narrowed when he saw her, and he said, “You ain’t the reporter that Taylor wants me to talk to?”
“I’m afraid so.”
The pitcher had a huge wad of tobacco in his mouth. He spat expertly to his left, then shrugged. “I ain’t never been interviewed by a female reporter.”
“Well, I’ve never interviewed a baseball player either, so it’ll be a first for both of us.”
The interview went well, for the pitcher seemed to be pleased at finding a sympathetic listener. He gave a long list of reasons why the Cubs had lost, and none of them were his fault. When it was over, he said, “I hope you do me right in the newspaper.”
“I will. Look for it,” Stephanie promised. She closed her notebook and found Jake, talking to one of the players.
He came over to her at once and said, “Did you get the stuff?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, when we get back to the paper, type it up and have it on my desk in an hour. Then call it a day.”
Later when she handed him the article, he glanced over it quickly, then said, “See you tomorrow, Stephanie.”
“All right, Jake.” She stopped long enough to say, “Thanks for being so nice.”
“Oh, I’m nice. Everybody knows that.” He smiled then turned back to his work.
Stephanie collected her belongings and took a taxi to her grandparents’ home. Amos had called Rose, who greeted her at the door with hugs and kisses and seemed as excited about her getting the job at the paper as Stephanie was herself. “Oh, Grandma, I can do this job,” she said. “I know I can!” Later she chattered about the baseball game through supper with Amos and Rose, relating every detail she could about the reporters in the press box, the players, the field, the fans, the sounds, the smells. Maybe, thought Amos, just maybe she has the moxie for this business—at least til she falls in love and decides to get married. Stephanie went upstairs and finished unpacking, then went to bed looking forward to her first full day at work on a newspaper.
Boot camp was over. All assignments were made, and Richard and Smith were both assigned to the same company, attached to the First Marine Division in Korea.
“Well, we’re going to be together it looks like, Streak,” Smith said, lighting up a cigar as the two parted for a final leave. “Don’t get run over by a taxi or something. I need you to watch my back when we hit the beaches.”
“Same for you, Jack.”
The two separated, and Richard boarded a bus and made his way to Los Angeles. He was scheduled to leave on a ship for Korea from San Diego on September 20.
School had just started and Richard enjoyed the adulation of his former schoolmates. He went by the high school, and the girls with penny loafers and ponytails who swarmed about him seemed to be about ten years old. But he spent most of the time with his family. He went fishing with his father—both of them loved to fish—and it had been a good day for them. The sun sparkled on the green water. They anchored their boat over a coral reef, and the fish were biting. The boat rocked gently with the breeze. Jerry asked about Richard’s training.
“Was it as hard as you thought it would be?”
“A lot harder, Dad, but that’s the marine way. They figure to strip everything away and then build the marine on top of you.”
“You’re proud of being a marine, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.” The answer was quick and definite. Richard was wearing a T-shirt, and the firm muscles of his upper body bulged as tribute to the strictness of the training. His hair was cut in a crew cut, and he looked hard and tough, but there was no cruelty in his eyes.
When they turned toward shore, they’d caught enough red snappers to eat for six months. That afternoon after the fish had been cleaned, Richard and Stephanie, who had come home from Chicago to see him, went down to the swimming hole. They invited Bobby, but he had a piano lesson.
They splashed and laughed and finally came out and sat
“I’m afraid so.”
The pitcher had a huge wad of tobacco in his mouth. He spat expertly to his left, then shrugged. “I ain’t never been interviewed by a female reporter.”
“Well, I’ve never interviewed a baseball player either, so it’ll be a first for both of us.”
The interview went well, for the pitcher seemed to be pleased at finding a sympathetic listener. He gave a long list of reasons why the Cubs had lost, and none of them were his fault. When it was over, he said, “I hope you do me right in the newspaper.”
“I will. Look for it,” Stephanie promised. She closed her notebook and found Jake, talking to one of the players.
He came over to her at once and said, “Did you get the stuff?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, when we get back to the paper, type it up and have it on my desk in an hour. Then call it a day.”
Later when she handed him the article, he glanced over it quickly, then said, “See you tomorrow, Stephanie.”
“All right, Jake.” She stopped long enough to say, “Thanks for being so nice.”
“Oh, I’m nice. Everybody knows that.” He smiled then turned back to his work.
Stephanie collected her belongings and took a taxi to her grandparents’ home. Amos had called Rose, who greeted her at the door with hugs and kisses and seemed as excited about her getting the job at the paper as Stephanie was herself. “Oh, Grandma, I can do this job,” she said. “I know I can!” Later she chattered about the baseball game through supper with Amos and Rose, relating every detail she could about the reporters in the press box, the players, the field, the fans, the sounds, the smells. Maybe, thought Amos, just maybe she has the moxie for this business—at least til she falls in love and decides to get married. Stephanie went upstairs and finished unpacking, then went to bed looking forward to her first full day at work on a newspaper.
Boot camp was over. All assignments were made, and Richard and Smith were both assigned to the same company, attached to the First Marine Division in Korea.
“Well, we’re going to be together it looks like, Streak,” Smith said, lighting up a cigar as the two parted for a final leave. “Don’t get run over by a taxi or something. I need you to watch my back when we hit the beaches.”
“Same for you, Jack.”
The two separated, and Richard boarded a bus and made his way to Los Angeles. He was scheduled to leave on a ship for Korea from San Diego on September 20.
School had just started and Richard enjoyed the adulation of his former schoolmates. He went by the high school, and the girls with penny loafers and ponytails who swarmed about him seemed to be about ten years old. But he spent most of the time with his family. He went fishing with his father—both of them loved to fish—and it had been a good day for them. The sun sparkled on the green water. They anchored their boat over a coral reef, and the fish were biting. The boat rocked gently with the breeze. Jerry asked about Richard’s training.
“Was it as hard as you thought it would be?”
“A lot harder, Dad, but that’s the marine way. They figure to strip everything away and then build the marine on top of you.”
“You’re proud of being a marine, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.” The answer was quick and definite. Richard was wearing a T-shirt, and the firm muscles of his upper body bulged as tribute to the strictness of the training. His hair was cut in a crew cut, and he looked hard and tough, but there was no cruelty in his eyes.
When they turned toward shore, they’d caught enough red snappers to eat for six months. That afternoon after the fish had been cleaned, Richard and Stephanie, who had come home from Chicago to see him, went down to the swimming hole. They invited Bobby, but he had a piano lesson.
They splashed and laughed and finally came out and sat
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