A Tough Call
Elementary: Grades 3–4
Story
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I felt satisfied to be showing my dad the article about all that, proof in black and white. He smiled. But his eyes dug into me like he was trying to read every secret I had. Bugged, I turned away again. In my mind, I saw myself lounging by the lakeside, a big wad of money in my pocket. It would be so fine!
"Why do you think that happened, Dan?" Dad asked me now. His friendly voice forced me to meet his gaze. "Everyone knew fixing games was wrong, so how could a whole jury let them off?"
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"Because they were getting burned!" I replied at once. "Comiskey owed them something! I guess the fans wanted to give it to them."
Dad shrugged. "They weren't happy, that's true. But they were weak, too. Just too darn weak."
Dad didn't spell out what he meant by that, but I got it. Those guys caved. And even though they got off in a court of law, they had still broken the law. That was the weird part, I realized. Just because the court says you're innocent, maybe you really aren't. Those eight guys must have ended up regretting what they'd done. Because in the end, they still had to pay.
Right after the verdict was announced, Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis, the high commissioner of baseball, made another announcement. Judge Landis was tough, and he wanted the public to respect the sport. So he took harsh measures, aiming to make baseball an honest game. Landis banned all eight players from major league baseball forever. To keep on playing, Joe had to go back to the minor leagues. He wasn't the only one.
Those players had had a chance for greatness, and they'd blown it. None of their lives ever added up to much afterward, I found out later. But Joe still had fans, including me. And I'd always be one. But still.
After Dad and I said goodnight and he left my room, I sat on my bed for a long time paging through Great-grandpa Dan's awesome scrapbooks. They were more valuable, I realized now, than I had ever expected them to be. They'd given me something I hadn't expected.
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I held the telephone in my hand for a long time, too, before dialing Terence. After he heard it was me, he waited to see where the conversation would go. I told him my grandfather had left me an amazing gift. I shared a few details about the scrapbooks and some of the Sox stuff. I mentioned how my great-grandfather had put them together, bit by bit. But I didn't tell him about the Black Sox scandal.
Finally I got around to bringing up our own plan. "Listen, Terence," I said, "we can't go through with Bill Moss's idea, you know that, right?"
"What are you talking about?" Terence countered. "It's a done deal. Easy. Worth it, too."
"Not worth it," I said. I'd wavered earlier, but now I knew where I stood.
"Ahh, man, come on! Think about it," Terence urged. He started reeling off the benefits. "Some money in your pocket for once. Getting one over on Coach and Hawk. And a great time in Moss-ville."
"I know, I know. But listen, come over tomorrow, okay? You really need to see these scrapbooks."
"What's that got to do with anything?" Terence shot back.
"It does," I replied. "I swear. You have to read about this thing called the Black Sox scandal."
"Sounds interesting," he said.
"More than interesting," I told him. "You'll see." I didn't have to explain further. The scrapbook would tell it all, page by page. Grandpa Charlie's gift was for both of us, and there was no way Terence wouldn't get it. I knew he would. After all, he was my best friend.
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