The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [42]
“And you know who was the greatest of them all?” asked Old Man O’Brien.
“Who?” asked Studs.
Studs usually didn’t give a damn about baseball. Danny O’Neill was the one who knew all about it. But when Old Man O’Brien talked of baseball, it was as exciting as going to see a movie serial, like that one a long time ago, The Adventures of Kathleen. And the ball players he named were like heroes, as great as generals.
“Well, old Rube Waddell. Rube was a guy. He was a left-hander, and all left-handers are cracked.”
Old Man O’Brien paused. Then he said:
“Studs, you ain’t left-handed, are you?”
“No, sir!”
“Don’t call me sir... Well, my kid there ain’t either…but he ought to be.”
“YEAH!” kidded Johnny.
He told them all the familiar Rube Waddell stories. Then he said that poor Rube ruined his health, and practically killed himself because he was left-handed. It was Rube’s left-handedness that made him always want to run after a fire like a kid. Well, Rube was always leaving Connie Mack and joining up with some hick fire department, and Connie’d have to send his scouts out to find the southpaw. Once Rube got himself in with the hook and ladder crew in St. Louis or somewhere, and went to a fire. When Rube was in fighting the fire, a floor caved in on him and he got lost with some others under the wreckage, and they turned the hose on him. It was funny, but that was what put the kibosh on poor Rube’s lungs. Studs sat listening, enchanted, imagining himself a great guy like Rube Waddell.
Old Man O’Brien talked on:
“But I ain’t so much interested in sports as I used to be. Baseball’s the only clean game we got left. The Jews killed all the other games. The kikes dirty up everything. I say the kikes ain’t square. There never was a white Jew, or a Jew that wasn’t yellow. And there’ll never be one. Why, they even killed their own God... And now I’ll be damned if they ain’t comin’ in spoiling our neighborhood. It used to be a good Irish neighborhood, but pretty soon a man will be afraid to wear a shamrock on St. Patrick’s day, because there are so many noodle-soup drinkers around. We got them on our block. I even got one next door to me. I’d never have bought my property’ if I knew I’d have to live next door to that Jew, Glass’s his name. But I don’t speak to him anyway. And he’s tryin’ to make a gentleman of that four-eyed kid of his ... as if a Jew could be a gentleman.”
Johnny and Studs laughed, and told him that the Glass kid was nothing but a sissy. They had nothing to do with him. “Well, don’t... unless it’s maybe to paste him one.” A pause.
“And say, Studs, you got ‘em over your way, too. What does your old man think of ‘em?”
“Well, he’s always talking of selling. My father thinks they are ruining the neighborhood.”
“They are... only, say... listen . can that my father stuff. Both of you kids know damn well that when you’re alone you say... my old man... come on, act natural
Studs told himself that Johnny’s old man was like a regular pal to a kid.