it had been fifty years, his memories were just as vivid, as when it originally happened. The Spirits pennant run and Charley Steivers, it was also the year Fleckie became an amateur sleuth.

Charley was probably the greatest player Fleckie ever saw, and he saw the best — from the Babe to Mick to the current crop of stars. Charley threw harder than any other pitcher — past or present. He knew his fastball hit 100 mph or better — how he wished they would have had radar guns back then.

######

“Fleckie Barnes here, as we start the top of the ninth. Steivers has taken his warm-ups and he’s ready to go. With a two run lead he’ll face the Lions second basemen Al Cadle.”

Charley was having a great year with eighteen wins and only three loses. The twenty-two year old southpaw was in just his third season with the Spirits. They were only starting the month of September and he appeared a shoe in for his second straight twenty win season. Not only that, the Spirits were finally making a serious pennant run.

Charley was not just leading his team on the mound but was the league’s best pitch-hitter, batting .364 — no doubt the best hitting pitcher since Babe Ruth. It appeared that nothing could stop the Spirits.

“The pitch is on the way to Cadle … he times it perfectly and singles into right field. The Lions have their first man aboard, and the tying run coming to the plate.”

The next offering is in the dirt and John Dills makes a nice stop avoiding a wild pitch. Charley walks off the mound to compose himself. Putting his glove under his arm he runs his palm over his forehead and through his hair, and then wipes the sweat off on his uniform. He grabs the resin bag and throws it down while stepping back on the rubber. His eyes focused on the catcher’s signals, brushing off one then another before he is ready.

From the stretch he looks the runner back, rocks and goes into his high leg kick and the pitch is on its way. It’s high and wide; John rushes out to talk to his pitcher.”

“Charley, you’ve lost your stuff. We better get somebody warmed up.”

“You’re full of it. You’re not the manager.”

“Oh, if you can’t do it nobody can, huh Charley?”

“Shut up, get back behind the plate.”

Charley punctuated his comments by pushing John towards home plate, John pushed back and they were soon scuffling on the ground.

Fleckie was screaming into the microphone, “Players and coaches are trying to intervene, but to no avail.”

Finally, Dills and Steivers were separated and marched to the dugout.

“Manager Frank Watts has seen enough. I think he’s putting in an entire new battery. Yes, he is. Jim Fennermore now pitching for the Spirits, and Les Foli will be catching. Let’s hope the Spirits don’t let this one slip away.”

Well, Fennermore saved the game for Charley, but back in the clubhouse Charley and John went at it again. This time when Watts stepped in, he let them know in no uncertain terms that if it ever happened again fines would be in order, and they would be stiff.

######

Fleckie had free run of the Spirits clubhouse, and usually, since he was a bachelor in those days, went out on the town with some of the players. He was just entering, as John Dills was concluding a phone conversation.

“I’m upping the ante. That’s right double the usual amount by Friday, or you know what.”

He slammed down the phone, and left the clubhouse steaming. There was little doubt that he would tie one on tonight.

Charley was just about to head out when Fleckie walked by.

“Fleckie want to join me for dinner?”

“If you’re buying?”

######

The “Locust Diner” was probably the most popular spot for all the Spirit players after a home game. They had the best steaks and usually some live music, especially after a home game.

“What is it with you two?” asked Fleckie. “You were good friends at one time. You’ve played ball together since you were knee high to a fire hydrant.

”John changed. Once he hit the big time, he started drinking. Then it was the gambling — he was always borrowing money off me. All of sudden he stopped asking me. He’s got some other sucker now — I don’t know who?”

“What happened?”

I think he’s jealous of me. I’ve been pretty successful and he’s been struggling. You know as well as anyone, Fleck, the only reason he’s still on the team is because he handles me the best. When I don’t start, he sits.”

“Making a major league team in any capacity is still an accomplishment.”

“I know. But he doesn’t look at it that way.” Charley took a big swallow on his draft beer and said, “Fleck I’ve got to ask you a favor. We’ll be in town for a week, could you visit my parents? You know they’re big fans of yours.”

“Glad to, Charley.”

######

The next morning the news broke. John Dills fell or had been pushed off the roof of the team hotel.

The coroner said the seven story fall killed him instantly. He could not say at this time if it was an accident or not, but foul play had not been ruled out.

Detective Sam Harper had his suspicions, and when he arrived at the Spirits clubhouse he made no bones about it.

Fleckie and Charley were standing by the water cooler when the detective approached them.

“Charley, I’d like a few words with you.”

“Sure, what can I do for you?”

“You can let me know where you were last night between 11 PM and 2 AM.”

“What, I’m a suspect?”

“Next time don’t pick a fight with a guy in front of 30,000 witnesses. Yeah, you’re a suspect.”

Me and Fleckie bar hopped till about midnight then I stayed over at my parents. You can check with them and this is Fleckie.”

“Nice to meet you detective,” said Fleckie.

“Boy, I’d know that voice anywhere … hello Fleckie.”

“I can vouch for what Charley said.”

“I guess that is all I need to know for now — at least until the coroner has given me his final say on the cause of death. Understand I may have to take you both down town for further questioning.”

The Spirits played their final game of the series with the Lions that afternoon. Charley’s pitch hit single in the bottom of the seventh knocked in two and from there on it was clear sailing as the Spirits dominated 8-3 and moved to within two games of the first place Warriors.

######

After the game, Fleckie took the long drive out to Charley’s parent’s house. Taking the parkway out of the city, he drove along the coast eventually finding route 33 which ran out to the peninsula. The real estate was becoming more exclusive the further out he went.

He arrived at their all brick colonial about five in the afternoon. A beautiful home — obviously the Steivers had survived the depression years well intact. He walked to the front door, and was greeted by a very attractive colored lady, maybe in her mid forties, and who I assumed was their housekeeper.

“Hello Mr. Barnes, Charley called — said you were coming.”

“Nice to meet you, ah … “

“Aretha … Aretha Jefferson, and it’s really a pleasure to meet you Mr. Barnes.”

“All my friends call me Fleckie.”

“Fleckie it is then. Charley and Mr. and Mrs. Steivers speak very highly of you. We all love you’re broadcasting style, and never miss a game.”

Fleckie paused for a moment, “Nice of them to say that.”

She then escorted him to the patio. The beautiful gardens and landscaped yard were not something Fleckie was used to — having always been a city dweller.

“Mr. Barnes, so nice of you to visit,” said Mr. Steivers as he accompanied his wife out onto the patio. “The sun is very bright today. Join us under the umbrella.”

“Fleckie, please call me Fleckie.”

“I’m so glad you came out to see us Fleckie,” said Mrs. Steivers.

Mr. and Mrs. Steivers, I’m very pleased to meet you. I want you to know what a great son you have. You should both be very proud.”

They looked at each other and smiled, as Aretha walked briskly back into the house.

“We certainly are Fleckie,” said Robert. “I don’t know where he got all that talent from; I was never any good at sports myself — business now that’s where I excel.

“Oh,” Fleckie said as he pondered a bit. “You really have a beautiful place.”

“I’m glad you like it. We had it built in 1936; we wanted to live near the Spirits. We never miss a home game and of course we listen to you when the team is on the road.” said Robert.

“Yes sir, I could get used to living in a place like this real easy,” said Fleckie, as he looked around.

“By the way it’s Daisey and Robert … we heard about John Dills death, and we are so very sorry. Charles and John were very close at one time you know,” said Robert.

“I know. It’s sad how the big city can change a country boy sometimes.”

Fleckie continued, “I don’t know if you were aware or not, but if the coroner decides that John’s death wasn’t accidental or a suicide, that quite possibly Charley might be a suspect.”

“I know they’ve become quite distant, but Charles would never … “

“Daisey, I feel the same way. I assure you,” said Fleckie.

“But, I do have a couple of questions to ask you Robert.”

“Go right ahead.”

“John was constantly borrowing money from Charley, but then he suddenly stopped. Do you have any idea, why? Maybe Charley told you something?”

Pausing for a second, Robert said, “No, I don’t know anything about that. We used to be very close to John. He was a regular house guest until they had their falling out.”

“Guess I’ll be leaving then.”

“Sure you won’t stay for dinner?”

“I’m afraid I have a few more errands to run, but thanks for the invite.”

Aretha led Fleckie back to his car and while they were walking pushed a note in his hand.

Fleckie pulled out of their long driveway and onto the street before stopping to read the note.

“We must talk. Thursday is my day off. Meet me at Sofia’s on the east side about eight PM.”

Fleckie thought, “I wonder what she has to say, that she couldn’t say in front of the Steivers. Something is just not quite right.”

######

The next morning Detective Harper came into Manager Watts office carrying a warrant for Charley Steivers.

“I’m afraid I’ve got to take Charley downtown.”

“We’ve got a game this afternoon.”

“I’m sorry about that. The coroner is pretty sure that John Dills death wasn’t accidental. Let’s face it. Charley is the number one suspect.”

When Fleckie arrived at the clubhouse, Charley had already been arrested. He hoped when he met with Aretha, that she could shed some light on his innocence.

He was waiting promptly at 8 PM when she arrived.

“I’m so glad you made it Fleckie. I’m a nervous wreck.”

“Has this anything to do with John Dills death?”

“Yes, but that’s only part of it.”

Fleckie ordered a couple drinks. He was a little bit nervous in the negro establishment.

“Aretha, anytime you’re ready? Somehow, I knew you’re involved.”

“You’re right Fleckie. I can’t keep quiet any longer; I’ve got to tell someone, and I trust you to do the right thing.” She paused, took a sip of her drink, and slowly looked up at Fleckie. “I killed John. I didn’t mean to, but when I tried to get him to stop — it was an accident … you must believe me.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop blackmailing the Steivers.”

“Hmm, what do you mean?”

“I can’t tell you. It would ruin Charley.”

“Getting back to John, what happened?”

“I told him we should talk. He said to meet me on the roof of the hotel, where we wouldn’t be seen.

After I pleaded with him to stop, he said no way. It’s my meal ticket. He knocked me down, and laughed at me. He was staggering drunk. He leaned over the side to vomit, and I shoved him. Some bricks must have been loose, they gave way and he fell.

I was mad, but I didn’t mean to kill him — honest to god. You’ve got to believe me. The important thing is that Charley is innocent, you can’t let him go to jail for something I did.”

“Aretha, I think I know why the Steivers were being blackmailed.

When I visited the other day, I right away became suspicious when you said “Charley and Mr. and Mrs. Steivers” and not “Charley and his parents.” Then, there was the insincerity in your faces, like you all were hiding something. But the topper was when Mr. Steivers said: that he was never any good at sports. You know Aretha of all the players I have ever interviewed, I can rarely think of an occasion where they didn’t mention how their dad was a pretty fair athlete too.

I think you know where I’m going.”

“I’m afraid I do.”

Fleckie looked deep into Aretha’s eyes and said.

“You’re Charley’s mother, aren’t you?”

Tears came to her eyes as she shook her head yes. “He’s my baby and he doesn’t even know. If they found out, it would end his career. He’d be sent to the negro leagues. It would break his heart.”

“So what happened?”

“It was 1917, and Charley wasn’t quite a year old. My husband went off to war in France and never returned. I took a job with the Steivers and moved into their house. They gave me employment, and wanted to adopt Charley — no not adopt. You see, since I was very light skinned and my husband was Caucasian — well, right from the start Charley looked more like the Steiver’s baby than mine.

They could give him so much more than I could. When they offered to raise him as their own, I thought it was for the best. They forged his birth certificate, and the rest is history. We were all very happy with the arrangement, for many years.

But then one night talking to John, I guess I had gotten a little melancholy and said a few things I shouldn’t have. Well, anyway John did a little additional research and put two and two together and figured it out. And that’s when the blackmailing started.

Charley must never find out. You must promise me that.”

Fleckie hugged Aretha and whispered into her ear.

“You’re secret is save with me. Charley’s a great ballplayer. He belongs in the major leagues.”

“Thanks, so much!”

“I also think we can prove his death was accidental.”

“How’s that?”

“If he vomited like you said, then there must be some proof of it on the side of the building, and then there’s the loose bricks. Wouldn’t take much for a drunk heaving over the side of a building to fall off, would it?”

######

Detective Harper was impressed with Fleckie’s logic, and after a reexamination of the crime scene, the accident scenario did seem like the most likely. Charley was soon cleared of all charges and released back to the Spirits.

“Sure like to know how you got me off, Fleckie?”

“Just a little amateur detective work, that’s all. Now it’s time you got serious. You’ve got a pennant to win.

######

“Dad, ballgame’s on,” said Alice.

Yawning, Fleckie stood up and went into the living room.

“Thanks dear.”

He hated to leave that wonderful year. By the way, the Spirits went on to win the pennant and World Series. Charley won two in the series, both shutouts.

“Oh dad, they asked a trivia question earlier.”

“What was it?”

“Who was the first black baseball player in the major leagues and what year did he break in?”

“What did you say?”

“Jackie Robinson in 1947 — was I right?”

Crossing his fingers behind his back, Fleckie replied, “That’s what I would have said.”