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By Root 496 0

now it’s the 8th inning and Scotty’s given up two hits, nobody beyond second base, he’s leading 8-0, he wants to strike out the batter and get into the ninth inning, he takes his time–I’m watching him with a bleeding hand, amazed–a great Grover C. Alexander of the sandlots blowing one of his greatest games—(later he was bought by the Boston Braves but went home to sit with his wife and mother-in-law in a bleak brown kitchen with a castiron stove covered with brass scrolls and a poem in a tile panel, and Catholic French Canadian calendars on the wall). —Now he winds up, leisurely, looking off towards third base and beyond even as he’s rearing back to throw with an easy, short, effortless motion, no fancy dan imitations and complications and phoniness, blam, he calmly surveys the huge golden sky all sparkle-blue rearing over the hedges and iron pickets of Textile Main Field and the great Merrimac Valley high airs of heaven shining in the commercial Saturday October morning of markets and delivery men, with one look of the eye Scotty has seen that, is in fact looking towards his house on Mammoth Road, at Cow Field–blam, he’s come around and thrown his drop home, perfect strike, kid swinging, thap in the catcher’s mitt, “You’re out,” end of the top of the 8th inning.

Scotty’s already walking to the bench when the umpire’s called it—”Ha, ha,” they laugh on the bench knowing him so well, Scotty never fails. In the bottom of the 8th Scot comes to bat for his licks, wearing his pitching jacket, and swinging the bat around loosely in his powerful hands, without much effort, and again in short, unostentatious movements, pitcher throws in a perfect strike after 2 and 0 and Scotty promptly belts it clean-drop into left over the shortstop’s glove–he trots to first like Babe Ruth, he was always hitting neat singles, he didn’t want to run when he was pitching.

I saw him thus in the morning, his name was Boldieu, it immediately stuck in my mind with Beaulieu–street where I learned to cry and be scared of the dark and of my brother for many years (till almost 10)—this proved to me all my life wasn’t black.

Scotty, named that for his thrift among 5¢ candy bars and 11¢ movies, sat in that wrinkly tar doorway with G.J., Lousy and me–and Vinny.

19

VINNY WAS AN ORPHAN for many years ere his father came back, got his mother out of some tub-washing strait, reunited the children from various orphanages, and re-formed his home and family in the tenements of Moody–Lucky Bergerac was his name, a heavy drinker, cause of his early downfalls as well as Old Jack O Diamonds, got a job repairing rollercoasters at Lakeview Park– what a wild house, the tenement screeched– Vinny’s mother was called Charlotte, but we pronounced it Charlie, “Hey Charlie,” Vinny thus addressed his own mother in a wild scream. Vinny was thin and skinny boyish, very clean featured and handsome, high voiced, excited, affectionate, always laughing or smiling, always swearing like a son of a bitch, “Jesus Crise goddam it Charlie what the fuck you want me to do sit in this fucking goddam bath tub all goddam day—” his father Lucky outdid him unbelievably, the only eloquence he had was curses, “Jey-sas Crise gawd damn ballbreaking sonofabitch if I ain’t an old piece of shit but you look like a goddam fat ass old cow tonight Charlie …” and at this compliment Charlie would screech with joy–you never heard such a wild screech, her eyes used to blaze out with the intensity of white fire, she was crazy as all get out, the first time I saw her she was standing on a chair fixing a bulb and Vinny rushed up and looked under her dress (he was 13) and yelled “O Jey-sas Crise what a nice ass you got Ma!” and she screeched and whacks him one on the head, a house of joy. Me and G.J. and Lousy and Scotty used to sit in that house all day.

“Jey-sas Crise what a maniac!”

“Is he crazy— you know what he did? He stuck his finger up his ass and said Woo Woo—”

“He came fifteen comes, no kiddin, he jumped around jacking himself off all that whole day–the 920 club was on the radio, Charlie was at