Billy's Victory continued...
Chapter 11
Billy felt at ease in his new surroundings. Grandma Thomas had taken care of that. Billy looked around at his new room.
Billy’s life-sized vintage posters — one of his dad hitting a home run during a game against Evansville three years ago and the other of Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris, taken at Yankee Stadium last year — are carefully placed on the wall next to his bed.
His grandmother had centered his wooden dresser under the window. Billy looked out the window. He had a perfect view of the backyard. Just outside the back gate was a steep hill. Beyond the hill was the forest — populated with hundreds of tall trees — covering the far horizon and blocking the late-afternoon sunlight.
Billy checked out the baseballs, which were proudly displayed on stands at the top of his dresser. Billy took a rag from the top drawer and ensured each trophy was spotless — each autographed ball marking an essential milestone in his dad’s baseball career.
Each ball is dated and placed in chronological order from left to right.
On the wall, across from his bed, were framed pictures—some of his dad playing ball, some of his grandpa performing in one of his many clown outfits, all neatly placed in a row, one after another.
Billy then checked all the dresser drawers. His shirts, socks, and underwear were all there. And his glove? Where was it? He frantically searched. The second drawer, no. The third drawer, no. The fourth drawer, yes. In the left-hand corner, it was tucked away under his flannel pajamas.
He remembered sitting in the den—back at the ranch—next to his dad, oiling the glove the night before his father was to leave for spring training in Florida.
The glove was a Rawlings with a soft pocket. It fit his hand perfectly. He took a deep breath and returned the glove to its rightful place.
Billy looked around the room. Everything was in its place. But what should he do with his prize collection of baseball cards?
His dad had told him many times. “You have a fine collection of cards; you hold on to them. Those cards will be worth some money someday.”
At the ranch, he had a special hiding place. But here, where should he put them?
He checked the closet. Grandma Claire had put all his clothes on hangers, and his shoes were neatly placed at one end of the closet.
And then he saw it. One of the wooden slats was loose at the other end of the closet. His grandma had said, “To snoop,” so he did.
Billy pulled up the board...and then another...and then another. He looked down into the opening. He figured the space to be about three feet long and about ten inches deep. There was plenty of room for the cards and then some.
He quickly got up, brought the boxes of cards from on top of his bed, and began to put them into his new hiding place.
Billy pushed the boards back into place. Mission accomplished.
He could smell his mother’s cooking. It was time to eat. Billy surveyed the room again, closed the door, and headed downstairs.
“It sounded like you were a busy little beaver up there,” Joan said as she placed a sizzling hamburger and fries before his nose.
She should’ve devised a more balanced meal, but it was Billy’s favorite and his first night in his new home...so she gave in.
She knew Billy would eat a hamburger and fries for breakfast if he could get away with it.
Billy’s father always insisted that his son understood the reasoning behind good eating habits. Joan’s husband was the stronger of the two when it came to that.
“Vegetables, and more vegetables, that’ll make you a stronger hitter, and carrots will help you improve your eyesight and allow you to pick up the pitch," his Dad would say.”
Joan knew Billy listened to every word. And most of the time, Billy would adhere to his dad’s requests to finish all the food on his plate.
But one thing was for sure: Billy loved hamburgers. Joan watched her son finish off the burger. She smiled and said, “Now go up and try out the tub. I put some fresh towels on the sink for you.”
By nine o’clock, Billy was ready for bed. His mom walked into the room and instantly realized Billy had gone over his room with a fine-tooth comb, everything put away, all nice and tidy.
He had found his radio and placed it on his nightstand beside the lamp. On the other nightstand was a photograph. The photo was of his father, looking strong and confident, holding a Louisville Slugger over his right shoulder. Next to the image was the Billy’s Field sign, cleaned and polished, with no mark on it.
Joan was amazed at Billy's willingness to keep his and his dad’s things in order.
She knew only one person who would go to those extremes — her father.
Joan kissed Billy, turned off the light, and closed the door.
Billy put his head on the pillow, pulled up the covers, and quickly went to sleep. The dream returned, but this time, there was no black hole.
The figure stood very still in the open field. It seemed to be staring upwards toward the heavens. White, fluffy clouds rolled by, leaving a beautiful blue sky behind. The figure was wearing a pinstripe uniform with the number 8 stenciled on its back. The figure looked back. The steps were gone. The black hole was gone. The figure saw nothing except a low-lying mist moving slowly across the field. The figure could hear a crowd cheering in the distance...
Billy opened his eyes for a moment. He glanced over at the photo of his father. He closed his eyes and fell back to sleep.
Chapter 12
Billy woke up early the following day. He ate breakfast with his mom, helped her with the dishes, grabbed his baseball hat, and headed for the garage.
He found his bicycle quickly enough. It was lying on its side next to a couple of huge boxes, but luckily, he could push them aside and free his bike.
Billy began his first full day in Johnsonville, helping his grandpa unpack the old green locker.
It had taken Billy only five minutes to cruise to his grandparents' house, surrounded by an acre of densely populated trees.
Behind the main house was a rectangular building. Four railroad ties embedded in the ground led to the porch.
Billy’s mother had warned him. “Grandma Thomas may not be home. Your grandma will probably be at the drugstore, but chances are your grandpa will be back in his old building.”
Sure enough, that’s where Billy found him. Billy gently turned his bike on its side and ventured up the steps.
Billy reached the porch and eyed a yellow sign nailed to the door. Written on the sign were three words: The Clown’s Den.
Billy opened the door, and his eyes popped wide open.
The inside of the building was much larger than Billy had expected. It wasn’t just one room, but four. All the rooms had wood floors. The floors let off a shiny glow. They had recently been waxed.
Hundreds of clown costumes in all sizes, shapes, and colors were pinned to the walls in the first room.
Billy moved to the second room, which was full of autographed photos of clowns, all showing off and smiling from ear to ear.
It was a clown’s hall of fame!
But that wasn’t all.
Billy moved to the third room. The wall to the left contained photographs of professional baseball players, each picture autographed and signed: "To George, with love."
Billy looked to the right and saw an assortment of glass cases — each containing tools of the trade, from catcher’s mitts to first baseman’s gloves, to bats, to balls, and even a base or two, including a pitching rubber and a home plate.
Billy moved slowly into the fourth room. Grandpa Thomas was sitting in a rocking chair next to an old leather desk, wiping the perspiration off his brow.
“There you are, I’ve almost got this locker unloaded. I hope you had a good night’s sleep. I’m going to keep you pretty busy today. There’s a lot to see and do.”
Billy looked around the room. It looked more like an office compared to the other three rooms.
The shelf on the right side of the room housed a radio similar to the one on the nightstand in his bedroom. He wondered if his grandpa could tune in to games like he did.
Billy recalled that sometimes he would spend hours trying to break through the radio’s static, hoping to pick up a ball game.
It didn’t matter, a college game, a minor league game, a major league game…wherever he could find a baseball game, he’d tune in and listen.
George caught Billy eyeing the old radio.
“Billy, that radio has been good to me over the years. I’ve picked up a lot of games with that old Philco. I’m sure we’ll be giving it a try this summer. With that mountain range behind us, sometimes it’s tough to pick anything up.”
Billy continued looking around the room as his grandpa got up and put his hands on the young man's shoulders.
Next to the radio were framed pictures of a little boy. “Those are all of you, Billy.”
On the far wall behind the desk, Billy looked at a family portrait.
The photo included Grandpa, his father, mother, and Grandma Claire.
Billy remembered when the photo was taken. “Stop squirming, sit still,” his mother had said. It was taken last Christmas, just four months ago.
“That’s my favorite picture,” George said, watching Billy approach the portrait.
Billy stopped and looked up at the family portrait. He put his right hand on the picture and moved across the image until his fingertips reached his father's smiling face.
George quickly wiped away the tears that had suddenly appeared. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped away the remnants, shielding his face from Billy.
“Come on, Billy, I want you to say hello to Belle.”
Belle. What’s a Belle? Billy turned away from the portrait and noticed his grandpa was pointing to the back door.
Billy didn’t know who or what Belle was, but he was interested and quickly followed his grandpa out the back door into a tent-like covered carport.
And there, on an elongated cemented slab, sat Belle — a Willys jeep.
“That’s Belle...I think she’s been around longer than I have,” George said proudly.
“I picked her up at an auction in my circus days, and she’s been with me ever since. Belle has been in more parades than I can shake a stick at, and I know that she’s logged her share of miles for the military long before I got hold of her.”
Billy walked slowly around Belle, allowing his hands to touch the vehicle, ever so slightly.
“Go ahead, jump in.”
At 4 feet 8, Billy barely had the size to maneuver his way into the driver’s seat, but by bending both legs, he could spring up and in.
He put both hands on Belle’s steering wheel.
George noticed a smile on his grandson’s face — big enough to allow a familiar dimple to pop out on the youngster’s cheek.
George recalled a few years back when he had asked Billy, “Where’re your dimples?”
Billy quickly replied, “I got them.”
George couldn’t wait to tell his wife and daughter what he had just witnessed.
George hoped it wouldn’t be too much longer before the entire family would get a chance to see both those dimples.
“Come on, Billy, let’s go back inside and unpack the rest of the trunk.”
Billy had so many questions he wanted to ask his grandpa. He wanted to know about the clowns' pictures, the colorful costumes, the men in all the baseball photos, and all those beautiful cases.
How did Grandpa get hold of all that stuff? He was fascinated, and he wanted to know the stories behind it all.
If Billy could have gotten the words out, he would surely tell his grandpa how cool it was to be in the Clown’s Den.
Billy helped his grandpa clean out the rest of the trunk. His grandpa called the remaining items in the locker “props.”
He said they were stuff he used in his skits to make people laugh.
George gave Billy a few light chores to do around the office. Billy worked fast because his grandpa had offered to take him for an afternoon ride in Belle.
The three would soon head for Willow Creek, yet another adventure for Billy.
Chapter 13
George pulled Belle into a parking spot across from the drugstore.
Billy jumped out of the jeep and followed his grandpa. The two of them jogged across the street toward the store's entrance.
A sudden gust of wind moved the sign above the front door to and fro. Billy looked up at the sign that read Claire’s Fountain and Drug.
Today had already been a full day, and now Grandpa promised an ice cream soda and a visit with Grandma before heading to Willow Creek.
Claire was busy cleaning glasses when Billy and George walked in. “Hey, you two, I bet you guys are going to Willow Creek.”
She stopped and started to scramble around, looking for a scoop to measure the ice cream for the chocolate sodas.
“I see you got Belle with you."
"George, it looks like I’m stuck here the rest of the day, and I just got a call from the train station. Chipper arrived and is waiting for a friendly face to show up.”
“That’s great. We have plenty of time to pick up Chipper and get out to Willow Creek and back,” George assured Claire. "It'll do Chipper good. I’m sure he doesn’t like being stuck in that cage.”
Billy had already downed the soda and was ready for the train station.
Claire hugged her favorite two men and booted them out the door. She quickly got on the phone, called Joan, and advised her on how Billy and her dad were doing.
Billy thought Chipper looked in pretty good shape. It didn’t take long to pick up Chipper, get him out of the cage, and into Belle’s open space behind the seats.
And then it was off to Willow Creek.
It was about a twenty-minute drive to George’s favorite hideaway.
There was only one way in and one way out as the dirt road weaved its way around the outskirts of Johnsonville, through the forest, down a steep embankment, and eventually ended within a stone’s throw of the Colorado River.
Billy could see the river clearly as he stood in Belle’s passenger seat. He could also hear the roar of the water as the river moved its way downstream.
A meadow separated Willow Creek from the river, and a small, steady stream of water dissected its way down into a beautiful pond that looked a lot like Oak Hollow.
“I love it out here,” said George, watching Chipper high-tail it out of the jeep and head for the meadow.
“It’s nice and peaceful — and the fishing is pretty good, too. You need a good old jeep to get in here, and Belle is just the ticket. She can certainly handle that last mile of rough road.”
George looked at Billy, and he could tell the boy was thinking about the ranch in Texas and Oak Hollow.
George hoped Billy had found a new place, a new Oak Hollow.
“Billy, you see those two tall trees at the end of the meadow? If you look just to the right, you’ll see a few bushes. On the other side of the bushes is a secret path that leads back to town.”
Billy stood up and looked in the direction his grandpa was pointing. He could see Chipper running by the bushes and then disappearing into the tall weeds, only to reappear as he circled the meadow, enjoying his freedom and a life away from that old cage and those scary trains.
“The path will take you back to town," George continued. "You go through the forest and come out on Nob Hill, take the path down the hill, and end up at the north end of Main Street. You’ll end up just a block away from Grandma’s drugstore.”
George then eyed the sky and promised to bring Billy and Chipper back to Willow Creek later in the week, along with rods, reels, and some fancy lures.
George knew the sun was beginning its gradual descent, and he knew they’d only have about thirty minutes of sunlight left.
The three of them piled into the jeep and headed home.
Chapter 14
After Billy's first full day in Johnsonville, George figured his grandson might be curious enough to venture alone.
George was right.
Billy spent the next few weeks canvassing the area, checking out every street in town to see where they led.
He explored the library and the courthouse and even visited the printing room of the town's weekly paper, The Chronicle.
Billy was seen just about everywhere. He was logging plenty of miles on his bicycle. You could hear him coming, too. Attached to the wheels of his bike were a couple of old baseball cards flapping in the breeze. Of course, the cards were duplicates of the ones he had already hidden in the closet. But still, they served a purpose.
Billy didn't know it, but plenty of people were watching the town's newest resident.
Grandpa Thomas would show up with Belle on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. They would head out to Willow Creek, sit on the smooth rocks near the pond's shoreline, and fish to their hearts' content.
Billy also started cycling into town, usually on Wednesday or Friday mornings. He would pull up in front of the hardware store and wait for the Three Musketeers.
He found out rather quickly that the trio would show up between ten and eleven o'clock every morning and sit on Cyrus's bench outside the store, and according to what his mother had told him, "'They sit there and solve the world's problems.'"
Billy wasn't sure why his mom called Cyrus, Johnny, and Carl the "Musketeers" until he discovered that the trio wanted a particular candy bar. He thought at first that his three new buddies were somehow descendants of Pirates from the High Seas, but when he discovered the candy bar wrappers in the trash can next to the bench, he realized his mother was poking fun at her three friends.
On weekends, Billy would ride his bike to the south entrance of Johnson Park and take the path to the tall oak trees.
He would find and hide behind a tree with the most enormous trunk. He would then peek around the giant tree to catch a glimpse of the baseball field.
Sometimes he would watch a father and son playing catch, and sometimes, in the late afternoon, he might see Carl Perkins holding baseball practice with what looked like about ten kids.
Most of the kids seemed to be a little older than him. They seemed to know what they were doing as Coach Perkins methodically put the players through round after round of infield and outfield practice.
Billy watched to see if the outfielders could hit their cutoff man.
His keen eyes checked on the infielders to see if they kept their gloves down and followed the ball into their mitts before even thinking about making a throw.
He watched all the players to see if they backed up their teammates in case of a wild throw or an error. Making an error was one thing, Billy thought, but allowing a runner an extra base because of it was not good baseball.
Sometimes, he would hang around the trees a little longer and watch the little leaguers take batting practice.
On one Saturday in particular, he hid his bike and settled behind the nearest tree to the ball field, watching each player take their cuts.
He checked their stance in the box to see if their elbow was up. When they did swing, did they keep their right foot planted, or were they bailing out?
Billy knew all these things. His father had taught him well, yet the young boy had never played one inning of organized baseball.
He not only learned baseball from his dad but also learned some of the game's finer points from his dad's teammates, all of whom were professional players in their own right.
Billy couldn't always travel with his dad, but when he did, he made every moment count.
He sat in dugouts in many minor league ballparks across the country and studied the infielders, outfielders, pitchers, and catchers.
He watched the managers manage and the coaches coach. He studied how skillfully a manager would handle a routine infield practice.
Billy thought it was beautiful to watch the manager juggle the bat in one hand and the ball in the other without dropping either one. Around the horn, the ball would go — a ground ball to third, then to short, then to second, and finally a bouncer to first.
The infielders were always ready. Each player would gobble up the grounder and throw it home.
The manager kept it going. This time, the infielders made strong throws to first base.
Then, the manager would work on the double play. He'd rip a one-hopper to third. The third-sacker would field the ball cleanly and send a snap throw to second. The second baseman would take the throw, pivot, and relay the ball to first.
Next, it was the shortstop's turn to start the double play, and the second baseman would get his chance.
Finally, the most challenging double play of them all, the grounder to first base. The first-sacker would scoop up the ball, turn, and throw to second. The shortstop would cover, step on the bag, and throw the ball back to first into the glove of the second baseman, whose job was to hustle over to first to cover the bag and complete the play.
Practice and more practice...
That's what all the professional managers, players, and coaches told Billy.
"If you practice hard enough, that glove of yours will seem like an extension of your arm," said one of his dad's managers during a three-game series in Shreveport last year.
Billy kept everything he was told in the back of his mind, storing it all away. He had his own baseball library.
One thing his dad had told him was to strive to be a complete player—run, hit, throw, and field.
Billy's dad always said, "The pros are looking for the total package."
As the players beyond the oak trees continued taking their cuts, Billy remembered "Iron Mike" and how his dad filled the machine with a bucket of balls at Billy's Field.
Billy stepped into the box and awaited every pitch. His dad wanted him to be a good hitter and gloveman.
Billy saw thousands upon thousands of pitches. It reached the point that "Iron Mike" couldn't throw one past him.
Crack!
The batter got a hold of a pitch from assistant coach Johnny Hayes and sent the ball sailing over the head of the left fielder.
Coach Perkins followed the ball's flight, but suddenly, he lost his concentration. Instead, he caught a glimpse of a young boy on a bicycle, disappearing among the tall oak trees.
Carl knew who it was. It was now just a matter of time.
Carl Perkins knew a lot about kids. There was one fellow in town who would give him a run for his money in that regard. And that was George Thomas.
In any case, the two of them were on the same wavelength regarding Billy Ray Reynolds.
They faced a problem: When should Billy receive his Johnsonville Tigers uniform?
Because of the situation, Carl had already added Billy to the Tigers' roster. It was not important whether he played an inning.
The two of them had decided that getting him in uniform and on the bench would be a step in the right direction.
So, on the following Wednesday, their plan went into high gear.
As usual, Billy roared down Main Street. It was 10:55 in the morning. He turned on the jets on the last block and brought his bike to a screeching halt at the entrance to the hardware store.
And like clockwork, Johnny, Cyrus, and Carl emerged, followed closely by Grandpa Thomas, the fourth member of the group.
Billy looked at his grandpa and realized he was carrying a small package.
All the old-timers sat on the bench and waited for Billy to join them.
"Billy, we got something for you," Carl said, taking the package from George and handing it to Billy. We want you to take this home and look at it. If you like what you see, we'll expect you at the field on Saturday morning."
Billy wasn't sure what to think, but he took the package, put it under his arm, picked up his bike, and raced home.
He ran into the house unnoticed.
His mother was watching the news on television. It was some news bulletin about a guy named Rodger Ward, who had just won a car race somewhere in Indiana.
Billy went upstairs. He could hear the man on television say that the car racer had broken the 140-mile-per-hour speed record.
Billy wondered just how fast he traveled on his bike.
He closed the room door, sat on his bed, and started to unwrap the box.
The box contained a baseball uniform, complete with socks and a belt. He looked at the back of the pinstripe jersey. The number startled him—it was number eight.
That was his dad's number throughout his minor league career.
And strangely enough, in his dream, the faceless figure was wearing the number eight.
Billy remembered what his dad once said: "The numbers on your back don't help your batting average, but it's nice to have a favorite number. You get used to it."
Eight was the favorite number in the Reynolds family. Of course, number seven and number nine were reserved for royalty, according to Billy's dad.
Those numbers belonged to the Yankees' M&M boys, Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris, respectively.
Billy recalled one summer when Mickey belted 54 home runs, and Roger crushed 61 homers in a single season.
Billy was startled by a knock on his door.
He heard his mother's voice. "Billy, your grandpa is here to see you."
Billy's grandpa walked in and sat down beside him. Billy's mother watched her son's reaction to his new uniform.
"Don't you think it's time to come out from under those old oak trees and join the team?"
Billy thought to himself, "How does Grandpa know so much?"
"Cyrus ordered that uniform for you weeks ago," George continued. "Cyrus is the Tigers' number one sponsor. He wants you to be part of the team.
"Coach Perkins and Coach Hayes, too. They want you on the team. If you want to sit on the bench, that's okay, too. It's up to you. What do you think?"
Billy looked up at his grandpa, then over at his mother.
He moved his head up and down, signaling his answer.
Billy thought it was time to give it a try.
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