Where Eagles Fly: The Final Chapter

Where Eagles Fly

The Final Chapter

The year 2025

The stranger arrives in Moab on July 2, 2025.

He searches for a gas station. The stranger is running on empty, and besides that, it's raining and his windshield wipers are worn.

He's in luck. Another four hundred yards, and on his right.

It's the first time he had set foot in Moab, Utah, since 1967. some fifty-eight years ago. To get to the rest of the story, let's rewind a bit to December 26, 1966.

He was a young man then. He was twenty-one years old, with a young wife the same age and a two-year-old son. The family of three found a house to rent on Mill Creek Road. The house needed a coat of paint, but that would have to wait. The young man was scheduled to start work the very next day, and he needed to drive 21 miles to get there, specifically to the Canyonlands (CNY) Airport. He would grow accustomed to the short journey, as he would make that drive five days a week, every month, for the entire year of 1967.

The young man was a struggling writer back then, but he had to put such thoughts of a journalism career on the back burner. He had a family to raise and needed to latch on to real work. Frontier Airlines would provide that cover for the next twenty years.

So, if you haven't guessed it by now, the author of Where Eagles Fly and the new man in town on the day after Christmas/1966 is one in the same.

I, D.H. Price, better known as Danny, or Danno, or eventually Pigpen, a nickname I would come to answer to among all the teammates I would come into contact with, on one ballfield or another, for the next half century. 

It didn't take me long before I walked into the Moab Independent and asked Editor Sam Taylor for a part-time job. Of course, it wasn't a big money-maker at ten cents an inch for all the copy I could muster. But it was good enough for me. It kept my fingers moving.

By early spring, Hollywood came to town to film a Western called Blue. The movie starred Terence Stamp, Ricardo Montalbán, Karl Malden, Joe Desantis, and Joanna Pettet -- just to name a few. A modern-day flick was being filmed on the side, called Fade In, starring Burt Reynolds and Barbara Loden. 

On weekends, Hollywood would take on our men's fast-pitch softball team. See photo below. That's me, the skinny kid, third from the right in the back row. The tallest person in the back row was Karl Malden. Standing in front of him was our pitcher and the Moab High School football coach, Glen Richeson, now deceased. In fact, there's a pretty good chance everyone in the photo is deceased, except for me, Stamp, and Pettet, now 82.

 

I would transfer with my family back to Tucson with Frontier Airlines in 1968. But I left with a lot of memories — good memories about Moab, a sleepy, wonderful town back then, that is now a wild, crazy place during the spring, summer, and fall when the tourists invade the area to witness the Canyonlands and the Arches in person.

I did leave there with a fiction story locked in the back of my head. A story that now comes to light, so let's continue...

The stranger handed his charge card to the clerk and noticed a group of men having coffee and discussing, maybe, the world's problems or the local news of the day.

One man in particular seemed interested in the stranger who had just received his gas receipt and a pair of window wipers handed to him by a mechanic from the auto parts store next door.

'Have I seen you somewhere before?' said James Trumbo.

'No. I don't think so, the stranger said. Unless you are in that picture on the wall behind you.'

Trumbo quickly turned and eyed the picture. 'Are you?'

'Yes, that's me, the skinny kid in the back row.'

The three men at the table with Trumbo said their goodbyes and left. "Sit,' said Trumbo.

The stranger sat down and ordered a cup of coffee with two creams. I'm on my way to Grand Junction, well, actually Parachute, Colorado. My family is throwing me a party this afternoon. I turn 80 today.'

'Wow! said Jimmy. I just turned 77 recently. I'm not far behind you. So, is that really you in the picture?'

The stranger went on to explain...

'Well, I'll be. We have lives that parallel each other. I was at that game, sitting in the stands. Believe it or not.'

'Oh, I believe it!'

The stranger shook hands with Jimmy Trumbo and left the building.

*****

Trumbo hurried home. Rebecca was loading the trailer. Three of her students had reached the level of no return and were ready to compete. It was to be an exciting day. Once again, they would spend the weekend rodeoing. This time in Cortez, Colorado. Jimmy would tag along and cheer on the young cowgirls.

It was going to be a great weekend. His girls were hosting a seminar on horse schooling at the Events Center in Blanding. His employees had things covered at the station and the Outriggers store.

Jimmy will follow in his truck. He has some business to attend to in Monticello. Besides, it was a good time to spot an eagle or two in flight.

Thanks, Amelia.

It was a nice ride... 

My favorite, Amelia...

Jimmy Trumbo would have loved it. I know I did!

Chapter 5 Where Eagles Fly: 'Rebecca! Rebecca! Where did you come from?'

 Chapter 5 of Where Eagles Fly

Rebecca Manley

A.J. Johnson was buried in the Moab cemetery next to his sister, just south of town, not too many miles from the Hole N" the Rock, a piece of land, a southern Utah landmark, that has been photographed over and over again by curious tourists, who were en route west to Salt Lake City or south to Mounument Valley, or to other sight-seeing adventures like the Four Corners area, where you can stand in one spot and be in Arizona, Utah, Colorado and New Mexico.

Rebecca Trumbo would visit A.J. on occasion, bringing flowers and placing them gently at the base of A.J.'s black, with white lettering, headstone. Jimmy would also have his special moments there.

Both loved A.J. Jimmy cherished their life-long partnership, albeit only for a wonderful eight years. It seemed more like decades for all they had accomplished in such a short time. Rebecca had her own special reason for honoring A.J. Johnson.

A.J. was simply Cupid in her mind. Of course, she would often call him Mr. Grizzley; he was close to being the Roman god of love with a bow and arrow slung over his shoulder.

There was more to the story.

Rebecca was not just a photographer, but she was also comfortable on a horse when she wasn't behind the lens of a camera. She was a barrel racer. An outstanding barrel racer.

One Sunday afternoon in Sterling, Colorado, she not only finished in the money but won it all as her horse, Belle, galloped with Rebecca aboard to a first-place finish, while minutes later the Trumbo Kid was battling to stay atop a bronc called the Black Thunder. He wasn't going to win the battle, at least on this day.

But there was still a celebration of sorts for A.J. and Jimmy as they finished second in the calf roping event.

"Congratulations, young lady,' said A.J.

'Good morning,' Rebecca countered with a smile. "What do we have here?'

'Oh, I'm harmless, but my partner could use a boost in confidence. You just raced to a win, and he just hit the ground hard. The bronc busted him today. He's kind of down in the dumps, and we could use a winner at our table to lighten things up.'

'Now, that's a line I haven't heard before...but I'm kind of hungry.'

'Well, there you go. I'm A.J. Johnson from Moab.'

'From Moab. I'm from Moab! My name is Rebecca Manley.'

'Oh, yes. I've seen your name in the Moab Independent many times.  Do you ever lose a race?'

'Of course, but I try to win more than I lose. A lot depends on Belle,' as she points to her trailer parked outside the restaurant window. Belle's been fed. She's a happy camper right now. I wish I could say the same.'

'Well, come on over, let's remedy that situation, and you can meet my partner Jimmy Trumbo.'

'Trumbo! I know that name.'

'Yep, if you're from Moab, chances are you either know him or have heard about him.'

Jimmy stood up as Rebecca accepted A.J.'s invitation.

Suddenly, the Trumbo Kid forgot about Black Thunder...and horses altogether. Maybe birds, mountain lions, and bears as well.

That was all it took. A.J. had done his job.

*****

The courtship between Rebecca and Jimmy took a back seat at times as the two were busy carving out their accomplishments one after another. In the spring of 1980, the Double J was sold, Maria and Manny settled in Green River, and continued to blossom with Maria II, as Maria's home cooking turned nationally known, while Manny turned to his real love, football, and went on to Utah State and became a star running back.

As for Jimmy and Rebecca, they were just getting started. The two 30-somethings -- and just barely -- were on the move, and everybody in Moab was watching. The Jimmy Trumbo story was just getting started.

*****

By the time the mid-1980s rolled around, it was evident that what Jimmy Trumbo had helped create was becoming too much. There was very little time to chase after the bald eagles. Suddenly, parking spaces for locals began to disappear, and more motels appeared; the once comfortable spot to enjoy biscuits and gravy was slowly transformed into an establishment with entrees never seen before by any of the local residents.

Jimmy had already downsized and cut and run from most of his businesses from Green River to the old ranchhouse to old Charlie's bunkhouse. Those days of relaxation, a good Zane Grey book, and a nice little fire seemed like something from an old John Wayne movie.

Was it his fault? Only two decades had passed since Hollywood actors walked around town as free as a bird to mingle with the locals. Yes, times were changing. The Canyons were still there, but soon to be overrun like ants trying to scurry away from an overgrown ant hill.

Yes, Jimmy had his money in the bank. Money was not the problem for Jimmy, for Rebecca, and for their twin daughters, who were born in the spring of 1986.  Jimmy held on to his Outriggers store and bought the gas station next to it. He found a four-acre property with a modest four-bedroom home, located north of Mill Creek Road, and moved his family into it.

He wasn't leaving the Canyonlands, whether it was his fault or not.

He sat back in his recliner and took a deep breath with his daughters on his lap and his wife at his side. He would find a way to be with the eagles. He would make sure his family would do the same.

*****

The years continued to fly by. The 1990s blew by, and the turn of the century followed. Then came 9/11, followed by political turmoil and unrest nationwide. Still, the Colorado River continued to run, and millions would converge on the little town of Moab every spring, every summer, and in the fall. By 2005, the Trumbo girls, Betsy and Elizabeth, would accept scholarships to the University of Wyoming, majoring in Animal Sciences, following closely in their mother's footsteps.

They would graduate and return home, becoming an integral part of the community, and, like their father, would continue to search for the eagles and focus on the environment.

Jimmy slowed down and concentrated on his businesses—the outrigger store and the gas station that ran continuously, 24 hours a day. He always seemed to be in the right place at the right time. Rebecca would continue to board horses, her own, along with a select few clients, while also teaching young women who showed an interest in her favorite sport, barrel racing.

The Trumbos had it going. Jimmy Trumbo was right where he should be. In his heart, he was that same young man who got off the bus in 1967 and ran into A.J. Johnson.

Up next: the year 2025 and the final chapter.

  

 

Where Eagles Fly: Chapter 4 Farewell to A.J. Johnson and John Wayne

Where Eagles Fly

Chapter 4

Farewell to A.J. Johnson and John Wayne

Time passes.

The Colorado River continues to flow, and the majestic red rock canyons remain the same. The people, the fans, they come and they go. Bike enthusiasts, hikers, rock climbers, stargazers, they will all find their way to the Canyonlands.  Chances are, they will eventually run into the Trumbo Kid.

They will come to him. It dosen't have to be built. It is already there. The canyons -- stuck in an endless time frame forever. The fans, the onlookers, the men, the women, and the children will come and go quietly satisfied that they had seen, heard, walked, run, and biked through God's greatness.

Jimmy accepted Max's gift with glee. As for A.J., he wasn't just along for the ride. Every ounce of life left in him would go to fulfilling his dream of rolling down the river. Living and existing in such a place was his reward. He was now just a bit more visible.

Together, the 'odd couple' improved their dwellings first with an addition to the main house, with an added state-of-the-art bathroom, a spacious bedroom, along with an office big enough for everthing from John Wayne and Zane Grey paraphernalia to a place for detailed maps, focusing on the area Moab to Green River.

The Double J became a stop-off point on the way to the river, especially for tubers and kayakers. The Double J doubled as a ranch and a Circle K-like atmosphere, but with a comfy cafe to boot -- a cafe with a Maria Lopez there to rule the roost. Her son, Manny, was there too -- a wrangler in the making and the new resident of the bunkhouse-- affectionately referred to as Charlie's Place.

The mine that Jimmy Trumbo inherited? He also inherited the mineral rights. Surprisingly, Max's ancestry dated back a long way, to a great-grandfather who knew which buttons to push and when to do it.

For now, a well-respected real estate firm in Green River climbed aboard. It adhered to Jimmy Trumbo's idea to convert the closed-down mine, now named Trumbo Canyon Mine, into Maria II a Mexican food restaurant and what would become a stopping-off point for tourist on the way to join the Colorado River — the Green River spanning over 700 miles across three states, and the Colorado River over 1,400 miles and spanning seven states.

Closer to home, on the west side of Moab, Trumbo's Outriggers outlet suddenly opened its doors.

In March of '75, the recently turned 27-year-old Jimmy Trumbo stood quietly, among hundreds of mourners, as A.J. Johnson left the Colorado River and Canyonlands for good at the age of 85.

Of course, Jimmy T had spent near quarter of a century searching for the eagles in the vast blue sky above Canyonlands, but finding a partner to help in his neverending search had finally made her presents known in the spring of '72 -- the beautiful, local, born-and-raised in Moab, Rebecca Manley,  a long dark-haired professional photographer.

Jimmy finally popped the question one summer day in '75, and they both joined hands and tied the knot. The story goes that Jimmy was focused, as he should have been, strictly on Rebecca that day, while she was void of her trusty camera hanging over her shoulder. Many in attendance that day said there was a flyby -- a majestic bald eagle flew effortlessly down the Main Street of Moab, en route to a resting place on the top of Balanced Rock.

*****

Rebecca's family -- her parents, John, a retired banker, and her mother, Claire, and her younger sister, Renee, a 24-year-old veterinarian -- enjoyed their years in Moab. Still, to Rebecca's dismay, they moved on: her parents to a retirement villa in Pagosa Springs, Colorado. At the same time, Renee took over a thriving veterinary practice in Rifle, Colorado.

Her family wasn't that far away -- a three-hour drive to Pagosa Springs and a slightly shorter drive through Grand Junction on I-70 to Rifle. Of course, the young 'honeymooners' had very little time for anything but 'work' and both Rebecca and Jimmy did not consider what they did for a living as work.

They considered what they did as a privilege.

The couple was considered the 'Pride of the Canyonlands,' and taking time off was something that never occurred to them anyway. Except for an early fall weekend when the phone rang and it was John Springfield. "Hey, guys. I'm inviting you to a special screening of John Wayne's new film, 'The Shootist.'

'He's done it again. This might be his best yet!'

'Do we need to fly to LA?'

'No, it's going to be in Salt Lake City on Saturday.'

'Wow! ' said Jimmy. You know what a fan I am.'

'Jimmy, everybody knows what a fan you are. And, Rebecca, I heard you're a history buff of the silver screen. Well, Lauren Becall is the female lead.'

'How wonderful. We'll be there.'

'John, we will drive up. I have a meeting on Thursday night in Green River.'

'Great, guys. See you then. I'll send you the particulars. Your tickets will be at the will-call window. Looking forward to seeing you two.'

*****

The theatre was packed with special invitees. John had warned Rebecca and Jimmy ahead of time that John Wayne and Lauren Bacall would not be among the guests. The two stars had other commitments for the weekend, but John had said Richard Boone and Scatman Crothers were expected to attend, along with one of the youngest cast members, Ron Howard. 

The invitees for the special showing took their seats, and after a few introductions, The Shootist. 

Jimmy took it all in. It was as if he were back in the bunkhouse in '67. He had just put a log on the fire and was settled in and ready to read Riders of the Purple Sage.

Wayne was at his very best, and the streetcar scene near the end symbolized the end of an era. Every movie The Duke had ever made crossed Jimmy's mind. At times, he wasn't sure if he was engrossed in a scene of Wayne portraying his last hours of make-believe, or forging on horseback in True Grit, or saving Natalie Wood in The Searchers.

Rebecca constantly held Jimmy's hand. She looked at him and smiled. She didn't need a camera to document the moment. She knew exactly what her husband was thinking as each scene of The Shootist drew closer to the end, culminating with J.B. Books' final gun battle with the bad guys: actors Bill McKinney, Hugh O'Brian, and Richard Boone. 

Rebecca knew her husband was not only seeing Bacall perform, but also beautiful images of Wayne's female costars rolling through his mind, including the likes of Maureen O'Hara, Angie Dickinson, and Anne-Margaret.

The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance lives on not only in Jimmy's mind, but also in millions of Wayne's fans. The ending train ride scene with Vera Miles and James Stewart...the final words: "Nothing's too good for the man who shot Liberty Valance."

Jimmy's mind was racing past Monument Valley to the South Pacific and back home to Canyonlands where his eagles fly.

The credits on the screen were rolling. Rebecca and Jimmy smiled at each other. Suddenly, Jimmy's desire to be home came over him. He kissed Rebecca and said, 'Let's go home.'

The duo, The Pride of Canyonlands, let their work in Moab engulf them.

The Shootist was released in 1976 and received five Oscar nominations. Wayne's only Best Actor Award came in 1970 for True Grit. In 1979, John Wayne passed away.

Chapter 5 awaits...Where Eagles Fly -- 'Rebecca! Rebecca! Where did you come from?'

       

.'

Chapter 3 Where Eagles Fly...The Trumbo Kid: calf roper, broncobuster, historian and adventure guide

Where Eagles Fly                      Chapter 3            

by D. H.  Price

The movie buffs...and the money is in the bank.

How did Jimmy Trumbo, a lost, lonely, and skinny 18-year-old kid who showed up on a warm spring day on the streets of Moab, Utah, in 1967, become a Canyonlands legend?

Blame it on an over-the-hill cowpoke, by the name of A.J. Johnson, or on John Springfield, the famous Hollywood set designer, or blame it on the great John Wayne himself, or maybe Western writer Zane Grey had a hand in it.

It all came to pass when Johnson, Springfield, and Trumbo sat around a makeshift poker table in the bunkhouse of the Lazy Double J on the night the trio had returned from Dead Horse Point. They may have shared a bottle of Crown Royal, but that wouldn't even explain the lore of the Trumbo Kid since he'd rather drink a glass of milk than sip on anything that had alcohol in it. 

Springfield had waited all day to drop the 'good news' to Jimmy.

A.J. and Jimmy waited patiently as they heard the latches on John's briefcase unhinge. The papers would follow, and John uttered the words, 'Jimmy, it would seem you have inherited quite the sum of money and the ownership of a mine over in Green River.'

'I, what?'

John went on and explained to Jimmy that Max Fried had left him a nice little nest egg, and 'it will be official, in five, four, three, two, one!'  John tapped on his wristwatch. 'Jimmy, you are officially 21 now, right?'

'I guess. I haven't celebrated any of my birthdays since Sister Anne...'

Springfield went on to explain that Max had no children, never married, and Sister Anne was the youngest of the Frieds, and the only sibling. What do you think of those marbles, Jimmy?'

'My goodness!' Jimmy said in utter disbelief.

John added: 'Max had an LA firm handle all the particulars. So, just sit back and relax. Here's the check for $500,000, along with the paperwork for the Green River mine, which, by the way, is exactly 42.8 miles from your bunkhouse to the front gate of the mine...make that 30 miles if you could hop aboard one of those eagles you follow.'

A.J.  and Jimmy looked at one another and continued to shake their heads.

'Why now?' Jimmy questioned John.

"Max must have figured you'd someday follow those eagles right back to Utah when you were given the chance. You showed up a bit too early by arriving here and meeting up with A.J. in '67!' Now you're legal in every sense of the word,' Springfield explained as he handed the bottle of Crown Royal to the now 21-year-old.

A.J. got in on the conversation. 'You have to be 21 to drink in Utah!'

Jimmy took a swig of the Crown Royal and felt an instant burning pain in his chest.

'It takes some getting used to,' A.J. said, quickly taking the bottle away from the birthday boy. 'Congratulations and Happy Birthday. Let me get you some milk out of the frig.'

Once again, another round of laughter from all three.

*****

Springfield would spend one more night in Moab. Done with his executor duties, his final evening with A.J. and the Trumbo Kid would be delightful. He would quickly learn of all the escapades and accomplishments the young man from the St. Mary's Home for Boys had achieved in such a short three years -- although it was plenty of time to launch a legendary hero amongst the backdrop of the Canyonlands red rock and the Colorado River.

'There's nothing that boy can't do,' A.J. said proudly. 'Jimmy was out roping me in just three months, he was herding cattle in no time at all, and he was simply a natural in the saddle.'

Springfield surmised that he acquired the knowledge needed to become a cowboy from those Zane Grey novels or by watching John Wayne perform on horseback. I mean, it was such a smooth transition in such a short time.

'You seem to like the guy,' John said.

'I love the boy!'

'Stop it, A.J., I'm not all that..."

'Oh, yes, you are!'

A.J. turned to John. 'I took the boy shooting and within a few weeks he was hitting targets right and left, with a 30-30, a .22 rifle, a hand gun, or my nickel-plated 28 gauge shotgun for goodness sake!'

'Last year, he took up riding wild horses. He was a natural. Jimmy had become experienced enough, after being tossed to the ground in the corral over 100 times, that I finally entered him in a couple of rodeos in Laramie and one over in Sterling, Colorado. My God! We took a bunch of seconds in calf roping, and he rode some broncs, even busted a few, and he was in the money. He's just a natural at everything he touches.'

'And I see he reads and writes.' John said, eying all the books and piles of paperwork stacked about the bunkhouse. 'I talked to a few locals and got the impression Jimmy has become a natural Western historian, too. They say he's a walking encyclopedia when it comes to Zane Grey and Western movies, especially from the 1950s and 1960s; forget it, he'll name the entire cast and who starred in the film.'

'That is so true,' A.J. said. 'Let's try it.'

'Okay, Jimmy. Try this one: The Big Country

Before John could even get the word 'country' out of his mouth, the Trumbo Kid was rolling.

'That would be Gregory Peck, Charlton Heston, Jean Simmons, Carroll Baker, Charles Bickford, Chuck Conners, and Burl Ives.'

'Burl Ives! That's good!

'How about The Last Train From Gun Hill?'

'That's an easy one. Kirk Douglas, Anthony Quinn, Carolyn Jones, and Earl Holliman."

'Okay, one more for 500,000 dollars! Broken Lance.'

A.J. smiled. 'I think Jimmy's money is safe.'

'Broken Lance, hmm! Do you want all the characters in that one,' Jimmy said, trying to seem perplexed.

'Well, yes, I do. John said, knowing he had probably been taken advantage of, and there would be no money coming back his way.

'Well, let's see. Spencer Tracy, Robert Wagner, Jean Peters, Katy Jurado, Richard Widmark, Earl Holliman, again...and Hugh O'Brian, and...'

'That's okay, Jimmy. I give up!'

According to A.J., the Trumbo Kid had bolted to the top five on the short list of adventure guides. Jimmy is a walking encyclopedia with instant recall of the past and present of Canyonlands, and he continues to add to his resume. To top it off, Jimmy is no longer a skinny kid but, along with his 6-2 frame, has put on a good fifty pounds. Jimmy has often said, 'I give all the credit in the world to Maria and her visits to the ranch. She needs to be the head cook at some fancy restaurant.

'That is simply amazing,' John said. "Jimmy, you are flying with the eagles. You are right where you are supposed to be.'

*****

It was a breezy morning, and John Springfield was about to leave one world for another.

He shook hands with 'money bags' and with A.J. and cleared the gate at the Moab Airport and boarded the Convair 580, a two-engine prop job, destined for Salt Lake City. He would make his connection to LA, grab his car in the short-term lot, and head back to Thousand Oaks.

John was sure Jimmy and A.J., too, would put Fried's money to good use. That was Max's attention all along, and he never wavered in that endeavor. He certainly had left the Trumbo Kid with plenty of room to roam and plenty of ammunition to soar with the eagles.

Back at his desk in Thousand Oaks, Springfield began to clear his desk and figure out what to do with the rest of his life. Retirement was just ahead. He needed to answer a letter on his desk, another movie was to be born, and the project was to star John Wayne, Lauren Bacall, and Jimmy Stewart. There was another note. A slight delay for The Shootist, maybe a year or two. 

That was the nature of the movie business. Hurry up and wait.  

One thing was for certain back in Moab: the Trumbo Kid would not be slowing down anytime soon. The Canyonlands had become a National Park in 1964, three years before the arrival of Jimmy Trumbo, and now the Arches received the same designation during the winter of 1971 by President Richard M. Nixon.

Eight years ago, Jimmy was a wide-eyed 13-year-old witnessing John Wayne do his thing in The Comancheros, with the majestic La Sal Mountains lingering tall and glorious to the east. In the blink of an eye, Jimmy was now a wise 21-year-old and heading up an excursion that covered many of the trails inside the Arches. The destination on this fine day: Balanced Rock.

Jimmy Trumbo had his group take a knee, sit, and take a break. He pointed north, 'Look closely now, the eagle has landed.'

A special alert to my readers: I will now take a giant breath and exhale

 

Suddenly, I’m my own publisher, writer, storyteller, author, and crazy old man — all wrapped into one bundle.

And I don’t have to worry about getting a discount for this bundle. It’s been free all along. Self-publish, self-write, self-edit…well, you name it.

In my case, there is no money to be made in any of the endeavors mentioned above. If you don’t believe me, I can show you some recent royalty checks to clear up any doubts.

This old man has always flown by the seat of his pants. There was a time, about thirty years ago, when I was a struggling reporter working for a newspaper. Every couple of weeks, I’d deposit a check, pay the rent, buy some groceries, fill up the jalopy with gas…and continue to peck away at the typewriter. I think it was a typewriter. I’m not sure; my memory is beginning to fade.

Let’s back up a second. My memory remains intact and is not fading. I have a curse. I remember everything, and suddenly, I want to get it all out and into print before the final bell sounds.

I do not sleep. I'm in my own little world. It's just me and this rusty laptop of mine. I suddenly realize I must get my affairs in order. And I mean the legal paperwork-type of affairs, for those of you who might have a notion that I meant something else.

I’m still a staff of one, and chances are I’ll live the rest of my life the same way: as a staff of one. I will become an octogenarian on July 2nd -- just a few days after I post this little gem. Chances are, I'll soon be entering my final decade.

I have always said that besides chasing down characters to write about, my constant, never-ending love for baseball has kept me on the field of play.

I still have a goal to be the oldest active baseball player to cross the chalk line and take a position on the baseball diamond and await those beautiful words: Play ball!

If I can reach triple digits...and I mean in age, not those awful summertime Arizona temperatures, I'm certainly ready to do so. I would love to hear those words echoed by some young fan in the stands: 'There goes the oldest baseball player that ever lived.'

Until that final curtain falls, I know what I'm supposed to do in the meantime. If it's on the ball field, it's to get a hit and continue making the plays. If I'm at home in my office with the old laptop in front of me, it's to continue writing, despite the annoying arthritis in my fingers.

There are still characters out there I must meet, stories I must write, and things I want to do. So, now that I've taken a deep breath, I'll get on with it.

I know no other way. To my followers, out there. You are still stuck with me.

Note: I'm doing things a bit differently in the summer of 2025.

Below, you will see one of my middle-grade fiction books from the past. It's actually a sequel to Billy's Victory, my first book, which I published back in 2008.

The book below, entitled "The Return of Johnny Dugan," is printed here on my blog in episodes, from Chapter 1 through 7, concluding with the Epilogue. You'll have to read from the bottom up, much like my life has been.

Enjoy!

As an added note, I have done the same in recent weeks with my other fiction books, The Loner, The Dancer, The Legend of Bucket Smith, and Billy, of course. I can never forget Billy's Victory. You can find all those books mixed in with my other stories and ramblings at my author page...I thank you all for your support, check out:  www.facebook.com/danpricetucsonauthor 

One more note (You knew I'd have one). I'm attempting one more book. It is also on this blog. The book is entitled "Where Eagles Fly." And would you believe it, with all that is going on, I'm already into this latest endeavor, with two chapters in the books and already alive and well, for free, for all to read — just like the rest of the above books.

For the fun of it. See if you can guess the character that is most like me in each book.

The Return of Johnny Dugan...the Epilogue

              Please scroll to the posts below to begin at the beginning of the Return of Johnny Dugan. 

Johnny Dugan rolled down the window and breathed in the fresh air. He could hear the chugging sound of a freight train off to the west. Off to the east, the sun was coming up. It was going to be a beautiful Colorado day.

It was the last day of February, and Johnny motored toward Pearl City. He was in a hurry to get home. Johnny had left San Diego two days ago. The last headache he remembers having was the previous summer in Baxter Hollow. He shook his head and thought the game would have given any coach a headache.

Johnny purchased a lakefront cottage, just two miles north of the Harrington House, only a twenty-five-minute drive to Pearl City College. Quiet and secluded, and no more than a five-minute walk from his back door to the shoreline of Lake Mary. He gave up on the old Falcon and traded it in on a slightly used 1968 Ford Mustang.

The fall semester at the college had been a learning experience for both his students and Johnny. But the students endured, and so did he. Johnny couldn’t wait to get back to his classes for the spring semester. Dean Johnson had been kind enough to give him the time off, long enough to take care of his business with Dr. Stone, and for his three-day trip to Baltimore.

Dr. Stone advised Johnny to fly to Baltimore. “It’ll give you closure, Johnny.”

Johnny had agreed. After all, Dr. Stone had been right all along, about everything.

Johnny’s first stop in Baltimore was at Third Street and Sycamore — the Baltimore Home for Boys. He didn’t recognize the place. The building had been remodeled, and Sister Amelia answered the door as Johnny pushed the button three times.

“It used to be,” Sister Amelia said. “We have a new name now. It hasn’t been called a “home for boys” for ten years. We have both boys and girls staying here. We extend our support all the way to the twelfth grade and have sent eighty percent of our students to college. We’re one of the top private schools in Baltimore.”

Johnny was impressed. “What do you call it now?”

“Why, we’re known as the Dutch Dugan Academy for Learning.”

“What is your name, son? If I may ask?”

“Johnny Dugan.”

“I thought so. Come with me.”

Sister Amelia led Johnny into the library. “This is where our students have their quiet time…their time to rehash their day and prepare for tomorrow’s lessons. We call it the ”O” room.”

Johnny crossed the room and ambled over to the portrait above the fireplace. It was a picture of Dutch Dugan on the dugout steps in his Baltimore Orioles uniform with a little boy standing next to him, Johnny O Dugan.

“I believe it was two years before Dutch became ill,” the Sister said. “He came to us and donated quite a sum of money for us to remodel this building and set up a learning center for disadvantaged youth. His final instructions included the building of this wing in honor of his adopted son, Johnny O.”

Tears streamed down Johnny’s face.

“We’re all baseball fans here — all the Sisters are. It broke our hearts to hear of Dutch’s passing, and we were shocked when we heard what happened to you. Dutch was so proud of you.”

The following day, Johnny had made his arrangements to tour Memorial Stadium, Dutch’s home in the 1950s, where he had served under Paul Richards. Johnny eased into a seat, forty rows above the Orioles’ dugout. The stadium was practically vacant, except for a few workers milling around, working on the scoreboard.

In two months, the stadium would be complete, and a new season would be underway with manager Earl Weaver at the helm. The Orioles were the defending American League Champions, losing the World Series in 1969 to the amazing New York Mets.

Johnny closed his eyes and listened. He could hear Dutch’s voice echoing throughout the confines of Memorial Stadium.                                                 

Johnny’s final stop in Baltimore was at the East Lawn Cemetery. He placed some flowers in front of Dutch’s gravestone. The name engraved on the stone: Dutch Dugan, 1888-1967, along with two baseball bats joined at the handles with an inscription written below: The hitting coach of the Baltimore Orioles.

*****

Johnny glanced out the window once again. Last spring, on a cold and windy day, he took a cloth out of the glove compartment and cleared off a spot so he could see the mileage sign ahead.

The same sign had just appeared on the side of the road: Pearl City, five miles.

On this day, not a cloud in the sky.

Johnny sat back and took the next turnoff into Pearl City.

“We are home, Dutch. We are home.” 

The Return of Johnny Dugan...Chapter 6 and 7

             Crack!

Boomer McPherson finished up batting practice by pounding the final offering from Rocky Miller to left field. On the second hop, the ball caromed off the fence, three hundred and forty-nine feet away from home plate.

“Hey, Coach Dugan. I hit the Bronco Burger sign.

Now get out of there and rest the ankle.”

Johnny glanced around the confines of Rasmussen. All fourteen Pirates were busy at work. It was a sight to see. The Ridgeway Four seemed to show no after-effects from the collision with the deer, and Boomer seemed as fit as ever.

Bumper was whistling away, taking infield throws at first base, while Silky and Corky practiced their footwork and focused on their exchanges at second base. Dusty worked on his backhand at third as Johnny ripped ground balls in his direction. Tank, Rusty, Booker, Billy Bob, Woody, and Lightning Bean Williams took turns running down fly balls in the outfield, while Rocky assumed the honors with the fungo bat and Boomer hustled over to lend a hand with incoming throws.

Bugs took a throw from Dusty at third and handed the ball to Johnny.

“We look a lot better than last week at Baxter Hollow.”

“Don’t remind me. I’d just as soon forget that one. How is Woody doing? He took the loss pretty hard?”

“He’s okay, Coach Dugan. He’s forgotten all about it. I think he’s pretty proud of himself.”

“He should be, Bugs. He should be.”

Johnny motioned to Bugs to gather the troops.

“Everybody in!” Bugs yelled.

“Let's get comfortable for a few minutes and go over a few things.”

First of all. The nine players who were able to finish the game in Baxter Hollow, I commend you. Talk about adversity. Missing four players, losing Boomer at a crucial moment, wind…rain, you name it. We fought through it, and we almost managed to pull it off. They certainly knew they were in a game. I commend Woody for stepping up. Great job, Woody.”

Johnny changed the subject. “Now we have just two more early-morning practices and that’s it. Friday will be here before we know it. Finally, we get our chance to play in front of our home fans, and we play at our new home, Rasmussen Stadium. We are back to full strength. We have four games left and we need to win them all. One game at a time. One inning at a time. One out at a time. Make every at-bat count.”

Johnny eyed the group — all of them ready to take on the world. A group of misfits with no fear, ready to take on all comers. “Let me hear it,” Johnny yelled.

“Go, Pirates!”

July 4, 1969…

The old turnstiles were churning as the Pearl City baseball fans flocked to the stadium at Third Street and Main.  Horns were going off, and police officers were directing traffic. It was the place to be — a Friday night baseball game at Rasmussen Stadium.

Sam, Walter, Norton, and Clyde found their seats in the fifth row behind home plate. The oil company executives had arrived early and taken their seats, alongside Mayor Oldham and Jim Johnson. The fans in the left field and right field bleachers scurried for a spot to view the game. Anne Harrington and Jackie Williams were already seated and ready to watch the action. Also in their seats were Jane and Ace Hightower, and next to them sat Walter Sullivan. Even Alice Jones and her husband, Eldon, had closed up shop at Alice’s Cafe and were in attendance.

All the parents of the Ridgeway Four had driven down for the event, and the parents of Rusty and Dusty Johnson were sitting next to Gladys and Joel McPherson. In the centerfield bleachers, a group of young ball players wiggled in their seats — all in uniform — all of them from the new youth leagues in town, and all of them chomping away, devouring boxes of popcorn and sticks of cotton candy.

The Pearl City Pirates took the field. Players on both teams placed their baseball caps over their hearts as the Star Spangled Banner echoed through the loudspeaker.

The umpire crew took their positions, and the home plate umpire bellowed. “Let’s play ball!”

Johnny had shaken hands with Randy Rosenthal, the Monroe Heights thirty-something coach, who doubles as the local high school baseball coach and heads up his town’s summer team. A nice enough fella, Johnny surmised.

As for Rosenthal’s team, they were young with a majority of their players still in high school, and their pitcher, Cody Stanton, was a former starter for the town’s high school team back in 1967.

Johnny leaned on the dugout railing and gave signals to the Pirates on where he wanted them positioned. In the first couple of innings, he’d have his outfield play shallow. His infield was at normal depth with Bumper at first, Silky at second, Corky at short, and Dusty at third base. From left to right in the outfield — Tank, Booker T, and Rocky in right field. Billy Bob was on the mound for his first starting role of the summer, and Bugs, of course, was behind the plate.

Billy Bob went into his windup and delivered his first pitch to the Marauders’ leadoff man, Robby Davenport. The ball wiggled its way to the plate.” Strike One,” the umpire said. It was a knuckleball right down the middle of the plate.

Walter practically jumped out of his seat. “Guys, he just threw a knuckleball. The kid must think he’s Hoyt Wilhelm. I haven’t seen a ball move like that since…well, since I saw Hoyt Wilhelm pitch during the 1956 season.”

“Strike two. Strike three.”

Twelve pitches, nine knuckleballs, and three consecutive outs. Billy Bob walked off the mound, entered the dugout, and slapped the right hand of Coach Dugan. “I’ve got my knuckleball working!”

“I see that, Billy Bob. I see that.”

The game settled into another pitching duel as the Monroe starter matched Billy Bob. Stanton used three pitches to get the job done — a fastball, a slider, and a slow curveball, while Billy Bob continued to frustrate the Marauders with the control of his knuckleball.

Not one base runner had reached base. The scoreboard showed nothing but zeros — no runs, no hits, and no errors. The Pearl City fans were getting restless. The tension in both dugouts increased, and the crowd began to stomp, pounding away at the freshly painted floorboards. In the bottom of the seventh inning, Silky stepped in and worked the count to 3-2, and for the first time in the game, a pitch got away from Stanton, curled inside, and caught Silky on the elbow.

A base runner with no outs.

Bugs slowly found his way to the batter’s box. He took a glance at the third base coaching box and picked up the signs from Rusty Johnson. Johnny had flashed the bunt sign from the dugout. Silky took three steps off the first base bag. Stanton went into his windup and sent a fastball to the plate.

Bugs had moved up in the batter’s box, squared up, and dropped a perfect bunt down third. The ball rolled to a stop inside the chalk line, and Bugs scampered across the first base bag with a bunt single, and Silky motored into second base. The Pearl City fans were on their feet. Tank stepped into the batter’s box, and Johnny signaled to Boomer to grab a bat and go to the on-deck circle.

It was just what Boomer was waiting for.

Tank worked the count full and then drilled a shot to left field. High and deep. The ball curled toward the foul pole, and the third base umpire turned his body to the left, raised his hands, and yelled. “Foul ball!”

The Monroe coach called a timeout, rushed to the mound, and motioned his catcher and infielders to join the meeting. “Okay, boys. Let’s go ahead and walk this big fella. We’ll take our chances with the guy on deck.” He glanced at his infielders. “Play midway, guys. We’re gonna fill the bases. Come home if you got a play, otherwise go for two and let’s get out of this mess.”

Tank stepped back in. Boomer knelt down on one knee. The pitch was high and outside, and Tank trotted to first base. 

The crowd begins to chant. “Boomer…Boomer…Boomer!”

Every baseball fan in Pearl City had heard of Boomer McPherson, and every baseball fan in the county was at Rasmussen Stadium. The young ball players, beyond the centerfield wall, had forgotten about the popcorn, the peanuts, and the cotton candy. They were all on their feet, screaming and yelling, as Boomer made his way to the plate.

Stanton took a deep breath as Boomer settled into the batter’s box. The first pitch was just off the outside corner of the plate. “Ball one!”

Boomer stepped out and then returned to the box. He dug his right foot into the back of the box. He stretched his big frame and curled the toe of his left foot slightly toward the plate. Stanton delivered. Boomer got it all. A towering fly ball to deep center field.

The ball landed in the middle of all the young kids in the stands, well beyond the centerfield fence — one player was successful in retrieving the GRAND SLAM HOME RUN ball and lifting the ball in the air, as the crowd roared their approval.

Gladys hugged her husband. “Boomer has been waiting for this moment for such a long time.”

The “boys of summer” stood up and cheered. Sam Marino smiled at his buddies. “Baseball is back at Rasmussen!”

There were still two innings to go. The Pirates enjoyed a 4-0 lead, thanks to Boomer’s booming home run.

Forgotten in all the excitement was Billy Bob’s no-hitter. Johnny had a feeling Billy Bob was tiring, and if his starter ran into trouble in the top of the eighth, he wouldn’t hesitate —  he’d bring in Rocky. His intuition was right on as Billy Bob walked the first two batters and gave up a single to right to load the bases with no outs.

Suddenly, the Pirates’ comfy 4-0 lead didn’t seem so comfortable. It was Johnny’s turn to head for the mound. He took the ball from Billy Bob, patted him on his back, and said, “Great job!”

He motioned Rocky to the mound and sent Woody to right field. With Tank in left field, Rusty now in center, in place of Booker T, and Woody in right, Johnny quickly returned to the dugout. He sat on the edge of the dugout steps and put up two fingers. “Let’s go for two, boys!”

Johnny got what he wanted.

The next batter drilled a one-hopper to short. Corky gloved the ball and threw to second. Silky made a quick throw to Bumper at first, and the Pirates had their made-to-order double play.

Clyde yelled his approval. “Can these guys play ball or what?”

With two outs and a runner on third and one run in, Rocky coaxed the next batter into a high pop fly to right field. Woody camped under it for the third out and rambled off the field. The Pirates were just three outs away from their second victory.

The Pirates went quietly in the bottom of the eighth inning, and so did the Marauders in the top of the ninth. The Pirates had won 4-1 to the delight of the home crowd.

It wasn’t over for the fans as fireworks exploded, filling the night sky. Jim Johnson shook hands with Mayor Oldham. “Well, Jim. Is this what you expected?”

“This is exactly what I expected.”

It took days for Pearl City to get back to normal. After all, the residents of Pearl City had been waiting a long time for baseball to return to their town. They were going to savor every moment of the experience.

Everywhere Johnny went, the townspeople would stop and shake his hand.

The Pirates — all fourteen of them — were treated like royalty. Their names and their jersey number showed up in every business from Main Street to Fourth Street. The local radio station held interviews with all the players, and Johnny, of course, was quizzed constantly about his past, his injury, which ended his professional baseball career, and his relationship with Dutch Dugan. Where had he been the last three years? Why did he settle on Pearl City?

Johnny patiently answered all the questions thrown his way — at least, the ones he could answer.

The Pirates were rolling. Rasmussen was abuzz as the Pirates took care of business the following week with a 10-2 win over Garland City and an 8-6 victory the following week over Roaring Fork.

Boomer earned his second pitching victory, hurling eight innings against Garland City. Tank Parker came alive at the plate against the Ravens, belting a two-run homer in the third inning and a three-run shot in the sixth. Lightning Bean Williams was back in action. She stole two bases and scored two runs. She also played the eighth and ninth innings at second base and recorded a putout and added an assist.

Woody pitched a scoreless ninth, allowing just one hit — a harmless single up the middle with two outs. Ricky had a pinch-hit double in the eighth inning and knocked in two runs.

Against Roaring Fork, it was another nail-biter until the seventh inning when Corky, Bumper, and Booker T ripped three consecutive singles to start a four-run inning, and the Pirates took the lead for good. Billy Bob pitched four innings, Rocky three, and Boomer pitched a scoreless eighth and ninth for the save.

Johnny was pleased with the Pirates’ hitting during the two games, and defensively, it was Booker T taking the spotlight in center field, with two running catches against Garland City and another grab against Roaring Fork — an over-the-shoulder catch as he banged against the wall and held on to the ball.

As for the Pirates, they deserved some time off — some time to themselves, away from baseball. Johnny gave them three days off. They had the weekend and Monday to rest on their laurels and await the Grand Valley White Sox, who were tied with the Pirates with identical 4-1 records with one game remaining.

Baxter Hollow had lost the services of its top pitcher Razor Head Zagursky — a broken ankle in the seventh inning of a 3-1 loss to Garland City and coupled with a 2-0 loss to Grand Valley, the Lumberjacks are stuck in third place with a 3-2 record with one game remaining. The rest of the teams in the league are struggling, with Garland City at 2-3, Roaring Fork at 2-3, Garden Grove, last year’s runner-up, also at 2-3, and Monroe Heights, which has been eliminated from the season at 1-5.

The 1969 Pearl City Pirates: A team of Destiny. Only one win away from the Rocky Mountain Summer Baseball League championship.

Chapter 7

Dean Johnson sat in his box seat at Rasmussen Stadium. The final day of the Rocky Mountain Summer Baseball League was moments away. Everything had worked out perfectly. The Dean of Admissions at Pearl City College had the coach he wanted and an English teacher to boot. Baseball was back in town, the enrollment at his college was on the rise, and he was sitting in the best seat in the house — inside the confines of the Pirates’ new home.

In less than eight months, the Pearl City College Pirates would open a thirty-two-game schedule, and thanks to Johnny Dugan, the team would undoubtedly be competitive right out of the gate. As Johnson looked around the stadium, he couldn’t spot an empty seat. It was standing-room-only. Just moments ago, four busloads of baseball fans from Grand Valley had pulled up to the entrance to Rasmussen. The out-of-town fans rushed to the ticket windows and scurried through the turnstiles.

Johnson shook his head. In the end, Johnson figured he’d realized all his goals. His project was complete, yet it was the town of Pearl City and its residents who came out as the big winners. Pearl City was no longer a town without baseball.

Johnson watched Johnny head for home plate and the meeting with the umpires. Of course, already waiting for him with his right arm extended, the coach of the Grand Valley White Sox, Roy Thornton.

The two coaches shook hands. “Nice to see you again, Coach Dugan.”

“Likewise, Coach Thornton.”

The home plate umpire went through all the formalities and discussed the ground rules. “Any questions?”

Both coaches shook their heads and answered, “No.”

“Well then, let’s play ball!”

Boomer McPherson headed for the mound and began his warmup tosses. It would be the first of many big games for the young man.  Johnny was sure of it. Boomer wasn’t quite ready for Yankee Stadium yet, but he was ready for this day. Johnny had seen to that.  Johnny had fine-tuned Boomer’s delivery and worked on his curveball, his slider, and his blazing fastball.

A handful of pro scouts were sitting in the stands. Somehow, they had caught wind of the game. The scouts had a knack for identifying key games. Finding baseball talent was their job. From New York to Los Angeles. From the southern tip of Texas to the edge of Canada. If there was a future baseball star out there, they’d find him —even if it led them to a small college town in western Colorado.

Johnny watched Boomer serve up his final warmup pitch, jumped off the dugout steps, and quickly jogged to the mound.

“Are you ready for this?”

“I’m ready, Coach Dugan.”

“Good, because this is your time,” Johnny said to him, as he turned and eyed the crowd. “This is your time.”

Boomer took a deep breath and watched his coach return to the dugout. He toed the rubber and focused on the sign from Bugs. Boomer nodded and delivered.

“Strike one,” said the umpire. The game was on.

Thornton was pulling out all the stops. His starting outfielders consisted of three players out of Denver Central High School — Randy Wade in left, Ty Hawkins in center, and Bradley Bannister in right. His infield consisted of four players in their third year with the White Sox — Randy Rhinehart at first, Spike Lowry at second, Tubby Gale at third, and Reece Ramsey at short. His experienced catcher, Manny Garcia, and his pitcher, now sporting a 3-1 record, Gordo Hammerstadt, who was out to avenge his only loss this season — the 1-0 defeat in the summer opener to the Pirates.

“Strike two,” bellowed the ump.

Spike Lowry called a timeout and stepped out of the box. The White Sox second baseman stepped back in and prepared for another fastball, but Boomer broke off a curveball. The pitch came right at Lowry and then darted back over the plate. “Strike three.”

Boomer coaxed Ramsey into an easy fly ball to Booker T in centerfield, and Hawkins hit a one-hopper to Silky at second, and the top of the first inning was history.

The Pirates rushed off the field. “Alright, let’s get something started,” Johnny said.

Silky quickly reached for his helmet and watched Gordo warm up. “They call him the Hammer, don’t they?”

“Well then, go out there and hammer him,” Johnny said.

Silky stepped to the plate. The first pitch from “The Hammer” was on its way.

Crack!

Silky hit a shot between first and second for a single. Bugs stepped in. He took three pitches and was ahead in the count, 2-1. The next pitch was a slow curveball. Bugs waited and waited. He timed the pitch perfectly and drilled a shot by Rhinehart at first base. The ball rolled to the corner, and Silky eased into third, while Bugs slid into second ahead of the throw from the right fielder.

Tank headed for the batter’s box as “The Hammer” kicked the rubber in disgust. The pitcher was suddenly in trouble with Tank Parker batting and Boomer McPherson in the on-deck circle and runners on second and third. The Pearl City fans were on their feet as Tank waited for the first offering. Crack! The ball cleared the third base bag, bounced in fair territory, and rolled to the left-field corner. Silky scored. Bugs scored. Tank rounded second and put on the brakes as Wade threw a one-hopper to third, right on the money.

Boomer dropped the extra two bats he held in his hand. Eyed the trademark of the bat he had chosen and made his way to the plate. Gordo was no longer feeling like his nickname suggested. The Grand Valley pitcher wasn’t sure what to throw at the tall drink of water in the batter’s box.

It didn’t matter.

Boomer put the barrel of the bat on the ball, and the ball sailed over the left field fence. Suddenly, the Pirates enjoyed a 4-0 lead. The “boys of summer” were on their feet. Joel and Gladys hugged each other. Jim Johnson shook hands with Mayor Oldham. Rasmussen was abuzz.

The crowd had settled into a steady roar as the innings flew by. Boomer ripped through the lineup of the White Sox. Down in order, in the second, in the third, in the fourth, and in the fifth. By the time the top of the sixth had rolled around, Boomer had struck out six and retired the first fifteen batters he had faced.

The Hammer showed his maturity as he regrouped and began to mow down the Pirates, allowing a hit to Booker T in the second and an infield hit to Corky in the fourth. Coach Thornton paced in the dugout. He had the bottom of the order up for the second time. He needed to make a move.

Thornton sent three pinch-hitters in a row to the plate in the sixth — all to no avail as Boomer struck out the side — all of them caught looking at a blazing fastball. Gordo “The Hammer” Hammerstadt was gone, removed from the game for a pinch hitter.

Thornton sent in a hard-throwing left-hander, a Grand Valley favorite, right out of Grand Valley Central High School. A blond-haired boy wonder by the name of Jimmy Jones. He went 6-0 in his senior year at Central and 14-0 for his high school career. He relied on off-speed stuff — including a wicked curveball that pounded the low end of the strike zone.

Johnny decided to make a few changes of his own as he sent Rusty to the plate in place of Booker T, and Woody headed to the on-deck circle, batting for Rocky. Rusty took the count to 2-2 and then jumped on a curveball and drilled a shot over the bag at second. Woody followed. He glanced over at Coach Dugan for the sign.

Rusty broke for second, and Woody bunted the ball in front of the mound. Rusty scampered to second as Jones had no choice but to throw Woody out at first. Johnny was waiting for Woody in the dugout. “Just the way we drew it up, Woody. Great job!”

Johnny called time and sent in Lightning Bean to run for Rusty. He then motioned for Ricky to grab a bat. Ricky picked out his piece of lumber and moved into the batter’s box.

Ricky worked the count to 3-0 and looked to Coach Dugan for the take sign. It never came. Ricky smiled and hit the next pitch down the line at third. The ball rolled to the corner, and Lightning Bean scampered home to increase the Pirates’ lead to 5-0.

Jackie Williams was on her feet. “That’s my girl!” Ace Hightower was standing right next to Jackie. He turned, gave her a high-five, and said. “That’s my boy!”

Boomer was alone at the end of the dugout as the Pirates took the field in the top of the seventh inning. Everyone knew the situation, but Boomer’s teammates also knew they needed to keep quiet.

Boomer glanced at Coach Dugan, who said, “Get out there and get it done.”

Boomer faced the top of the Grand Valley’s order for just the third time in the game. Lowry fouled off the first two pitches and then hit a shot over the bag at second. Bumper took one giant stride, dove, and took a hit away from Lowry.

Ty Hawkins was next up for the White Sox, and he drilled a shot down third. Dusty backhanded the ball and threw back across the diamond on one hop to Bumper for the second out. Bradley Bannister followed and hit a Texas Leaguer to right field. Silky backtracked, but it was out of his reach. Woody, on the dead run, shouted, “I got it” as he dove for the ball, turned over, and showed the ball to the crowd.

The base umpire took one last look at the ball and Woody. The man in blue signaled with a fist pump. “It’s a catch!” Woody raced off the field, all smiles. Coach Dugan raised his arms and said. “That a boy, Woody.”

Anne Harrington stood up and covered her face with both hands. She wiped away the tears and returned to her seat.

Six outs away from a perfect game. Nine strikeouts. Boomer was cruising along.

“That’s it, Coach Dugan.”

Johnny looked up. He already knew what was on the mind of his young pitcher. “You’re six outs away.”

“I know, but Billy Bob hasn’t played yet. Everyone needs a shot in this game. Put him in, coach!”

Johnny shook his head. His team had come full circle. Johnny Dugan was proud to be the coach of Boomer McPherson. He was proud to be the coach of the Pearl City Pirates.

A startled Billy Bob Stilwell began his warmup tosses. Jones mowed down the Pirates in the bottom of the seventh and Billy Bob headed for the mound and his teammates took their positions on the field.

Bugs walked out to the mound and handed Billy Bob the ball. “Come on, Billy Bob. Show them the old knuckleball.”

Billy Bob nodded and did just that as he breezed through the eighth inning. The Pirates headed back to the dugout for their half of the eighth inning, needing just three outs when they returned to the playing field in the ninth.

The Pirates went quietly in their half of the eighth, aside from a booming double of the centerfield fence by Bumper. Jones escaped more damage by coaxing the next three batters into groundouts, and Bumper was left stranded at second.

Roy Thornton gathered his troops. “Let’s wait on this knuckleballer. Be patient. Hit to the opposite field. Don’t try to pull the ball.”

It was good advice, but Billy Bob wanted no part in messing up a perfect game. He struck out the side, and the Pirates' dugout erupted. Gloves and hats are flying everywhere.

Coach Thornton met Johnny at home plate. “Coach Dugan, you are full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“I didn’t pull my starter. That was one decision I didn’t make today.”

The two coaches looked over as Boomer and Billy Bob posed for pictures. Standing next to the “perfect pitchers” was a reporter. Willard Smith turned toward Johnny, raised his hat, and bowed.

The reporter was struggling for words. At that very moment, he had none.