[SelzShoes]

The two men situated themselves on the benches of the bus. Clyde Sukeforth had suspected the Monarchs were aware of his trailing the club. It was the mores of the South, he thought, had kept any representative of the club from approaching him. They exchanged pleasantries before John O’Neil began the conversation.

“Any of my men in trouble?”

Sukeforth had to hold back a laugh; it never occurred to him that his presence was thought of in such a dark way. “I work for Branch Rickey, I’ve been doing some scouting for him.”

“Answers my second question too,” O’Neil however was more confused now he knew that detail. “So what does a white league GM want to know about us?”

Rickey had given Sukeforth a tremendous amount of leeway in what to say if confronted by members and officials of the teams being followed. He had rehearsed the cover story over and over, but Clyde had expected to be confronted by executives, not the player-manager. Sukeforth started to tell the tale of how the Contential League was looking to add two more teams, and raise the possibility that they could be all-negro teams. Stammering and tripping over his words, it was clear the cover story would fool no one.

“I’m not stupid Mr. Sukeforth, give me some credit.”

“You’re right Mr. O’Neil. I want to apologize for trying to lie to you.”

“I’ll only accept your apology if you give me the truth.”

“Branch is putting a group together to buy the Browns. The plan is to stock the rosters with you fellers.”

Buck’s face lit up, this is what all the struggles of the Negro Leagues had been for. “Just Monarchs?”

“I have a trip to see Newark and the Stars later this month.” Sukeforth saw the joy and hope in the face of his host. He looked down at his shoes on the floor of the bus. “You aren’t one of the players we are interested in.”

O’Neil felt a sharp pain in his heart. He was sitting in on the biggest moment for the black ballplayer, only to hear it was not to be for him. A few awkward moments passed before he softly stammered, “Who?”

“Robinson, Trouppe, Piper—maybe Paige,” Sukeforth had broken many boy’s dreams, but never a man’s. “The idea is for us to sign the best of the colored players and then have a tryout camp for any other club that might want to sign you.”

The two men sat silent until the cheers of the crowd—welcoming Satchel Paige to the mound—broke the tension.

“You don’t want Piper,” Buck finally said. “He’s had some troubles. Artie Wilson, I think he’s with the Elite Giants now, would be a better man. Much more sense about him, especially for dealing with white folk.”

Sukeforth could barely contain his shock. It was beyond what he understood that someone like O’Neil would try to ‘hold back’ one of his own. Buck read the reaction, “You don’t just need good players, you need good men. That’s the only way this will work.”

A half-hour later, Sukeforth stood to leave the bus, with scouting reports of various players O’Neil felt he should consider. “I have you word, John?”

O’Neil nodded, “Yes, this is between us.”

“We should have our decisions made in a couple months. I’ll make sure you get an invitation to the tryout camp. It’s the least I can do.”

”Least you could do is nothing.” The two men shook hands, “All a man wants is a chance.”

“Thanks John, I’ll be in touch.”

”My friends call me Buck.”

“Thanks, Buck.”