Editor’s Note: This is an ongoing series which runs each Thursday morning titled the Richland Chronicles, by author Paul Lintern. It is set in the 1860s and tells the story of Richland County through the eyes of young people. The books are available from Lintern for $25 a set, tax and shipping included. Each book is about 120 pages written for intermediate readers (4th grade) with local illustrations. Volume I is Amelia Changes Her Tune. Volume II is Isaac and Wolf Paw Find Their Home. Volume III is Autumn Keeps Her Secret. Volume IV is Mr. Gamble Starts a School. Volume V is Jacob Blows his Horn. Volume VI is Cassie Fights the War. Volume VII is Emilene Adopts Her Family.
“Now, Men. Now is the time,” Smokey was saying. “Third time up for each of you. Let’s get things moving.”
Gopher started to the home bag, then turned around and came back to the bench.
“Let me use your stick, Smokey. It’s the only one with any success today.”
Smokey rolled his eyes as Gopher grabbed it and walked back to the bag, then he turned around and walked back to the bench again.
“I can’t lift this hunk of lumber. I’ll just use mine,” he said, sheepishly.
“It may not be the stick that makes the strike,” Smokey suggested.
Gopher shrugged his shoulders and called for a low throw, which he promptly poked about thirty feet down the left field line. By the time the third baseman grabbed it, though, Gopher was at first base.
“Whatever it takes,” Smokey said.
Stick it to ‘em, Glue!
Glue walked up. On the third throw, he tapped it down the first base line, about as far as Gopher’s hit had traveled the other way. While it moved Gopher to second, Glue was hand dead at first.
“Spider, put it past the infield,” Smokey said. “This is not complicated.”
David saw a glint in Spider’s eye.
He’s going to show us something this time.
Spider swung with a force David hadn’t seen in him before, as though he wanted to duplicate Smokey’s mighty blast from last inning. He duplicated the swing, not the blast.
The ball popped harmlessly into the shortstop’s hands. Gopher had to stay at second. Floodgates Moe stepped up, and poked the ball past the shortstop, but because the ball was on the left side, Gopher only advanced one base. Still, now there were two on with two out, and Birdlegs coming to bat.
“We need tallies, Bird,” Ice Wagon shouted. “Be ready to run, Gopher. You, too, Moe.”
“I want it high,” Birdlegs told the hurler.
He got it high, and he hit it high, so high that the right fielder was able to run into the crowd, step over a couple of rows of people, and turn to catch it before it hit the ground.
End of the fifth: Cincinnati 30, Mansfield 3.
+ + +
“Mr. Wiler, this is the face of the reason my brother James, your friend, is buried at the Mansfield Cemetery,” Tim said, as he and Grace stood in his office at the Wiler House.
Wait, what did I do to him?
“It was not her that caused his death, but her cause that made him go to war and fight to the death.”
“Tim, before you go too far, please remember that I am very proud of the service your brother and thousands of others gave to our country, and humbled by the life that was snuffed out because of it,” Mr. Wiler said.
“I know that, Mr. Wiler. You have been very kind to our family, and the Costins have always spoken well of you and yours.
“But this you must know. Your policies about not allowing blacks in your establishment must be reconsidered. The times are changing. The slaves are free, but the attitudes keep them in chains.
“This girl, this Grace, is the daughter of people you have known for most of what, 40 years? Her grandpappy was in your profession but was never your competition. I know there was mutual respect, but four years ago you forbade her to perform on your stage, simply because of the color of her skin. I said nothing then, because I hoped you would see on your own that it was the right time to unshackle the old ways,” Tim said.
Mr. Tim’s got guts.
“Mr. Costin, this is my business and I have a right to decide what will or won’t best serve my customers.”
“Yes, yes you do Mr. Wiler. And I do not wish to deny you that. But please, please reconsider.
“For four years, these children played in front of my store every month in nice seasons, and the town has been blessed by them. And it has burned at the heart of your manager, Mr. McFarland, long enough that he just moments ago came in and threatened to take his business — your business — elsewhere if we do not discontinue the concerts.
“What you decide is yours to decide. I do not wish to lose your business, but I must tell you, I will continue to cherish having that band play on my front steps, any time they want.
“I can only suggest that now is the time to let the customers discover that the color of one’s skin is no factor in whether they can be entertained, served or befriended.
“I also think that if you want to best serve your customers, you will have that band in your lobby, so your customers don’t have to stand out in dusty Main Street to enjoy them, because that is exactly what they do now, before they come to your place.”
Mr. Wiler was stone silent, breathing slowly and deliberately. Grace nudged herself slightly behind Tim.
He’s going to explode.
“Things aren’t going to change right away, Tim. In due time I suppose, but not for a long time.”
“I’m afraid they already have changed, Mr. Wiler. For my family and a half a million families whose boys are now just memories. But if we don’t decide to make the right changes, they will not happen on their own.
“And 100 years from now, will we be any further along?
“Good day, Mr. Wiler.”
Good speech, Mr. Tim.
