[SelzShoes]

“I mean, how would you feel if you lost your job to one of them?” Jo-Jo White had reason to fear for his roster position. The Solons had taken a waiver on the ex-Yankee to vie for a “teaching” role for their explosive kid centerfielder, Jim Rivera. Even early in the spring there was thought, in both White and manager Bill Sweeney, that the veteran had seen his moment pass. The sudden influx of Negroes changed the stakes in spring training. Under the old older, White would figure on having bench slot sewn up early in camp. Major League experience and that old Yankee magic would weigh heavily in his favor. Now, White saw a world wear his abilities and talent would have to carry him. Abilities and talent which were quickly slipping away.

Thoby laced them up quietly, listening to the frazzled White trying to rally support to his cause. Sacramento had signed only one Negro in the off-season. Unlike the Kansas City Blues, most teams stepped wearily into the first year of integrated play. “It’s only one roster spot,” Thoby calmly stated, “No need to be all in a panic.” Claude stood tall after his shoes were laced, “Anyway, this guy is a first baseman, no need for you to worry.”

“No need to worry?” White was beside himself, “Kansas City might play seven—SEVEN—at a time. How long before that happens with every team?” Jo-Jo was pacing excitedly, “Won’t be any place for us when that happens.”

“Heck, Claude probably is sad only one is on the club,” Bill Knickerbocker playfully chided.

Thoby was quick to the utility infielder’s face. “What do you mean by that?”

Knickerbocker held his arms up defensively. Thoby was a man of few words, but his once in a blue moon rages were legendary. “N-n-nothing man. I just; I know how you. Well you.”

“WHAT?” Thoby lifted and pushed the slight fielder up and into the nearest locker. Pressing hard, feeling the resistance of the metal doors as the flesh pushed hard.

The gathered Solons found themselves caught halfway between wanting to watch the show and keeping Knickerbocker from being strangled in front of them. The unspoken consensus being to wait until Knickerbocker at least started to turn blue.

Bill stained to speak, his wind slowly betraying him. “You just. Seem to like. Hanging out at. Spook joints. Jazz. Clubs. That’s all.” Thoby eased his grip and Knickerbocker slide to the floor. Gasping to refill his lungs.

With the matter safe at hand, the remaining players crowed to help Knickerbocker to his feet. Anton Gogolak and Spider Jorgensen pulled the slugger out of the room.

“Christ Claude, what the hell got into you?”

Thoby’s face remained sullen, filled with hurt. “I didn’t like where he was going with that.”

Gogolak slapped his head mockingly. “You got a thing for black women, and you don’t think anyone is going to say something about it? Especially now?”

The slugger held his head down. The captain was right.

“If you get this riled about one of us ribbing ya, what are you going to be like in Oakland?” Jorgensen offered. “I don’t know you that good, but we can’t have a guy blowing up like that on the field.”