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177 pages

English

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The irst full biography of the star Negro Leaguer and Hall of Famer James "Cool Papa" Bell (1903-1991) was a legend in black baseball, a lightning fast switch hitter elected to the National Baseball Hall of Fame in 1974. Bell's speed was extraordinary; as Satchel Paige famously quipped, he was so fast he could flip a light switch and be in bed before the room got dark. In The Bona Fide Legend of Cool Papa Bell, experienced baseball writer and historian Lonnie Wheeler recounts the life of this extraordinary player, a key member of some of the greatest Negro League teams in history. Born to sharecroppers in Mississippi, Bell was part of the Great Migration, and in St. Louis, baseball saved Bell from a life working in slaughterhouses. Wheeler charts Bell's ups and downs in life and in baseball, in the United States, the Dominican Republic, and Mexico, where he went to escape American racism and MLB's color line. Rich in context and suffused in myth, this is a treat for fans of baseball history.

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History of sport

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Publié par	ABRAMS BOOKS
Date de parution	09 février 2021
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781647001117
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0600€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Copyright 2020 Lonnie Wheeler
Cover 2021 Abrams
Published in 2021 by Abrams Press, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020932374
ISBN: 978-1-4197-5048-9 eISBN: 978-1-64700-111-7
Abrams books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for premiums and promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions can also be created to specification. For details, contact specialsales@abramsbooks.com or the address below.
Abrams Press is a registered trademark of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.
ABRAMS The Art of Books 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007 abramsbooks.com
CONTENTS
Author s Note
Prologue: Looking over Jordan
Chapter One: Jamie Nichols
Chapter Two: The Slaughterhouse
Chapter Three: Tricky Ball
Chapter Four: The Turkey Stearnes Effect
Chapter Five: The Stars Come Out
Chapter Six: Willie s Girl
Chapter Seven: We ll Always Have Cuba
Chapter Eight: Lighting Up Big Leaguers
Chapter Nine: The Greatest Negro Baseball Team Ever Seen
Chapter Ten: Mutiny
Chapter Eleven: Beholding Josh Gibson
Chapter Twelve: See You in Chicago
Chapter Thirteen: Snookering Satchel
Chapter Fourteen: The Quintessential Crawfords
Chapter Fifteen: Limbo
Chapter Sixteen: The Dictator s Campaign for Reelection
Chapter Seventeen: Railroad Tracks in the Outfield
Chapter Eighteen: The Land of Opportunity
Chapter Nineteen: Fishing on the Fourth of July
Chapter Twenty: Slugger in a Straitjacket
Chapter Twenty-One: Ground Balls to Jackie s Backhand
Chapter Twenty-Two: Stepping Aside
Chapter Twenty-Three: A Basket of Fruit
Chapter Twenty-Four: Obscurity
Chapter Twenty-Five: The Call That Changed Everything
Chapter Twenty-Six: Cool Papa Bell Avenue
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Bibliography
Photography Credits
Index of Searchable Terms
AUTHOR S NOTE
For a while there, it seemed like Cool Papa Bell was the man who would ease me into fiction. He deserved a biography-cried out for one, in fact-but there were good reasons why one had never been completed, starting with a shortage of the raw materials ordinarily used to reconstruct a life. Bell s image derived largely from an oral heritage, inspired by eyeballs and exaggeration, which provided much in the way of theme and tone but precious few snapshots. Without some of the traditional mines to tap-immediate family, old buddies, correspondence, comprehensive records, or attentive reporting-fundamental aspects of his circumstances, routines, interactions, and even his Hall of Fame career simply wouldn t make it to the surface. One capable researcher spent ten years in pursuit of an appropriate monograph, only to be turned away by the chasms and complications.
The solution, I figured, was fiction by dots. The tale of Cool Papa could be told with as much legitimacy as might be mustered, and the gaps painted over with poetic plausibility. A virtual biography, if you will: the Cool Papa Bell of the imagination.
It has been ten years since I first broached this notion with the literary agent on whom I ve been depending for decades. He replied by suggesting alternatives, including a conventional biography. Having already reconnoitered that terrain, I packed up my notes and moved on. But after a few other projects and periodic reminders of the gentleman outfielder s irresistible nobility-matched, of course, with the earthy allure of the Negro Leagues-I came crawling back to Papa, determined this time to give stubbornness a chance.
The research proliferated but didn t betray the genre. Waffling, I even batted out a couple of chapters in what was to pass as Bell s narrative voice, testing the conceit on my chief adviser and more casual consultants. They responded with coughs and nudges.
Ultimately, all the nudging turned me face-to-face with this conclusion: For a proper portrait of Cool Papa, the place for imagination was not in my mind but the reader s. Fiction it mustn t be. Rather, let the absent material play its part. The abiding myth, after all-the player so fast he once stole two bases on a pitchout, so instantaneous he could flip off the light switch and be under the covers before it got dark-is the essence of Bell s gossamer legacy. May that myth be documented where possible and cherished where not.
The essence of Bell, meanwhile, is not the urban legend of his outlandish speed but the epic nature of his unfailing grace, to which fabrication could not do justice. The sharecropper s son, though never far removed from Mississippi poverty or anywhere close to his professional due, became, through it all, an angel of equality and a generous man of enchanting virtue.
He was the most beautiful ballplayer, reflected Willie Wells, the Hall of Fame shortstop.
I d have to say that Cool Papa was the cleanest, most decent man I ever saw, declared Double Duty Radcliffe, the famous catcher-pitcher.
He was the most gentle man I knew from the Negro Leagues, attested Buck O Neil, the Negro League icon.
If everybody was like Cool, summed up Judy Johnson, the Hall of Fame third baseman, this would be a better world.
Bell s ancient ballplayer pals are of course long gone by now, but their voices blend in a rather poignant portrayal, do they not? Without a word of fiction.
PROLOGUE
LOOKING OVER JORDAN
As fast as he was, there were plenty of times when it didn t feel that way to Cool Papa Bell; not after his various parts reported in. His knees kept up a steady complaint. His legs in general were so customarily tattered that he taped sponges around the messiest spots to keep the blood and gunk from soaking into his uniform pants. His feet were so chronically sore that he concocted and even sold his own salve, Cool Papa Bell s Foot Ease: Directions: -Apply on corns for three nights . . . Remove with knife . . .
But there was nothing slowing him down that day in Mexico City. Looking back on it years later, Cool Papa recalled the heady sensation of being all over the outfield the entire afternoon. It was an unusually big outfield, and a big outfield, to him, was like open road underneath a roaring convertible-better, even, since he had never learned to drive. So it might have been the exhilarating sprawl of grass that put the extra voltage in the Mississippian s step that day. For that matter, it very well could have been the stimulating company of Jimmie Foxx, Rogers Hornsby, and Heinie Manush on the other side. And quite possibly, given his keen sensibilities, the discernible quickening may even have issued from the winds of change that he d perceived throughout the spring and summer of 1936 and that now, in October, in Mexico, in that heavenly outfield at 7,400 feet, in the presence of all those lightly complexioned Hall of Famers in waiting, were finally at his back.
The Pittsburgh Crawfords, for whom Cool Papa graced center field, began the eventful year as the big cheeses and reigning champions of the Negro Leagues, the latter title having been acquired even as Satchel Paige, their ace and leading attraction, was AWOL in Bismarck, North Dakota, for double the salary and a Buick sedan. The Crawfords had swaggered onto the scene in 1931, owned and assembled by Gus Greenlee, the numbers, bootleg, and entertainment king of the city s Hill District. Bell signed on in 1933, joining Paige, Josh Gibson, Oscar Charleston, and Judy Johnson on a monumental roster considered the greatest in Negro League annals, at the least.
But it wasn t their eminence alone that made the Crawfords, by 1936, the epitome of black baseball. It was an organic synthesis of Paige s theater, Gibson s might, Bell s almost unimaginable speed, Greenlee s signature accommodations, and, most of all, the vigorous sub-society that the Hill District represented. Its epicenter was the Crawford Grill, Greenlee s headquarters, restaurant, jazz club, and vice depot, where Bill Bojangles Robinson served as best man for Paige s wedding to a house waitress, the Mills Brothers wore Crawfords uniforms and tossed a ball around in the back alley, Lena Horne sang with Duke Ellington s band while her father ran the numbers operation upstairs, and professional ballplayers kept lookout at the side door for cops and trouble (a duty that Bell declined).
With Cool Papa Bell flying around the base paths, Josh Gibson drawing accolades as the black Babe Ruth, and Satchel Paige intentionally loading the bases, telling his fielders to sit down, and then striking out the side, Pittsburgh spearheaded the rejuvenation of black baseball during the 1930s, wrote Donn Rogosin in Invisible Men: Life in Baseball s Negro Leagues . Pittsburgh became to black baseball what Harlem had been to black literature and the arts during the 1920s, the catalyst of a renaissance.

The Crawford Grill, heart of the Hill District, 1401 Wylie Avenue, Pittsburgh
The prosperity of the Grill spawned a sporting analogue on Bedford Avenue, a stylish, boisterous, 7,500-seat ballpark constructed expressly for the Crawfords. At Greenlee Field, where a man could be ejected for taking off his shirt, the amphitheater was bisected by a linear view capturing three of the most magical players in baseball history-Gibson, Paige, Bell-from backstop to fence. When Cool Papa, turned out in no ordinary suit and tie, left the park on foot after three hits, a couple of steals, a ridiculous catch, and another Crawfords victory, ladies gawked and children followed.
It was not a sustainable situation, however, for the simple reason that the Crawfords were, indeed, the epitome of black baseball both on the field and beyond. Unlike so-called organized ball, the Negro Leagues were not administered by buttoned-down, business-schooled, legally advised, advantage