CHAPTER
ONE
Gingerly wiping tears of exhaustion from his bloodshot eyes,
fifty two year old author Richard Russell finally had enough.
Dropping his trembling hands back on to the table before him
where he sat at a local library in Memphis, he realized his painstaking
research into a sixty year old tragedy had finally taken
its toll. Too much heartache had accumulated within him, as
misery and torment finally singed his soul.
These same tears of sorrow and distress that plagued his life,
also consumed the energy of his Uncle Joe, a seventy nine year
old retired ball player, and the source of all his anguish. The
details of this traumatic event finally zapped Richard of his final
second wind...as he almost collapsed onto the table.
Although he sat in the library since eight o’clock in the
morning, it suddenly became nine in the evening and lights
were starting to flicker. His lightheadedness and mentally
drained state of fatigue had caused him to be unaware if the
flickering lights were imaginary, or it was time for the librarian
to go home. He carefully reorganized all the scraps of paper,
CHRIS VALENTI______________________________________________
notes, and newspaper clippings strewn throughout the table...
then glanced at some of the headlines once again.
Headlines he’d seen a hundred times of a story he heard
a thousand times before. Yet he still couldn’t believe he had
finally thrust himself physically and emotionally into, what he
felt was the story of the century...the tragic death of an entire
minor league baseball team.
Suddenly, a carefully placed hand on his shoulder followed
by a whimpering voice uttered, “Mr. Russell, I can’t wait to read
your next best seller, but I do need to get home. The library is
closing. By the way, did you ever find out who dropped off that
odd looking package to you last week,” as the librarian went
about her evening chores.
“No I didn’t.”
The librarian continued, “It was sitting at the counter when
we arrived in the morning. Not even security knew who dropped
it off , or how? It was kind of strange. I’ll never forget the way
it looked. It was a banged up dusty old box in brown wrapping
paper...yet it seemed to have a certain luster about it. Since it only
had your first name of Richard on it, and all that was listed as
the sender, were your initials R.R., we assumed either you or a
friend may have dropped it off and you were expecting it.”
“No, I still have no idea who sent it. It was nothing but
scraps of paper with tons of odd notes scribbled on them. I
couldn’t make anything of it. Yes it was strange, very strange.
More odd was that it disappeared just before I left to go home. I
assumed a janitor thought it was trash and threw it out. In fact,
I had forgotten all about it until you just brought it up.” From
the tone in Richard’s voice, it was obvious to the librarian he
was hiding something.
As best he could, he tried getting his thoughts together.
What bothered him most was what this ordeal had done to
his uncle, Joseph King...the inspiration for his newest project.
_______________________________________INNINGS THROUGH TIME
His thoughts of great fondness for this man reminded him of
the strong sense of morality he’d been taught by him over the
years. This being his steadfast dilemma, he wondered why such
an awful tragedy had to strike such a good man. He collected
his papers and headed for the library’s main exit. He paused
for a brief moment to say, “So long,” to the ever so patient
librarian.
Only five blocks from home, he looked forward to the fresh
air and vigorous brisk walk, which usually gave him the renewed
strength he needed, but not this time. He consumed himself so
thoroughly into this mess that he was looking forward to nothing
more than getting home and falling into a much anticipated
sleep. Mentally drained, thoughts of taking his car may have
been a better idea. His mind continued to race. He reflected on
his research into the tragedy...and the strange contents of the
mysterious box.
Puzzled, yet curious about the cryptic messages contained
within the foreboding looking package...made him wonder. Its
mystical feel was so stupefying, Richard wondered if there were
any other stages, or dimensions, in Joe’s life only Joe knew of that
laid hidden all these years.
It were these incomplete fable-like fantasies that continually
fueled Richard’s anxiety to learn the real truth behind his
uncle’s lifelong ordeal. There were too many odd occurrences
with strange and complex details that didn’t make any sense at
all.
Unfortunately for Richard, he would never find out their
true meaning or origin. He only wished the extraordinary
box never disappeared, giving him more time to unravel its
mysteries.
These fantastic accounts, scribbled on small pieces of paper,
Richard felt, may be what his uncle had been harboring all
these years - that haunted him to this day. It was not his posi-
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CHRIS VALENTI_______________________________________________
tion to ever bring them up, as he felt it was his uncle’s place to
approach that side of his dilemma. Richard could only wait for
his uncle to deliver the answers, and wait he did...as his uncle
hadn’t a clue, or ever had any encounter with them.
Yet an even bigger dilemma, unforeseen by Richard, was
the fact that this odd box ...ultimately causes his own untimely
demise!
As if these thoughts and concerns weren’t enough, he continued
to find other things to agonize about. Other questions
consumed Richard’s consciousness as he wallowed through the
sidewalks and streets. Questions like...
How different would his uncle’s life have turned out if his
fiancée hadn’t been tragically killed? Why did Uncle Joe’s dad
have to die while he was such a young man? Why were the lives
of an entire baseball team taken so horribly and prematurely?
And where would his uncle be now if he hadn’t decided to take
care of him in his later years? All Richard could go by is what
was told to his uncle years ago, which was sketchy at best.
Joe’s dad was a Barnstormer in 1929. ‘Barnstormer’ was another
name for daredevil stunt pilots who put on air shows.
They were known for doing dangerous maneuvers in mid-air,
when flight was in its infancy. It was quite a spectacle, and very
dangerous. During this time he was friends with, and worked
along side with the then unknown ‘Beans’ Lindbergh, later
known as the famous Charles Lindbergh. All of this took place
at Lincoln Standard Aircraft in Nebraska.
Soon afterward, his dad moved the family to a military base
when he joined the Army Air Corps. There he quickly became
a distinguished test pilot. Unfortunately in 1928, when Joe
was only 4, his dad was killed during an altitude test when his
plane broke apart. He died a hero. His mother then moved
them to Memphis where she had some friends and family. They
remained there ever since. Joe was always proud of his dad be
________________________________________INNINGS
THROUGH TIME
cause of his heroism and relationship with Lindbergh. It was
only natural he wanted to be a pilot as well.
Throughout Richard’s life, his Uncle Joe was always there
for him and played the role of dad, a situation that worked very
well for both of them. Richard’s dad left their family when he
was just a child, and Joe never married. Instead, Joe carried a
torch his whole life for his one love and fiancée, Marie, who was
tragically killed one day before their wedding in 1943.
She was on the same bus that tragically ended the lives of
the opposing baseball team. They were on their way to play the
last game of the championship series scheduled the following
day. Also on the bus that met a tragic end was his best friend
when growing up, Randy, the team’s pitcher. Joe could never
live this down.
Richard divorced five years ago; has no children, and although
constantly consumed in his work, his uncle’s presence
was always welcome.
As Richard sluggishly worked his way past the first two
blocks, he wondered how his uncle’s feelings may have dealt
with all the blows. Blows that were delivered to him when his
team, The Atlanta All Stars won the championship by default
when their rivals, The Memphis Maulers, were tragically killed
on the way to the game. Both of these teams were an integral
part of a minor baseball league called The Southern Association;
a league that, even in the best of times, had trouble keeping
its head above the water.
The tragedy that took the life of The Maulers, his fiancée
and best friend ...in time, was taking his.
It gnawed at him every second of every day of his seventy
nine years. To Richard, it seemed Joe’s pains were to be eternal,
and seeing him take all of this to the grave would hurt him just
as much as it did Joe. Richard felt the penning of these tragic
CHRIS VALENTI_______________________________________________
events may prove to be therapeutic for his uncle, and might be
the last thing he could ever do for him.
Sitting thirteen hours a day in the library can reveal just
so much, and Richard knew that in order to get the feel and
actual detail of how everything really transpired, his uncle
would eventually be his one major source. Only his uncle could
reveal the true meaning behind the words in print...the story
of what really happened, the secrets that have been hidden all
these years.
Soon these integral passages for his book will finally be
revealed.
The tragedy alone was not only a lethal blow for Joe, but it
was combined with a lifelong battle of being known as a ball
player who capitalized on other’s misfortune ...winning a championship
through a horrible default–the tragic and untimely
death of the opposing team.
Having to deal with cold-hearted remarks for the past sixty
years, and harsh words from critics and Mauler fans, only made
things more intolerable.
And though he may have taken things further than they
really were, it was a burden that truly ruined his life. These were
Richard’s thoughts as he made his way past the fifth and final
block. He drew a sigh of relief as he took his first step onto the
walkway that lead to his home. From the porch and through
the lace curtains he could see the dim light beside Uncle Joe’s
favorite chair. Joe would be waiting for him. Richard could
practically see the living room before he got there. Joe would
be reading the newspaper and wouldn’t even look up. Joe pretended
to be uninterested in what Richard had been doing all
day and casually turned the pages for the hundredth time.
The ancient feet that had stolen more than 157 bases in
their prime would be wrapped in equally ancient worn slippers,
propped on the old ottoman. As Richard walked by the living
________________________________________INNINGS
THROUGH TIME
room, he hoped his uncle was as tired as he looked, as tired as
he was pretending to be, as tired as Richard was himself.
“Find out anything interesting,” blurted his uncle’s voice
- rising above the newsprint aimed at no one in particular...but
finding Richard specifically.
“Not much,” Richard regretted the words as soon as they
came from his mouth. This was his uncle’s favorite topic of discussion,
his moment in life; the subject around which all things
revolved. And Richard had just reduced it all to, “Not much.”
Joe lowered the newspaper, disbelieving both the source
and content of the insult. “Boy, what you’ve got here is the
story of the century. I must have told you that a hundred times.
It’s an event that goes beyond believing, beyond imagining, and
beyond all logic. And all you can say is, not much? Richard, this
is the opportunity of a lifetime. I can’t tell you how proud I was
when you told me you were going to write it down. When you
told me you were going to research it and get to the bottom of
this injustice, my heart nearly burst with pride. I couldn’t think
of a better man, a better mind, a better person to take up the
challenge.”
Dumbfounded, Richard stood motionless. Uncle Joe continued.
“Richard, all my life I’ve wanted only one thing; to set
the record straight. And now that chance has finally come to
me, through you! And all you’ve got to say is, ‘Not much?’”
Richard’s head hurt. He wanted to lie down for an hour or
more, or maybe for the evening. The numbers, the statistics, the
inconsistencies, the almost fairy tale facts, all swirled in his head
and made his body ache. The last thing he wanted to do was to
get into it with his uncle. But just as the story had always drawn
him in, his uncle was always able to draw him in as well. Call
it a discussion or a debate, it always ended with their two faces,
six inches apart, sometimes yelling and sometimes laughing.
“Tell me, uncle, what record do you want to set straight?”
CHRIS VALENTI_______________________________________________
“The record’s there. It’s down in black and white. It’s a little
freakish, but it’s clear.”
“Then what isn’t straight?”
“What isn’t straight is everything you learned through your
research. Everything you read in those books and journals,” said
Joe quietly.
Richard expected the usual outburst. The same rendition of
the story he’d heard countless times before. But this was different.
Joe was peaceful and was saying something off the beaten
path. Richard had never heard this low level of intensity in the
old man’s voice before.
Joe continued, “What isn’t straight is the ridicule we got
from the columnists and Mauler fans. Saying there was no way
we could have beaten their boys. That maybe we did something
to fix the outcome. Something they couldn’t prove, but were
just as sure of.”
His uncle’s sudden change of approach put things in a totally
new perspective, and everything seemed fresh. Just moments
earlier Richard felt as if he had been run over by a bus and ready
to retire to his room for a week, but now in a moment’s notice,
he was up with pad in hand and ready to go. He suddenly had
a barrage of questions Joe wasn’t expecting.
“When did you first realize you were up against all odds?
Did anyone have any idea how far you were going to take it?”
The questions were thrown out fast and furious, so fast it caught
Joe off guard. Joe became overwhelmed and started to mumble
incoherently. Richard was relentless, but suddenly caught himself
and quickly asked, “Joe, how about a cup of coffee? I think
we both need one because it’s going to be a long night?”
Joe replied, “I think you’ve said it right, a long night, a very
long night. And I will tell you the whole story...and much more
than that. Something unrelated. I’ve got to tell you something
you may not be expecting,” and took a long pause.
_______________________________________INNINGS THROUGH TIME
Richard looked at him rather perplexed, not knowing
where his uncle was going with this. Especially since his whole
demeanor had changed in a way he’d never seen before. He
seemed to be holding something back, something that was
bothering him greatly. When he started to speak, his actions
were unlike anything he had ever known him for.
His uncle pulled out a small bottle of pills from his pocket
and revealed, “I was diagnosed this afternoon with a terminal
illness, and I don’t have too much longer. Maybe three months
at best and the pain had already started. Today I’ve made an
important decision. A decision I will tell you now, then we will
go into the story you need for your book.”
Richard looked on and listened carefully. He started to experience
a feeling of emptiness, a sinking feeling, something
that was telling him he was about to hear something he was not
going to like.
Joe continued, “I’ve never told this to anyone before, and I
need to tell it to you now. During my entire life I’ve had very
strong suicidal tendencies, I couldn’t handle anything. And this
news today put me over the edge. This bottle of pills I’m holding
is not medicine...its cyanide!”
Richard gasped.
Joe continued, “You almost came home this evening to find
your uncle dead. But I waited to see you. I wanted to tell you
about this, and when this evening is over, I will go upstairs and
lie down for the last time. I’m old, I have no other family, and
the pain is getting worse. That’s my decision and I hope you can
live with it.”
Richard replied, “I’ve always respected everything you’ve
always done, and everything you’ve ever taught me, but this is
totally different. You caught me off guard, and for the first time
I may actually be disappointed in you. I don’t know what else
to say.”
CHRIS VALENTI_______________________________________________
“Then don’t say anything! I’m sorry you feel that way, but
this is how it is. It can’t be changed. Now get your pen ready
because I will finally tell the story you want to hear for your
book. It’s the first time I will be telling it to anyone. And it will
also be the last!”
“You can’t be serious about this.”
“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.
Now do you want the story, or will it be lost forever? This is
what I’ve been waiting for, to finally get it all out. Then you can
do what you want with it.”
Richard remarked, “If that’s the way you want it, I guess
there’s nothing I can do about it. Just relax a bit while I go and
make a fresh pot of coffee. Then we’ll start at the beginning.”
This was not how Richard wanted things to go, but short
of having the man committed, what else could he do. To write
a book predicated on the words of a suicidal uncle was the last
thing he intended the project to be. It was supposed to be helping
his uncle, something he would revel in during his twilight
years. Not a bunch of words blurted out before doing himself
in. Nothing seemed right anymore.
Ten minutes later, Richard emerged from the kitchen with a
pot of coffee and laid it on the table before them. He went back
to retrieve two cups. Upon his arrival, as he poured the brew
into the oversized mugs, he asked Joe, “Just start with the parts
you feel are most important and relevant to that fateful day.”
Joe exclaimed, “Well, I guess it would only make sense to
start at the beginning.” They both took a cautious sip from their
mugs and Joe started his story. Richard sat wide-eyed with his
pen and pad in hand.
In a jittery pace, Joe started his story, “It was the height of
The Great Depression when my best friend Randy Jensen and I
went to a NY Yankee game. The year was 1931. I was just a kid.
To say the least, this was not only a dream of Randy and mine,
_______________________________________INNINGS THROUGH TIME
but probably every kid of that time. And like most kids living
in and around our area, we knew this could never happen. We
lived in a very poor suburb of Memphis, and New York was
only something we read about in the paper, or heard about on
radio.” Joe’s voice finally started to level itself and his breathing
became less erratic.
He continued, “Most families I knew were on the verge of
being homeless, and it was quite a horrible time for everyone.
I remember standing on soup lines seeing several of my friend’s
dads. I remember seeing some of these dads fighting over blocks
of cheese the government trucks were giving away. I remember
so vividly many of those dads standing on street corners with
signs around their necks looking for any kind of work they
could get. It was terrible.” Joe put his cup of coffee down and
continued.
“It’s more depressing now looking back at it. Being just a
kid at the time, I guess I didn’t fully realize how serious the
whole thing really was. I was lucky with what little my family
had, and somehow we were able to survive through the terrible
times. One thing that helped us escape from all the hell
were the movies. For a few hours a week we were able to forget
everything. This is what led Randy and me to the NY Yankee
game!”
Joe was finally at ease. He reminisced about certain times
he hadn’t spoken about, nor thought about, in a very long time.
Richard noticed the calmness that took hold of Joe and hoped
this was the therapeutic effect he was looking for.
Richard kicked back in his chair and asked, “How did going
to the movies get you and your friend Randy to New York?”
Joe went on, “The National Newsreel Company was holding
a contest. It was a very famous contest. It was being held
in all the theaters across the country. The winner would get to
go to Yankee Stadium in New York to see a game and also meet
CHRIS VALENTI_______________________________________________
Babe Ruth. It was one of many different campaigns that were
put together by several advertising companies in the hope of
increasing attendance in the theaters. Because of the uncertain
times, movie houses were hurting, and this was one of many
ways they used to help increase their revenue. They did everything!
From giving away cars to safe deposit boxes filled with
silver certificates. Since we were just kids, and Ruth was our
idol, this contest meant the world to us.”
Richard, engulfed in this story filled with nostalgia and
childhood dreams strung throughout the toughest time in
American history, was mesmerized to say the least. He was so
strongly drawn into this tale, a moment in his uncle’s life he
had never heard before, that when he reached for another cup
of coffee, he realized it was already gone.
Not to break the moment, he put his empty cup back on to
the table and asked, “Did you enter the contest?”
Joe replied, “Of course! We must have filled out dozens of
applications. In order to get one, you had to pay to see a movie,
hand your stub to one of the ushers who then handed you an
application, only one per ticket. The contest ran for six months,
and for those six months we never missed a Saturday matinee.
The matinee always opened with a newsreel that was followed
with a short that detailed the contest. Although it was only a
short, it was done in the usual Hollywood style, totally over the
top with the loud orchestra, crashing symbols, and an unbelievably
articulate and pompous announcer. There were always
many showings that day and we must have stayed after our
movie a hundred times just to watch the contest film start again
then leave.
“The film always ended with the announcer pointing his
finger at the audience stating firmly, ‘Will you be the one on
your way to New York to meet Babe Ruth?’ It was very exciting!
_______________________________________INNINGS THROUGH TIME
Back to Top
We figured between the two of us, we must have entered almost
fifty times!”
Richard, now entranced in this almost childlike fantasy
asked, “So what happened?”
“Well sure enough, one Saturday morning I received a
phone call telling me the great news. I’ll never forget it. My
mom answered and said it was for me. She said it was a man,
and for some strange reason I knew immediately what it was all
about simply because she said it was a man. I got on the phone
and he asked if he was speaking to Joseph King, and I said yes!
He then informed me that I was the winner of the National
Newsreel Company’s Chance to Meet Babe Ruth Contest! I
jumped up and down and I could hardly believe it. It was truly
the greatest day in my life!”
Richard enjoyed the childlike enthusiasm in his seventy
nine year old uncle’s voice, a carefree demeanor he had never
seen previously. It was as if he was reliving the whole experience
and hoped it would somehow help his state of depression, derailing
his thoughts of suicide...but knew it was a long shot.
Fidgeting with the bottle of cyanide in his hands, Joe continued,
“I ran all the way to Randy’s house to tell him the good
news. On the way over I passed several friends who asked me
what happened and I told them that I won the contest! None
of them said much as I continued my dash to Randy’s. When I
got there, oh boy, all hell broke loose! Randy and I ran all over
the place telling everyone.
“Finally his mom got on the phone to confirm this with
my mom who verified she was there to get the call. In no time
it was all arranged. Randy and I with our moms would all go
together on the trip. It all seemed too good to be true. The trip
wasn’t going to happen for another eight weeks. It was the longest
eight weeks of my life. But the day finally arrived. All four
of us boarded the train and we were off . All we talked about was
CHRIS VALENTI_______________________________________________
what we were going to say to The Babe when we met him. Our
moms did nothing but chatter about their usual gossip and try
to get us to look at the scenery, which we were not at all interested
in. But finally we heard it, the announcement we’d been
waiting to hear, ‘Next stop New York,’ as our moms kept telling
us to calm down.”
Richard finally got up to make another pot of coffee and
asked Joe to take a breather for a moment. As he poured water
into the pot, he heard Joe continuing his story. He was totally
ignoring Richard’s request to take a break. He seemed almost
to be in a trance, regaling in his past with no one but himself,
recounting days almost seventy years before as if they were
yesterday.
Richard, always in earshot, didn’t want to break the spell his
uncle seemed to be under, so he continued to make the coffee
while he listened, eventually bringing the pot back and pouring
them both another cup.
Joe continued, “When we finally arrived at Yankee Stadium
we were greeted by a little man wearing a double-breasted suit,
a hat, and smoking a big cigar. He asked if we were ready to
meet The Babe. We were speechless and all we were able to do
was shake our heads up and down.”
He said, ‘Follow me,’ and we did.
“The four of us walked through what seemed to be miles
of passages beneath the giant structure, and continued walking
deeper and deeper into the recesses of this colossal stadium
in The Bronx. As we walked through the corridors along the
smooth concrete pavement, our footsteps almost echoed in
time with our pounding hearts, which were ready to burst from
excitement. We walked, and continued to walk, through these
dimly lit hallways, until we finally arrived at an eerie looking
banged up door. The man finally paused.
_______________________________________INNINGS THROUGH TIME
“We couldn’t imagine this would be the door that would
finally lead us to the great Babe Ruth. Were we duped by this
odd looking fellow? I could see the distressed look in my mother’s
eyes. Here we were...two kids and their moms, a totally
defenseless group of innocent people from out of town with a
strange man in a dungeon-like atmosphere. We were terrified.
Suddenly I felt that I was responsible for getting my mom involved
in something awful, something terrible.
“Horrible thoughts were flying through my head, as I was
certain these same thoughts were bothering all of us. We were
all scared half to death. The little man in the double-breasted
suit, with his yellowed teeth that clenched tightly into his large
cigar, suddenly had a devilish look on his face; a frown that was
eerily compounded by the swaying oversized light bulb dangling
from the ceiling...as it bounced its murky lighting off his
wrinkled sardonic looking face. We were sure we’d never see
home again.”
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Innings Through Time____________________________________________
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