[SelzShoes]

Four years went by so quickly. Four years went by so slow. It was like his grandma always said, “the journey means nothing if you don’t know where you’re going.” At 35, Claude Thoby was pretty sure where he was going; what that meant for the journey, he was unsure.

If not for the war, this would be the beginning of Thoby’s 12th year in Sacramento. He had become something of a local legend; known by even the youngest of Solon fans who dreamed of playing pro ball. In the spring of 1934, Thoby talked his way into a tryout and showed enough to make the team at the end of the bench. After a couple key injuries, the Solons had no choice but to play him everyday—and play he did. The result: .325, 15, 75 in just over a half a season of regular play. The gamble on the unknown paid off. While never showing superstar skills or statistics, he became one of the iconic players of Sacramento. Faces came and went, but you could count on Thoby to be at first, right, left, or anywhere else the Solons needed a bat.

Sportswriters occasionally pressed for the scoop on Thoby’s life before coming to California. He would always politely refuse saying, “the only thing that matters to me now is the Solons.” Speculation ran rampant: he was an escaped convict, he was running from a bad marriage, he was an amnesiac. But the truth was much worse than that.

Claude Thoby was a black man.