St. Paul recorder. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1934-2000, 1954-03-05

tuIueu you lOOSe IL you ca
club, Herbert Hoover should c,
year. You. by the standards Of +,
baseball, are as old as Winston
Churchill.
The baseball guides Islander you.
The figures libel you. You may
have been the greatest pitcher OF |
all time. But your record starts in
'4s when you came up with Cleve-
land. That's like giving Enzio Pin
"a a birth certificate dated the
night South Pacific" opened. |
You were finished then. You were
auto-tired, time-crippled. train
weary. Your age became a gag.
Your greatness exists only In
the small talk of men who saw
you pitch years ago.
You're like an old Bessie Smith
photograph record. The voice is
there but the needle has rubbed II
vague and faint. Who bottles the
cheers from all games long played
in obscure places? Where's the
box scores of those forgotten in
nings? It's there though, in the
conversation of men in barrooms,
on sleeper jumps, in ball club
rooms, never complete. like the
notes of song blurrily remember
ed And whistled on a dark street
by a stranger who hits clinkers.
You're Satchel Paige from Mo
bile, Ala. You're 40 for low and
who knows the high? How many
columns Of type have you grabbed
with this mischievous secret?
How much has II meant for big
cars with hurting horns and for
complicated radio sets to play
with on the Pullmans?
It's n he'll Of stunt. II
brought you money. But 10 dis
figured the legend. You were a
great pitcher, but you became
famous because you're an old
man In boys game.
You're satchel Paige who never
had a sore arm. You pitched seven
days a week sometimes and there
were night games, too. You made I
IL back to the flea-bag hotel in |
your clammy uniform. You stood |
under a shower until the hot water |
burned your arm. Then you'd rub |
II with olive oil. Soon as you dried |
you'd be in the car and headed for |
the next town.
You pitched in the Negro |
leagues. for town teams. for trav-
cling baseball carnivals, on exhi-
bition tours with big league play
ers. You were paid 10 put ON a
show. You pitched in your bare
feet. The catcher sat in a rock
ing chair. The outfielders sat |
down. The infielders pretended 10 1
turn their backs TO the hitters. /
You invented silly wlnd-ups.
You came up with foolish de-
liveries. You, who might have
been the greatest Of all, earned
your salary as n clown.
But where was there 10 go?
Who sent for you in the years Of
your prime? They demanded you
be humorous. You were a vaude-
william but you were a great ath-
lete too. You were tireless in a
casual way. Who tabulated the in
nings you threw on those endless
many you won and how many you
many you won and how many you
lost when you followed the warm
weather and often were ambushed
in the cold? Is there a history Of
you in Cuba and Central America?
on tours you struck out hitters
such as Hack Wilson and Jimmy /
Foxx by the numbers. You pitch
ed against Dizzy Dean when II
meant nothing but a pay day. But
who thinks about prestige when
you're pitching for chops2 The
money was big but you put out
for Il.
There was no regular rotation.
You threw every time you came
into a ball park. They didn't
pay 10 see a team They got II
up 20 watch you
In as Bin Veeck too a look. You
had 70 show him, prove your case,
like kid off farm. Umpires said
you had the best control in the
leaVr That htdn'f affrnriae vOfl I