WAY THINGS USED TO BE 7

The Singles Hitter
continued from Way Things Used To Be 6

The years went by; I went off to college; the Korean War started, I went into the army, got out, wandered around Europe for five years, got married, moved to Connecticut and one day in Grand Central Station, I heard someone call my name.

At first I didn't recognize him, but it was Blue Book. The last time I'd seen him he was a hatchet face. Now he was a moon face.

"Guess who died," he said.
 "Who?" I was afraid to guess.
"Cedric. I went to his funeral last week.''
That surprised me.  "What happened?"

Blue Book shook his head. "I guess he just ran out of life."
"It was nice of you to go to his funeral."
"Hey," Blue Book said. "He was a punch ball Hall of Famer."
"Hell of a pass catcher too," I said.
Blue Book acted as if he hadn't heard that. "Best lead-off man in the history of 88th Street," he said. I think he still resented him that I'd favored Cedric over him as a pass receiver.
"What was his batting average?" I asked.
Blue Book gave me an embarrassed smile.
"No, really," I said.
"Around .875," Blue Book said.
He knew the exact figure. He kept meticulous records on everything from pitching nickels to association football. That was how he got the name Blue Book.

"Lifetime?" I asked. "Or best season?"
"Lifetime," Blue Book said. "But his slugging average? It was under .900."
"He was a singles hitter," I said.
Blue Book shook his head again. "What an epitaph!" he said.

I hadn't meant it that way and a sudden picture of Barry Bogardus counting out the marbles Cedric had rolled, dropping them into Cedric's cupped gloves and saying, "That's all I got right now. I owe you 91," flashed through my mind. It made me feel sorry it took me so long to do anything about that and that Cedric never heard what I had done.


 "A singles hitter was all he ever wanted to be," I said, probably a little too piously.

"Nothing against singles hitters," Blue Book quickly said. "He was a client."

Blue Book had gone into insurance and, excepting me, had sold one policy or another to every marble-shooting punch and stoop player from 79th up to 96th Street.

(To be continued in Stoop Ball 1)