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pastor came his congregation. And with his congregation came an unending flow of pretty girls. It never failed, and I could hardly contain myself when they’d all file in. I’d pay attention to where the pretty girls would go to sit, and yep, I’d sit my little butt down right there with ’em. You can bet I was never going to miss a revival.
The only problem I had with all of that was that Walter was there, too, hanging around like an albatross around my neck. Our parents made us all go to church, of course, and being the older brother, Daddy put it on me to kind of look after my little brother and sister. What Daddy didn’t know was that, when it came time to put a move on a girl, I’d pass Walter off to Pam and let my sister be the babysitter. I didn’t even think twice about it despite Daddy’s hyperactive belt. I guess I figured if he ever found out, he’d understand that a guy just can’t get with the ladies if there’s a little brother hanging around. Also, I suppose I didn’t care much if Daddy wouldn’t understand. I mean, we’re talking about girls here. Girls. The best thing God ever created. And I mean, come on…I was just admiring God’s creation, and in church after all. Nothing at all could get my eyes off the girls. Not the safety of my little brother and not the fear of Daddy’s whoopin’. Nothing.
Okay, maybe not nothing. There was this one thing. If girls were queens to me in those days, baseball was king. God made girls, but it sure seemed like Zeke Bradley made baseball. Mr. Bradley was a well-known and great athlete from back in the day. He’d moved away from Columbia down to the coast for a while, but he moved back when I was nine or 10 and started organizing youth athletics in the area. He started Columbia’s first Little League baseball team and the “Babe Ruth” league for teenagers.
And that was it. I was hooked. I had my second love—baseball.
Mr. Bradley and his volunteers, along with the city of Columbia, built a pool, a recreation center, and baseball fields for the area. And like everything else in those days, it was segregated. The athletic complex Mr. Bradley brought to town was all black. And though it didn’t live up to the ideals of Dr. King, at least it was something that I, as a black kid, could use. The only problem: it was five miles away from where I lived, on the other side of town. Well, I was going to be playing baseball, period, so five miles without a car wasn’t going to get between me and the recreation center. Walter and I had to walk or jog down there every day to practice. And it only seemed worth it once we got there. That place was a refuge for Walter and me; it was a haven. Mr. Bradley taught us about discipline and being part of a successful team. And it worked. We were successful. Heck, our team didn’t lose a single game in Little League in the first three years I played.
When I reached the ripe old age of 11, I was bumped up to the Babe Ruth league. I could’ve played in Little League until I was 12, since that was the cutoff age, but Mr. Bradley saw I was ready for Babe Ruth a little early. And it didn’t take me long to progress from there. When I finally reached 12, I moved on from Babe Ruth and was playing semipro baseball. Then when I was 13, I began playing in what we all called the Negro League, obviously for black players only. I played for the Hattiesburg Black Sox and the Laurel Black Cats. No matter how you sliced it, I guess I was a black sox. And I was getting paid to play baseball. At 13 years of age. Black sox, white sox, whatever. I was seeing green!
Walter didn’t take to baseball like I did. He played with me in Little League, but he didn’t stay long. Since he wasn’t a starter like me, he got bored real fast. He quit after I moved up to Babe Ruth and never played Little League baseball again. I really missed the time we spent together traveling to practice and games, but as it turned out, that wouldn’t be the
The only problem I had with all of that was that Walter was there, too, hanging around like an albatross around my neck. Our parents made us all go to church, of course, and being the older brother, Daddy put it on me to kind of look after my little brother and sister. What Daddy didn’t know was that, when it came time to put a move on a girl, I’d pass Walter off to Pam and let my sister be the babysitter. I didn’t even think twice about it despite Daddy’s hyperactive belt. I guess I figured if he ever found out, he’d understand that a guy just can’t get with the ladies if there’s a little brother hanging around. Also, I suppose I didn’t care much if Daddy wouldn’t understand. I mean, we’re talking about girls here. Girls. The best thing God ever created. And I mean, come on…I was just admiring God’s creation, and in church after all. Nothing at all could get my eyes off the girls. Not the safety of my little brother and not the fear of Daddy’s whoopin’. Nothing.
Okay, maybe not nothing. There was this one thing. If girls were queens to me in those days, baseball was king. God made girls, but it sure seemed like Zeke Bradley made baseball. Mr. Bradley was a well-known and great athlete from back in the day. He’d moved away from Columbia down to the coast for a while, but he moved back when I was nine or 10 and started organizing youth athletics in the area. He started Columbia’s first Little League baseball team and the “Babe Ruth” league for teenagers.
And that was it. I was hooked. I had my second love—baseball.
Mr. Bradley and his volunteers, along with the city of Columbia, built a pool, a recreation center, and baseball fields for the area. And like everything else in those days, it was segregated. The athletic complex Mr. Bradley brought to town was all black. And though it didn’t live up to the ideals of Dr. King, at least it was something that I, as a black kid, could use. The only problem: it was five miles away from where I lived, on the other side of town. Well, I was going to be playing baseball, period, so five miles without a car wasn’t going to get between me and the recreation center. Walter and I had to walk or jog down there every day to practice. And it only seemed worth it once we got there. That place was a refuge for Walter and me; it was a haven. Mr. Bradley taught us about discipline and being part of a successful team. And it worked. We were successful. Heck, our team didn’t lose a single game in Little League in the first three years I played.
When I reached the ripe old age of 11, I was bumped up to the Babe Ruth league. I could’ve played in Little League until I was 12, since that was the cutoff age, but Mr. Bradley saw I was ready for Babe Ruth a little early. And it didn’t take me long to progress from there. When I finally reached 12, I moved on from Babe Ruth and was playing semipro baseball. Then when I was 13, I began playing in what we all called the Negro League, obviously for black players only. I played for the Hattiesburg Black Sox and the Laurel Black Cats. No matter how you sliced it, I guess I was a black sox. And I was getting paid to play baseball. At 13 years of age. Black sox, white sox, whatever. I was seeing green!
Walter didn’t take to baseball like I did. He played with me in Little League, but he didn’t stay long. Since he wasn’t a starter like me, he got bored real fast. He quit after I moved up to Babe Ruth and never played Little League baseball again. I really missed the time we spent together traveling to practice and games, but as it turned out, that wouldn’t be the
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