part two is the diner... this is the part leading up to the diner scene... background of Jack's family life...

Despite sprained ankles, bruises from pitches that missed their target (or in Machefsky’s case – found their target), twisted knees, spike lacerations and various contusions on almost every portion of his powerful body (though, luckily, never THERE!) Jack had played in all 120 games the Eagles had batted. Everyone on this team had their part and Jack Machefsky was their warrior. In real life, he was kind and light and talkative. His wife, on explaining her divorce five years earlier from Jack Machefsky, tried to convince Oprah that she felt baseball was too much Jack’s mistress and he had too little passion left for his family. He was a wonderful, doting father for his two children (now aged 8 and 10) but a pushover and still too much of a child to be a good husband. She also admitted, reluctantly, that her lover, a woman, was much more aggressive than he ever was. He was, surprisingly, too soft for her. Jack “the Hairy Ape” Machefsky, Peggy said, had no spine. His teammates, though, knew the truth about their leader. He was fearless, the heavy center of their baseball universe around whom they all revolved. Even their manager encouraged the young players to watch Jack play. He played with precision and intelligence, power and speed, abandon and authority. Sportswatchers were always making comparisons. He was Murial, Mays, Tyson, Chamberlain, Pete Rose and Joe Dimaggio all rolled up in a chunky version of Joe Namath looks and Denais Franz attitude. He loved the poetry of Walt Whitman, the music of Joe Cocker and Louie Armstrong and the nightlife of San Francisco. He wasn’t a womanizer yet he found himself involved with many women since his divorce. Some were friends, some were lovers, and some were both. Maureen was his pal, his erotic mistress, his advisor. But there was one problem. She was married. Her husband was Mr. Will Pratt and that was a big problem. Maureen and Jack had met at a William Pratt Foundation publicity party/ fundraiser for underprivileged kids. Will Pratt was otherwise engaged in business matters that had him in meetings throughout Europe through most of July and Maureen went in his place. It was her obligation and her pleasure. She ran the foundation’s camp, was it’s high profile trustee and this was her passion. The day Maureen Dehillo Pratt and Jack Machefsky met was a beautiful summer’s evening in San Francisco. He had picked up Michael and Corinne from his ex-wife’s home, right after breakfast and headed out with his two kids to pick up their Aunt Jessie from the airport. Peggy and May (his ex-wife’s significant other) had asked Jack to take the kids that day because they had some golf tournament to play in. Even though he wanted to be with the kids he knew that Peggy would never let him get away with a last minute request if things were the other way around. So, Jack managed to use this request to his own advantage and told Peggy he’d have to have them the entire three days of his break from baseball. This was a simple request she had previously denied him after the divorce but now was willing to do because it gave her and May some “alone time”. He was ecstatic that the kids would be with him for the three days and they were happy, too. His sister, Jessie, was coming in from Pennsylvania and this would work out perfectly. The four of them could go to Golden Gate Park together giving Aunt Jessie a tour and just enjoying the moment. He’d keep an eye on Aunt Jessie, too. She was known to partake of the “herb” and he knew she’d want to wander around Haight Ashbury and take in the sights. Hopefully, with the kids around she’d be discreet. Could be a delicate operation, thought Jack, as he prepared to pick them all up. She was never shy about her smoking, daring anyone to try and make her feel guilty about it. He smiled at the thought of his radical sister. She would’ve made a great hippie. His kids loved their Aunt Jessie. Jack Machefsky made his home in Sausalito, just north of Fort Baker. From his house he could see Angel Island when the fog lifted. He loved it there but Peggy’s + May’s house in Pacifica was extraordinary. It helped that May was a real estate broker. She’d found this house 6 months before she met Peggy at some gay meeting in Berkeley. Together they could afford it and originally went in on the house as a business venture. Eventually, they discovered they had a lot in common and finally, after falling in love, decided that this majestic palace could be their home. He was just happy that Peggy had given Michael and Corinne a nice home life. He drove across the Golden Gate Bridge and headed south toward Pacifica. He had been tempted to pick up Jessie at the airport first but immediately realized that this wasn’t a good idea. Peggy and Jessie had never gotten along. They were both stubborn women. Jack drove a new cherry red Saturn. The red was the main color of the Eagles uniform (with purple, black and teal) and he drove the Saturn because the company was employee owned. He actually felt comfortable not driving a Mercedes or a B.M.W. or other fancy cars he could’ve bought because he’d feel like he was showing off. The one thing he allowed himself was a vanity plate that read Jacksky. The breeze was warm as Jack drove down Route 1 to Pacifica. The road was as familiar as an old shoe to the burly driver as he took in the view of the Pacific Ocean as he entered the small but influential town just 20 minutes from San Francisco. At the first light he made a left turn and headed up the hill to Peggy and May’s. The kids were on the swings when he got there and Corinne came running up to the car to greet him. He had to admit that he and Peggy made some beautiful children. Michael, 10, was tall and lean and had Peggy’s oval face and fair complexion. His hair was dark and his nose was bumpy like Jack’s. Corinne, though, his eight year old daughter, had Jack’s round face but inherited Peggy’s thin nose and henna colored hair. Both were athletic but Michael enjoyed tennis and basketball more than baseball while Corinne loved to swim and was the catcher on the local Rookies baseball team. She was “Daddy’s Little Girl” from the moment she came into the world. Michael loved his father but tended to side with Peggy and May during any family conflicts. Jack couldn’t blame him. He was away from him a lot during the baseball season and tried not to do the same with Corinne. She, therefore, had seen her father a lot more when she was younger than her brother had. Jack even had to admit that hew as always closer to his mother when he was a child. Of course, his father worked long hours and the mill when he was growing up and the warion took up a lot of his time, too. However his mother always spoke highly of his father and explained his prolonged absences on trying to make Jack’s life better. Peggy called baseball “an obsessive game played by idiotic men with little talent in any other part of life”. Michael couldn’t help but be affected by this. His father was a famous baseball player but could hardly understand the basics of computer programming. Michael also thought Will Pratt was a genius and a hero that Jack could never be. That probably hurt Jack the most. Corinne had yelled “shotgun” as she ran up to the car as Jack parked in the circular driveway behind Peggy’s Mercedes and May’s B.M.W. Peggy’s car was violet and May’s was forest green. Jack remembered the plain black cars of his you8th and smiled at the psychedelic hues of these vehicles. Jack had just closed the door when Corinne slammed into him grabbing him around the hips and yelling, “Hi, Daddy!” “Howdy, baby. How’s my angel today?”, he said reaching down and picking her up to hug her. With a bearlike squeeze, Corinne smooched her father on the cheek and flinched at the feel of his rough unshaven face. “You look like a wild animal, Daddy! How come you didn’t shave?” She rubbed his face feeling the sandpaper skin as Jack watched Michael stroll leisurely towards the car, his hands in his pockets. “Hey, Big Mike, how’s the team’s best player?”, Jack called out to his son hoping to get off to a good start. Sometimes, Michael was a little distant after a long period between visits. Jack learned to go slow with his oldest child or else he’d sulk for the first half of their visit. Michael smiled cautiously. He was never one to instinctively react with enthusiasm. This was also like Jack. “Pretty good, I guess. Got a three the other night.” Jack smiled. “No shi…kidding. That’s great.” Peggy opened the door and stood there with arms folded. “You should’ve been there, Jack,” she said with a slight chill to her voice. “He shot it from the top of the key as time ran out in the first half.” He looked at her. She still had a great figure but her eyes were hard. Eyes like that shriveled his dick. An instinctive reaction, he felt, as his body prepared for a fight. She would definitely go for the groin first in any physical fight he might imagine them having. “You know I had a game that night,” Jack tried to explain but she cut him off. “Of course, Jack. I know that. I didn’t say you could’ve made the game I just said should’ve.” She smirked. “Guilty conscience, Jack?” He just sighed. She loved to goad him even after all these years apart. He didn’t fall for it this time. May arrived from the garden at the perfect time. Jack liked May. “Howdy, May,” he said walking towards his children’s “other” mother. She was in overalls and a flannel shirt. Her shapely breasts bounced as she walked with a basket of fruits and vegetables in her arms. When they met between Peggy and the two kids she turned her cheek towards him to kiss, which he did easily. She smelled of lavender. “You smell nice, May,” he said smiling. “Thank you, Jack. You’re such a gentleman.” She leaned towards him and whispered in his ear. “I don’t believe half of what Peggy says about you, y’know.” He whispered back. “Thank you, I think.” She handed him the basket. “These are for you. We grow them right here in the garden.” “Thank you, earth mother,” Jack said accepting the basket. “Michael,” Peggy called to her son, “Come get your sister’s and your bags.” Michael ran in the house and was back carrying his old San Francisco Giants bag. Peggy smiled at Jack. A final parting dig. Jack smiled back as Michael got in the back seat and Corinne in the front. Peggy and May waved goodbye from the front steps as the car headed out. About 20 yards away it stopped and May and Peggy looked at each other. Jack got out of the car, opened the trunk and pulled out an Eagles bag, and placed it on the roof of the car. Then he opened the back door and took out the Giants bag. He took out the kids clothes and put them in the Eagles bag and tossed the S.F. bag toward the house. He smiled and waved at the women. “Nice try, Peg,” he called out the window. “Bastard!” Peggy snapped and stormed into the house. May retrieved the bag and went to the garden and soon had filled it with kindling for the fireplace. “Better than throwing it out,” she thought heading back to the house. “...and I think I like that “Hairy Ape”. He’s got balls. “Imagine that,” she chuckled, “me liking someone with balls!” Jack was whistling as the cherry red Saturn pulled out of the driveway and back onto Route 1 heading south. They turned left on the road that took them to the 280 Freeway and then at San Bruno got back on 101 towards the airport. “Where are we going, Daddy?”, Corinne asked. He winked at his daughter. “It’s a surprise,” he whispered as he ruffled her hair. When they got to the terminal a woman was standing out front waving at them. She wore jeans and a dancing bear tee shirt that had been tie-dyed. Michael, who had been quiet the whole ride, recognized her first. “Aunt Jessie!” he hollered and jumped out when Jack stopped the car. He threw his arms around his favorite aunt and gave her a big kiss. Corinne was right behind him. “Hey, kiddos!” she said in a voice that sounded like their dad. “How’s things?” Jack kissed his sister on the cheek and took her suitcases and put them in the trunk. Now, no one wanted to sit in the front with Jack. When he opened the driver’s door they were all sitting in the back seat. Jessie had gotten in the middle with Michael and Corinne one either side. She had her arms around them both. “Home, James,” she commanded Jack and they all laughed. Jack headed north on 101. Back to the City by the Bay. Jesse began to sing. “If you’re going to San Francisco…” (Visual: Jack driving along, Jessie and kids singing in the back seat while he flashbacked to earlier days in Pennsylvania) Jack would be 32 this September 10th and in two days Jessie will turn 40. It was a big number for Jessie. Four decades on the earth. She didn’t feel old. She still had her figure because she ate healthy and exercised regularly. Backpacking was her passion but if she had her druthers she’d probably be a full time singer. Her voice was the most comforting sound Jack knew. When they were kids, Jessie could do no wrong. Except, maybe that pot stuff. He was such a straight laced individual some people might suppose his political views would be far right but it was conservative Christians that Jack despised. He hated their hypocrisy and their “holier than thou” attitude and always voted Democratic or Liberal and occasionally independent. Just like Jessie. Except he was deeply concerned about finances. He knew that without the basic necessities, individuals could be swayed toward less noble objectives. Worse still, they could waste their talents, their love and their time doing meaningless tasks for some godless corporation. Work could be rewarding in itself and he understood that. He understood his father’s pride in what he did. He understood his father’s need for validation as a good, hard working father, a courageous soldier and as a solid citizen. Yet, to Jack, it was a mindless tragedy that he died so young. In Jack’s second year in the majors, Stanley Machefsky was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. Two months later he was buried. ON that day, Jack had vowed to carry on his father’s legacy of union activism. It was not surprising that the company that his father had worked all his life for had not sent one representative to his funeral. That sealed the vow. He knew if he even had the power, he would do the right thing. He would simply extend his hand. (Visual: Jack reaching out his hand to thank hi s father’s friends for coming, to his daughter pulling him off the bench to dance with her.) Jessie was singing and dancing with Michael in the park and Corinne was pulling her father up off the bench to dance with her. They loved to dance. Jack knew this was purely Peggy’s influence. He’d always admired her dancing abilities and she still performed occasionally because she practiced constantly. That was her obsession. He rose and felt a little silly dancing like this in public. Spinning around and around with his daughter in his arms, he soon forgot his inhibitions and when Jessie finished singing he was startled by the smattering of applause by a few passersby who had stopped to watch his joyous display. One kid with a skateboard and a Giants hat turned backward on his head needled him. “Hey, Jack,” the kid yelled over to him as his friends laughed, “is that how the Eagles taught you to circle under fly balls?” Jack smiled, admitting aloud, “Good one, kid.” The kid and his buddies gave each other high fives as the others realized that the dancing man was the former Giant and now Eagle’s outfielder. He was immediately surrounded by these people asking for autographs. He accommodated them as he pointed towards Jessie and gestured that this was all her fault. Even the kid with the skateboard came over for one. Jacked looked up at him from the park bench. “OK, wiseguy, what do you want?” Jack said smiling. “Your autograph,” the kid said nonplussed. “Could ya sign my hat?”, he asked handing him the black and orange S.F. cap. “Make it out to Ron, please.” “I’ll tell you one thing, Ron,” Jack said as he began to write on the inside of the sweat stained hat, “You’ve got major league oevos/cajones!” What’s your last name, Ron?” His friends laughed at the question. “Why are they laughing, Ron?” “My last name, I guess.” “What is it?” “Swoboda.” Jack smiled. Fate’s a funny thing, he thought. “You know about your namesake, kid?” “Sure. ’69 Mets.” He handed him back his hat but held on to it for a brief moment to get his attention. “Be proud of that name, kid.” “Why should I? He was nothing special.” Jack let go of the hat and the kid turned to go. Jack called him back. “Hey, Ron!” “Yo?” the kid turned around as he put his hat back on facing backwards. “He was special. Ron Swoboda was my dad’s favorite player.” Jack’s eyes were steady and sure. Then Jack smiled. The kid nodded and pointed his finger at Jack. The kid finally smiled without the smugness. He decided the old guy was for real. “I guess we Polacks gotta stick together, huh?” he said to Jack. Jack nodded and pointed back at the kid as his buddies started to skate away. They were all black, Asian and white kids with dreadlocks blowing in the breeze and earrings pierced in various parts of their bodies. The kid caught up with them but turned around once more to give Jack the “hang loose” sign. Jack returned the sign and went over to Jessie and the kids. “Sometimes, I forget my brother is a big celebrity,” she said. “I’ll try not to attract so much attention, bro.” He smiled. “It’s cool,” he said. “So where do we go for lunch and what time is your big extravaganza tonight? “Just follow those skateboarders, Jess. They’re heading out to the Haight. We can grab something exotic or just some organic munchies there. I’ll even show you the place where the Grateful Dead used to live.” “Excellent,” she said nodding, “and what about tonight?” “I need to get back by four so we still have a few hours,” Jack said as he and Jessie lifted up Corinne between them. They swung her back and forth three or four times. “Hey, dad,” Michael asked his father, “Can I buy a new skateboard? I’ll bet they got some rad designs here!” “I guess so,” Jack agreed. “Your mother won’t be mad, will she?” “Nah,” he said pushing his bottom lip out and pulling on it, “ May got me one last year but the wheels came off.” “I want one, too, Daddy!” Corinne declared. “Alright, kids,” Jack said, “One good present each, but remember, this isn’t Christmas!” They nodded. “We know,” they said in unison, “Nothing comes for free!” “Right!” He stopped and looked at them with arms out. “Well?” They gave him big hugs. “No one rides for free, Jess!”, he said laughing with his sister as they headed out of the park. She gave him a high five. Jack looked at the watch his father had left him. It had the insignia of the ‘69 Mets on the face with the words “World Champions” below it. He glanced skyward and smiled. The clock read 12 o’clock. Both hands pointed up. Corinne and Mark ran up ahead and stopped at the light waiting for their father and Aunt Jessie. They pointed across the street. “McDonald’s!”, they cried with delight. While Jack took the kids to McDonald’s Jessie wandered the streets of Haight Ashbury. She told Jack later that she felt like she had found her spiritual roots. It definitely wasn’t the Haight of the 60’s and 70’s but it still held the heart of the counter culture much like the Woodstock area. Their histories were like siblings, linked to the past by common experiences but separate, equal personalities… like Jack and Jessie. She enjoyed the recycled clothing stores, vegetarian cafés and art galleries. People were lined along the side streets, sitting on the sidewalks, their saleable wares before them. She bought two tee shirts for the kids and one for Jack. Michael’s was bright yellow with huge black sunglasses drawn across the chest with the words “Tell the teacher we’re surfing” in childlike letters with the back reading, “Children’s Community Energy Center”. For Corinne, she found an older women’s baseball league silkscreen design on the front and the Silver Bullets written on the back of a tee shirt that declared “Women’s Baseball Lives!” For Jack, Jessie found a tie dyed shirt (XXL) with the sleeves cut off and an image of two bald eagles in flight against a cloudless blue sky. A poem by Gary Snyder encircled this picture and on the back it read – “Beauty is…Eagles Soaring.” Jessie smiled at a handsome young man playing a Lyle Lovett song and was very surprised when he returned her smile with a gesture to come closer. In between verses, he whispered to her that she was “very beautiful.” She almost found herself blushing at the young man’s flirtation. He was definitely at least 10 years younger than she was but his eyes were warm and kind. She whispered back that she had a joint. Would he like to join her? The man stopped playing, removed the money from his guitar case and put it in his pocket. He placed his guitar gently in the velvet lined case and snapped it shut and grabbed it by the handle. “Absolutely,” he said. “Let’s walk around the block and away from traffic.” Jessie nodded. They walked side by side. When they arrived at a small two story house, the young man sat down on the steps. Jessie sat down beside him. She lit up the joint, took a hit and passed it to him. He did the same. Jessie found out his name was Arnie Gregory and had just moved up here from San Diego. He had dark curly hair and a walrus mustache. His fingers were extremely long and he had thick wrists. They talked for about fifteen minutes and she discovered he loved to tinker with computers, could take apart motors with his eyes closed and he had a problem with alcohol. He made enough money playing guitar to get by but hoped to one day get a band together and sing original music. She suddenly realized Jack would be waiting for her with the kids and she had to leave. He handed her a card. She took it. “Call me,” he said. “I can’t,” she began to explain but he stopped her, placing one long finger on her lips. “Please,” he said. “Maybe. I’ll try…”, she called back as she hurried away. She began to jog up the street and had realized she was grinning ear to ear. “I’m such an asshole…” , she thought to herself. “He’s practically a kid…” When Jack saw her, he knew she’d been smoking. Her eyes were sparkling with laughter and she wore a silly grin. “Hi,” she said taking Michael’s and Corinne’s hands, “Sorry I’m late.” She held two plastic bags. Jack shook his head and smiled. He knew she knew he knew. He handled her a small brown paper bag. “What’s this?” she asked. Corinne answered, “Daddy got you a smoothie and a piece of carrot cake.” She smiled proudly. “At McDonald’s…?”, she asked confused. Michael laughed. “Yeah, right, Aunt Jessie,” he smirked, “like McDonald’s sells that stuff!” He pointed at a small shop right behind her. “We got it over there.” She looked up and turned around. The sign read, “The Music of Life Food Emporium”. “Thanks, kids. Thanks, Jack,” she said kissing them each on their cheeks. “I got something for each of you, too,” she said and handed them a tee shirt each. “Cool!” said Michael. “Alright!” said Corinne. “Wow!” said Jack. “So, where are we going now?” Jessie asked between bites of the carrot cake and sips of her smoothie. “Present shopping,” he assured her, “and I thought maybe we’d get a Frisbee to throw in the pack. How’s that sound?”, asked her brother. “Excellent idea, bro!”, Jessie agreed, “but let’s get two so we can play Schoelkopf Frisbee.” “Sure,” he agreed. Michael and Corinne knew this frisbee game. Their dad taught them the game last year at an Eagle’s picnic. It was named after one of his teammate’s friends who played it as a teenager. The object of the game was to try and get 21 points before your opponent did. Points were given to the receiver when he caught a “catchable fling”. The thrower tried to make the two frisbees arrive simultaneously by tossing the first one as a slow lob and the second as a rifle shot towards the head area. If the player drops a “catchable fling” then the tosser gets the point and vice-versa. It could be a lot of fun. There was also “Ultimate” Frisbee where style, grace, and athletic prowess proved to be the most desirable traits. It was an anselfish game where the tosser tries to set up the receiver for a chance to make a fancy play. Typing it up, spinning on one finger and kicks were the highlights of an “ultimate” frisbee player’s vocabulary. Good hand-eye coordination was necessary as well as leaping ability, showmanship and general flexibility. By 3:30, Jack, Jessie, Michael and Corinne were tired and heading back to Sausalito. In the backseat, Jessie fingered Arnie’s card with his number on it. Michael and Corinne were falling asleep leaning against her arms on either side of her. She smiled contentedly. “Maybe I will call him…”, she thought to herself. “After all, I’m still not 40,” she reasoned. Jack saw her face in the rearview mirror and smiled at her. She smiled back. “You like San Francisco so far?” he asked her quietly so as not to wake the kids. “Friggin-A,” she whispered back. “Good,” he said, “me, too! Y’know, you still play a mean frisbee.” Then he paused. “Just don’t go rooting for the Giants now, y’hear?!”, he told his sister. She nodded, smiling. They crossed the Golden Gate Bridge, the sun brightly shining, with Jack’s thoughts wandering to this night’s upcoming event. He hoped it turned out well. Pushing in the tape, he smiled as Louie Armstrong, the Satchmo, sang ‘Wonderful World’. “It was, wasn’t it,” he thought to himself as his exit ramp approached. This was a day to hold onto. A day to treasure. He looked at the time displayed over the radio. It read 3:50. “Shit,” he thought to himself, “the Simpsons are coming on in ten minutes!” He hated missing the beginning just because he loved whatever Bart had to write on the blackboard. After a dinner that Jessie had prepared, Jack went upstairs to get ready while the kids played video games. He could hear Jessie in the music room playing the piano. The music was a pleasant change to the normally sedate environment he lived in when the kids weren’t here. He smiled when he recognized the Joni Mitchell tune of “California”. Jessie always loved her music. After waiting for the song to finish while looking out the sliding doors to Angel Island, Jack turned and closed the bedroom door and got undressed for his shower. He stood up, naked, and looked at himself in the mirror. What he saw was a hairy male with a receding hairline and a three o’clock shadow. A scar ran down his stomach from the appendectomy surgery he’d had that day in high school when he was rushed to the hospital at the end of the first playoff game. He’d been having a pain there all week but had ignored it for fear of not playing. On the final play of the game he had dove for a ball, fully extended and caught the last out to preserve the 1-0 victory. The pain had been so intense that he had blacked out. When he awoke in the hospital he was told that he had nearly died of peutontitus when his appendix had ruptured. The papers played up the fact that instinct had caused his hands to grasp the ball so tightly that it took two nurses and an orderly to pry the ball from his hand before surgery. He had awoken a celebrity and baseball hero. He had other scars on his body, too. One was over his left eye from running into a fence in the minors in a ballpark that had no cushioning on the walls. Behind his right shoulder was another from orthoscopic surgery. His left thumb was deformed from a collision with a second baseman who ignored his warning, calling him off a “dying quail” hit in a night game in San Diego. He felt like the Frankenstein monster except for the nodes sticking out of the mythical creature’s neck and with more bruises. He walked over to his dresser and picked up his invitation for tonight’s ceremony. It was the normal pretentious and gaudy format that Jack abhorred but it was for a good cause. Naturally, it listed the recognizable celebrity names that would draw the wealthy to such events. There were names like Joe Montana and Jerry Rice, Barbara Boxer and Jerry Brown, Robin Williams, Tony Bennett, Tiger Woods, George Foreman and baseball players like Mark McGuire, Willie McCovey, Ken Griffey Jr. and even his friend and opponent Todd Handley. They had even put Jack’s name right below Hundley’s, which he knew Todd would nag him about. All of these people were scheduled to be at the Palace of the Legion of Honor tonight. The William Pratt foundation always had to hold these ceremonies at very prestigious places. They even had planned a concert from music created by one of the famous Hearst brothers and performed by the Russian Philharmonic Symphony. Jack was, however, looking forward to Herb Halpern and his wife, Lori being there. It had been a couple of months since he’d seen them. They were a good pair. Kind, intelligent and subtlely radical. Lori and Jessie had once sung together when they had visited him in Woodstock, just after he and Peggy divorced. It was like the sound of angels. He put down the invitation and looked at the clock. There was still time to take a nice long hot shower and get into his tuxedo before the car arrived to pick him up. He stretched, did a couple of trunk twists and bent down and touched his toes. The crackle coming from his bones made him feel older than he was. Still, he reminded himself, the babes dug him. He chuckled as he turned on the shower. Sure they did. Corinne and Michael had hugged their father goodbye. Corinne told him he looked “pretty” and Michael corrected her, telling her men were “handsome”. She then whispered in his ear that he smelled “handsome”, too, and he laughed and thanked her. Even Jessie said he “cleaned up real good”. He took it as a compliment. Then, dressed to kill, the Eagles’ right fielder got into the car the Foundation had sent for him and headed back across the bridge. Even before they had reached the bridge, his cellphone began to ring. “Yellow?” he said answering the phone. “Green,” came the reply from the other end. The voice was very familiar. It was Herb Halpern Eog. “Hey, Herb, what’s going on?” he asked his lawyer, confidante, semi-agent and friend. Then, in a brief fluttering of panic, asked him, “You guys are still going tonight, aren’t you?” “Hey,” Herb said laughing, “Easy, kid! We wouldn’t desert you in this hour of need. You know that,” Herb reassured him. “Yeah, I know,” Jack replied. “I just get a little nervous at these social gatherings.” He paused momentarily. “So why are you calling?” “I just wanted to give you a little update on tonight’s guest list. Just so there won’t be any surprises for ya, ya know?” Jack didn’t like the sound of this. He opened the little door in front of him that held the refreshments and glasses. He might need a little liquid courage if circumstances warranted such action. “Good news or bad news, Herb?” he asked as he pulled out a tumbler and dropped a few ice cubes in it.      PAGE 1 Despite sprained ankles, bruises from pitches that missed their target (or in Machefsky’s case – found their target), twisted knees, spike lacerations and various contusions on almost every portion of his powerful body (though, luckily, never THERE!) Jack had played in all 120 games the Eagles had batted. Everyone on this team had their part and Jack Machefsky was their warrior. In real life, he was kind and light and talkative. His wife, on explaining her divorce five years earlier from Jack Machefsky, tried to convince Oprah that she felt baseball was too much Jack’s mistress and he had too little passion left for his family. He was a wonderful, doting father for his two children (now aged 8 and 10) but a pushover and still too much of a child to be a good husband. She also admitted, reluctantly, that her lover, a woman, was much more aggressive than he ever was. He was, surprisingly, too soft for her. Jack “the Hairy Ape” Machefsky, Peggy said, had no spine. His teammates, though, knew the truth about their leader. He was fearless, the heavy center of their baseball universe around whom they all revolved. Even their manager encouraged the young players to watch Jack play. He played with precision and intelligence, power and speed, abandon and authority. Sportswatchers were always making comparisons. He was Murial, Mays, Tyson, Chamberlain, Pete Rose and Joe Dimaggio all rolled up in a chunky version of Joe Namath looks and Denais Franz attitude. He loved the poetry of Walt Whitman, the music of Joe Cocker and Louie Armstrong and the nightlife of San Francisco. He wasn’t a womanizer yet he found himself involved with many women since his divorce. Some were friends, some were lovers, and some were both. Maureen was his pal, his erotic mistress, his advisor. But there was one problem. She was married. Her husband was Mr. Will Pratt and that was a big problem. Maureen and Jack had met at a William Pratt Foundation publicity party/ fundraiser for underprivileged kids. Will Pratt was otherwise engaged in business matters that had him in meetings throughout Europe through most of July and Maureen went in his place. It was her obligation and her pleasure. She ran the foundation’s camp, was it’s high profile trustee and this was her passion. The day Maureen Dehillo Pratt and Jack Machefsky met was a beautiful summer’s evening in San Francisco. He had picked up Michael and Corinne from his ex-wife’s home, right after breakfast and headed out with his two kids to pick up their Aunt Jessie from the airport. Peggy and May (his ex-wife’s significant other) had asked Jack to take the kids that day because they had some golf tournament to play in. Even though he wanted to be with the kids he knew that Peggy would never let him get away with a last minute request if things were the other way around. So, Jack managed to use this request to his own advantage and told Peggy he’d have to have them the entire three days of his break from baseball. This was a simple request she had previously denied him after the divorce but now was willing to do because it gave her and May some “alone time”. He was ecstatic that the kids would be with him for the three days and they were happy, too. His sister, Jessie, was coming in from Pennsylvania and this would work out perfectly. The four of them could go to Golden Gate Park together giving Aunt Jessie a tour and just enjoying the moment. He’d keep an eye on Aunt Jessie, too. She was known to partake of the “herb” and he knew she’d want to wander around Haight Ashbury and take in the sights. Hopefully, with the kids around she’d be discreet. Could be a delicate operation, thought Jack, as he prepared to pick them all up. She was never shy about her smoking, daring anyone to try and make her feel guilty about it. He smiled at the thought of his radical sister. She would’ve made a great hippie. His kids loved their Aunt Jessie. Jack Machefsky made his home in Sausalito, just north of Fort Baker. From his house he could see Angel Island when the fog lifted. He loved it there but Peggy’s + May’s house in Pacifica was extraordinary. It helped that May was a real estate broker. She’d found this house 6 months before she met Peggy at some gay meeting in Berkeley. Together they could afford it and originally went in on the house as a business venture. Eventually, they discovered they had a lot in common and finally, after falling in love, decided that this majestic palace could be their home. He was just happy that Peggy had given Michael and Corinne a nice home life. He drove across the Golden Gate Bridge and headed south toward Pacifica. He had been tempted to pick up Jessie at the airport first but immediately realized that this wasn’t a good idea. Peggy and Jessie had never gotten along. They were both stubborn women. Jack drove a new cherry red Saturn. The red was the main color of the Eagles uniform (with purple, black and teal) and he drove the Saturn because the company was employee owned. He actually felt comfortable not driving a Mercedes or a B.M.W. or other fancy cars he could’ve bought because he’d feel like he was showing off. The one thing he allowed himself was a vanity plate that read Jacksky. The breeze was warm as Jack drove down Route 1 to Pacifica. The road was as familiar as an old shoe to the burly driver as he took in the view of the Pacific Ocean as he entered the small but influential town just 20 minutes from San Francisco. At the first light he made a left turn and headed up the hill to Peggy and May’s. The kids were on the swings when he got there and Corinne came running up to the car to greet him. He had to admit that he and Peggy made some beautiful children. Michael, 10, was tall and lean and had Peggy’s oval face and fair complexion. His hair was dark and his nose was bumpy like Jack’s. Corinne, though, his eight year old daughter, had Jack’s round face but inherited Peggy’s thin nose and henna colored hair. Both were athletic but Michael enjoyed tennis and basketball more than baseball while Corinne loved to swim and was the catcher on the local Rookies baseball team. She was “Daddy’s Little Girl” from the moment she came into the world. Michael loved his father but tended to side with Peggy and May during any family conflicts. Jack couldn’t blame him. He was away from him a lot during the baseball season and tried not to do the same with Corinne. She, therefore, had seen her father a lot more when she was younger than her brother had. Jack even had to admit that hew as always closer to his mother when he was a child. Of course, his father worked long hours and the mill when he was growing up and the warion took up a lot of his time, too. However his mother always spoke highly of his father and explained his prolonged absences on trying to make Jack’s life better. Peggy called baseball “an obsessive game played by idiotic men with little talent in any other part of life”. Michael couldn’t help but be affected by this. His father was a famous baseball player but could hardly understand the basics of computer programming. Michael also thought Will Pratt was a genius and a hero that Jack could never be. That probably hurt Jack the most. Corinne had yelled “shotgun” as she ran up to the car as Jack parked in the circular driveway behind Peggy’s Mercedes and May’s B.M.W. Peggy’s car was violet and May’s was forest green. Jack remembered the plain black cars of his you8th and smiled at the psychedelic hues of these vehicles. Jack had just closed the door when Corinne slammed into him grabbing him around the hips and yelling, “Hi, Daddy!” “Howdy, baby. How’s my angel today?”, he said reaching down and picking her up to hug her. With a bearlike squeeze, Corinne smooched her father on the cheek and flinched at the feel of his rough unshaven face. “You look like a wild animal, Daddy! How come you didn’t shave?” She rubbed his face feeling the sandpaper skin as Jack watched Michael stroll leisurely towards the car, his hands in his pockets. “Hey, Big Mike, how’s the team’s best player?”, Jack called out to his son hoping to get off to a good start. Sometimes, Michael was a little distant after a long period between visits. Jack learned to go slow with his oldest child or else he’d sulk for the first half of their visit. Michael smiled cautiously. He was never one to instinctively react with enthusiasm. This was also like Jack. “Pretty good, I guess. Got a three the other night.” Jack smiled. “No shi…kidding. That’s great.” Peggy opened the door and stood there with arms folded. “You should’ve been there, Jack,” she said with a slight chill to her voice. “He shot it from the top of the key as time ran out in the first half.” He looked at her. She still had a great figure but her eyes were hard. Eyes like that shriveled his dick. An instinctive reaction, he felt, as his body prepared for a fight. She would definitely go for the groin first in any physical fight he might imagine them having. “You know I had a game that night,” Jack tried to explain but she cut him off. “Of course, Jack. I know that. I didn’t say you could’ve made the game I just said should’ve.” She smirked. “Guilty conscience, Jack?” He just sighed. She loved to goad him even after all these years apart. He didn’t fall for it this time. May arrived from the garden at the perfect time. Jack liked May. “Howdy, May,” he said walking towards his children’s “other” mother. She was in overalls and a flannel shirt. Her shapely breasts bounced as she walked with a basket of fruits and vegetables in her arms. When they met between Peggy and the two kids she turned her cheek towards him to kiss, which he did easily. She smelled of lavender. “You smell nice, May,” he said smiling. “Thank you, Jack. You’re such a gentleman.” She leaned towards him and whispered in his ear. “I don’t believe half of what Peggy says about you, y’know.” He whispered back. “Thank you, I think.” She handed him the basket. “These are for you. We grow them right here in the garden.” “Thank you, earth mother,” Jack said accepting the basket. “Michael,” Peggy called to her son, “Come get your sister’s and your bags.” Michael ran in the house and was back carrying his old San Francisco Giants bag. Peggy smiled at Jack. A final parting dig. Jack smiled back as Michael got in the back seat and Corinne in the front. Peggy and May waved goodbye from the front steps as the car headed out. About 20 yards away it stopped and May and Peggy looked at each other. Jack got out of the car, opened the trunk and pulled out an Eagles bag, and placed it on the roof of the car. Then he opened the back door and took out the Giants bag. He took out the kids clothes and put them in the Eagles bag and tossed the S.F. bag toward the house. He smiled and waved at the women. “Nice try, Peg,” he called out the window. “Bastard!” Peggy snapped and stormed into the house. May retrieved the bag and went to the garden and soon had filled it with kindling for the fireplace. “Better than throwing it out,” she thought heading back to the house. “...and I think I like that “Hairy Ape”. He’s got balls. “Imagine that,” she chuckled, “me liking someone with balls!” Jack was whistling as the cherry red Saturn pulled out of the driveway and back onto Route 1 heading south. They turned left on the road that took them to the 280 Freeway and then at San Bruno got back on 101 towards the airport. “Where are we going, Daddy?”, Corinne asked. He winked at his daughter. “It’s a surprise,” he whispered as he ruffled her hair. When they got to the terminal a woman was standing out front waving at them. She wore jeans and a dancing bear tee shirt that had been tie-dyed. Michael, who had been quiet the whole ride, recognized her first. “Aunt Jessie!” he hollered and jumped out when Jack stopped the car. He threw his arms around his favorite aunt and gave her a big kiss. Corinne was right behind him. “Hey, kiddos!” she said in a voice that sounded like their dad. “How’s things?” Jack kissed his sister on the cheek and took her suitcases and put them in the trunk. Now, no one wanted to sit in the front with Jack. When he opened the driver’s door they were all sitting in the back seat. Jessie had gotten in the middle with Michael and Corinne one either side. She had her arms around them both. “Home, James,” she commanded Jack and they all laughed. Jack headed north on 101. Back to the City by the Bay. Jesse began to sing. “If you’re going to San Francisco…” (Visual: Jack driving along, Jessie and kids singing in the back seat while he flashbacked to earlier days in Pennsylvania) Jack would be 32 this September 10th and in two days Jessie will turn 40. It was a big number for Jessie. Four decades on the earth. She didn’t feel old. She still had her figure because she ate healthy and exercised regularly. Backpacking was her passion but if she had her druthers she’d probably be a full time singer. Her voice was the most comforting sound Jack knew. When they were kids, Jessie could do no wrong. Except, maybe that pot stuff. He was such a straight laced individual some people might suppose his political views would be far right but it was conservative Christians that Jack despised. He hated their hypocrisy and their “holier than thou” attitude and always voted Democratic or Liberal and occasionally independent. Just like Jessie. Except he was deeply concerned about finances. He knew that without the basic necessities, individuals could be swayed toward less noble objectives. Worse still, they could waste their talents, their love and their time doing meaningless tasks for some godless corporation. Work could be rewarding in itself and he understood that. He understood his father’s pride in what he did. He understood his father’s need for validation as a good, hard working father, a courageous soldier and as a solid citizen. Yet, to Jack, it was a mindless tragedy that he died so young. In Jack’s second year in the majors, Stanley Machefsky was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. Two months later he was buried. ON that day, Jack had vowed to carry on his father’s legacy of union activism. It was not surprising that the company that his father had worked all his life for had not sent one representative to his funeral. That sealed the vow. He knew if he even had the power, he would do the right thing. He would simply extend his hand. (Visual: Jack reaching out his hand to thank hi s father’s friends for coming, to his daughter pulling him off the bench to dance with her.) Jessie was singing and dancing with Michael in the park and Corinne was pulling her father up off the bench to dance with her. They loved to dance. Jack knew this was purely Peggy’s influence. He’d always admired her dancing abilities and she still performed occasionally because she practiced constantly. That was her obsession. He rose and felt a little silly dancing like this in public. Spinning around and around with his daughter in his arms, he soon forgot his inhibitions and when Jessie finished singing he was startled by the smattering of applause by a few passersby who had stopped to watch his joyous display. One kid with a skateboard and a Giants hat turned backward on his head needled him. “Hey, Jack,” the kid yelled over to him as his friends laughed, “is that how the Eagles taught you to circle under fly balls?” Jack smiled, admitting aloud, “Good one, kid.” The kid and his buddies gave each other high fives as the others realized that the dancing man was the former Giant and now Eagle’s outfielder. He was immediately surrounded by these people asking for autographs. He accommodated them as he pointed towards Jessie and gestured that this was all her fault. Even the kid with the skateboard came over for one. Jacked looked up at him from the park bench. “OK, wiseguy, what do you want?” Jack said smiling. “Your autograph,” the kid said nonplussed. “Could ya sign my hat?”, he asked handing him the black and orange S.F. cap. “Make it out to Ron, please.” “I’ll tell you one thing, Ron,” Jack said as he began to write on the inside of the sweat stained hat, “You’ve got major league oevos/cajones!” What’s your last name, Ron?” His friends laughed at the question. “Why are they laughing, Ron?” “My last name, I guess.” “What is it?” “Swoboda.” Jack smiled. Fate’s a funny thing, he thought. “You know about your namesake, kid?” “Sure. ’69 Mets.” He handed him back his hat but held on to it for a brief moment to get his attention. “Be proud of that name, kid.” “Why should I? He was nothing special.” Jack let go of the hat and the kid turned to go. Jack called him back. “Hey, Ron!” “Yo?” the kid turned around as he put his hat back on facing backwards. “He was special. Ron Swoboda was my dad’s favorite player.” Jack’s eyes were steady and sure. Then Jack smiled. The kid nodded and pointed his finger at Jack. The kid finally smiled without the smugness. He decided the old guy was for real. “I guess we Polacks gotta stick together, huh?” he said to Jack. Jack nodded and pointed back at the kid as his buddies started to skate away. They were all black, Asian and white kids with dreadlocks blowing in the breeze and earrings pierced in various parts of their bodies. The kid caught up with them but turned around once more to give Jack the “hang loose” sign. Jack returned the sign and went over to Jessie and the kids. “Sometimes, I forget my brother is a big celebrity,” she said. “I’ll try not to attract so much attention, bro.” He smiled. “It’s cool,” he said. “So where do we go for lunch and what time is your big extravaganza tonight? “Just follow those skateboarders, Jess. They’re heading out to the Haight. We can grab something exotic or just some organic munchies there. I’ll even show you the place where the Grateful Dead used to live.” “Excellent,” she said nodding, “and what about tonight?” “I need to get back by four so we still have a few hours,” Jack said as he and Jessie lifted up Corinne between them. They swung her back and forth three or four times. “Hey, dad,” Michael asked his father, “Can I buy a new skateboard? I’ll bet they got some rad designs here!” “I guess so,” Jack agreed. “Your mother won’t be mad, will she?” “Nah,” he said pushing his bottom lip out and pulling on it, “ May got me one last year but the wheels came off.” “I want one, too, Daddy!” Corinne declared. “Alright, kids,” Jack said, “One good present each, but remember, this isn’t Christmas!” They nodded. “We know,” they said in unison, “Nothing comes for free!” “Right!” He stopped and looked at them with arms out. “Well?” They gave him big hugs. “No one rides for free, Jess!”, he said laughing with his sister as they headed out of the park. She gave him a high five. Jack looked at the watch his father had left him. It had the insignia of the ‘69 Mets on the face with the words “World Champions” below it. He glanced skyward and smiled. The clock read 12 o’clock. Both hands pointed up. Corinne and Mark ran up ahead and stopped at the light waiting for their father and Aunt Jessie. They pointed across the street. “McDonald’s!”, they cried with delight. While Jack took the kids to McDonald’s Jessie wandered the streets of Haight Ashbury. She told Jack later that she felt like she had found her spiritual roots. It definitely wasn’t the Haight of the 60’s and 70’s but it still held the heart of the counter culture much like the Woodstock area. Their histories were like siblings, linked to the past by common experiences but separate, equal personalities… like Jack and Jessie. She enjoyed the recycled clothing stores, vegetarian cafés and art galleries. People were lined along the side streets, sitting on the sidewalks, their saleable wares before them. She bought two tee shirts for the kids and one for Jack. Michael’s was bright yellow with huge black sunglasses drawn across the chest with the words “Tell the teacher we’re surfing” in childlike letters with the back reading, “Children’s Community Energy Center”. For Corinne, she found an older women’s baseball league silkscreen design on the front and the Silver Bullets written on the back of a tee shirt that declared “Women’s Baseball Lives!” For Jack, Jessie found a tie dyed shirt (XXL) with the sleeves cut off and an image of two bald eagles in flight against a cloudless blue sky. A poem by Gary Snyder encircled this picture and on the back it read – “Beauty is…Eagles Soaring.” Jessie smiled at a handsome young man playing a Lyle Lovett song and was very surprised when he returned her smile with a gesture to come closer. In between verses, he whispered to her that she was “very beautiful.” She almost found herself blushing at the young man’s flirtation. He was definitely at least 10 years younger than she was but his eyes were warm and kind. She whispered back that she had a joint. Would he like to join her? The man stopped playing, removed the money from his guitar case and put it in his pocket. He placed his guitar gently in the velvet lined case and snapped it shut and grabbed it by the handle. “Absolutely,” he said. “Let’s walk around the block and away from traffic.” Jessie nodded. They walked side by side. When they arrived at a small two story house, the young man sat down on the steps. Jessie sat down beside him. She lit up the joint, took a hit and passed it to him. He did the same. Jessie found out his name was Arnie Gregory and had just moved up here from San Diego. He had dark curly hair and a walrus mustache. His fingers were extremely long and he had thick wrists. They talked for about fifteen minutes and she discovered he loved to tinker with computers, could take apart motors with his eyes closed and he had a problem with alcohol. He made enough money playing guitar to get by but hoped to one day get a band together and sing original music. She suddenly realized Jack would be waiting for her with the kids and she had to leave. He handed her a card. She took it. “Call me,” he said. “I can’t,” she began to explain but he stopped her, placing one long finger on her lips. “Please,” he said. “Maybe. I’ll try…”, she called back as she hurried away. She began to jog up the street and had realized she was grinning ear to ear. “I’m such an asshole…” , she thought to herself. “He’s practically a kid…” When Jack saw her, he knew she’d been smoking. Her eyes were sparkling with laughter and she wore a silly grin. “Hi,” she said taking Michael’s and Corinne’s hands, “Sorry I’m late.” She held two plastic bags. Jack shook his head and smiled. He knew she knew he knew. He handled her a small brown paper bag. “What’s this?” she asked. Corinne answered, “Daddy got you a smoothie and a piece of carrot cake.” She smiled proudly. “At McDonald’s…?”, she asked confused. Michael laughed. “Yeah, right, Aunt Jessie,” he smirked, “like McDonald’s sells that stuff!” He pointed at a small shop right behind her. “We got it over there.” She looked up and turned around. The sign read, “The Music of Life Food Emporium”. “Thanks, kids. Thanks, Jack,” she said kissing them each on their cheeks. “I got something for each of you, too,” she said and handed them a tee shirt each. “Cool!” said Michael. “Alright!” said Corinne. “Wow!” said Jack. “So, where are we going now?” Jessie asked between bites of the carrot cake and sips of her smoothie. “Present shopping,” he assured her, “and I thought maybe we’d get a Frisbee to throw in the pack. How’s that sound?”, asked her brother. “Excellent idea, bro!”, Jessie agreed, “but let’s get two so we can play Schoelkopf Frisbee.” “Sure,” he agreed. Michael and Corinne knew this frisbee game. Their dad taught them the game last year at an Eagle’s picnic. It was named after one of his teammate’s friends who played it as a teenager. The object of the game was to try and get 21 points before your opponent did. Points were given to the receiver when he caught a “catchable fling”. The thrower tried to make the two frisbees arrive simultaneously by tossing the first one as a slow lob and the second as a rifle shot towards the head area. If the player drops a “catchable fling” then the tosser gets the point and vice-versa. It could be a lot of fun. There was also “Ultimate” Frisbee where style, grace, and athletic prowess proved to be the most desirable traits. It was an anselfish game where the tosser tries to set up the receiver for a chance to make a fancy play. Typing it up, spinning on one finger and kicks were the highlights of an “ultimate” frisbee player’s vocabulary. Good hand-eye coordination was necessary as well as leaping ability, showmanship and general flexibility. By 3:30, Jack, Jessie, Michael and Corinne were tired and heading back to Sausalito. In the backseat, Jessie fingered Arnie’s card with his number on it. Michael and Corinne were falling asleep leaning against her arms on either side of her. She smiled contentedly. “Maybe I will call him…”, she thought to herself. “After all, I’m still not 40,” she reasoned. Jack saw her face in the rearview mirror and smiled at her. She smiled back. “You like San Francisco so far?” he asked her quietly so as not to wake the kids. “Friggin-A,” she whispered back. “Good,” he said, “me, too! Y’know, you still play a mean frisbee.” Then he paused. “Just don’t go rooting for the Giants now, y’hear?!”, he told his sister. She nodded, smiling. They crossed the Golden Gate Bridge, the sun brightly shining, with Jack’s thoughts wandering to this night’s upcoming event. He hoped it turned out well. Pushing in the tape, he smiled as Louie Armstrong, the Satchmo, sang ‘Wonderful World’. “It was, wasn’t it,” he thought to himself as his exit ramp approached. This was a day to hold onto. A day to treasure. He looked at the time displayed over the radio. It read 3:50. “Shit,” he thought to himself, “the Simpsons are coming on in ten minutes!” He hated missing the beginning just because he loved whatever Bart had to write on the blackboard. After a dinner that Jessie had prepared, Jack went upstairs to get ready while the kids played video games. He could hear Jessie in the music room playing the piano. The music was a pleasant change to the normally sedate environment he lived in when the kids weren’t here. He smiled when he recognized the Joni Mitchell tune of “California”. Jessie always loved her music. After waiting for the song to finish while looking out the sliding doors to Angel Island, Jack turned and closed the bedroom door and got undressed for his shower. He stood up, naked, and looked at himself in the mirror. What he saw was a hairy male with a receding hairline and a three o’clock shadow. A scar ran down his stomach from the appendectomy surgery he’d had that day in high school when he was rushed to the hospital at the end of the first playoff game. He’d been having a pain there all week but had ignored it for fear of not playing. On the final play of the game he had dove for a ball, fully extended and caught the last out to preserve the 1-0 victory. The pain had been so intense that he had blacked out. When he awoke in the hospital he was told that he had nearly died of peutontitus when his appendix had ruptured. The papers played up the fact that instinct had caused his hands to grasp the ball so tightly that it took two nurses and an orderly to pry the ball from his hand before surgery. He had awoken a celebrity and baseball hero. He had other scars on his body, too. One was over his left eye from running into a fence in the minors in a ballpark that had no cushioning on the walls. Behind his right shoulder was another from orthoscopic surgery. His left thumb was deformed from a collision with a second baseman who ignored his warning, calling him off a “dying quail” hit in a night game in San Diego. He felt like the Frankenstein monster except for the nodes sticking out of the mythical creature’s neck and with more bruises. He walked over to his dresser and picked up his invitation for tonight’s ceremony. It was the normal pretentious and gaudy format that Jack abhorred but it was for a good cause. Naturally, it listed the recognizable celebrity names that would draw the wealthy to such events. There were names like Joe Montana and Jerry Rice, Barbara Boxer and Jerry Brown, Robin Williams, Tony Bennett, Tiger Woods, George Foreman and baseball players like Mark McGuire, Willie McCovey, Ken Griffey Jr. and even his friend and opponent Todd Handley. They had even put Jack’s name right below Hundley’s, which he knew Todd would nag him about. All of these people were scheduled to be at the Palace of the Legion of Honor tonight. The William Pratt foundation always had to hold these ceremonies at very prestigious places. They even had planned a concert from music created by one of the famous Hearst brothers and performed by the Russian Philharmonic Symphony. Jack was, however, looking forward to Herb Halpern and his wife, Lori being there. It had been a couple of months since he’d seen them. They were a good pair. Kind, intelligent and subtlely radical. Lori and Jessie had once sung together when they had visited him in Woodstock, just after he and Peggy divorced. It was like the sound of angels. He put down the invitation and looked at the clock. There was still time to take a nice long hot shower and get into his tuxedo before the car arrived to pick him up. He stretched, did a couple of trunk twists and bent down and touched his toes. The crackle coming from his bones made him feel older than he was. Still, he reminded himself, the babes dug him. He chuckled as he turned on the shower. Sure they did. Corinne and Michael had hugged their father goodbye. Corinne told him he looked “pretty” and Michael corrected her, telling her men were “handsome”. She then whispered in his ear that he smelled “handsome”, too, and he laughed and thanked her. Even Jessie said he “cleaned up real good”. He took it as a compliment. Then, dressed to kill, the Eagles’ right fielder got into the car the Foundation had sent for him and headed back across the bridge. Even before they had reached the bridge, his cellphone began to ring. “Yellow?” he said answering the phone. “Green,” came the reply from the other end. The voice was very familiar. It was Herb Halpern Eog. “Hey, Herb, what’s going on?” he asked his lawyer, confidante, semi-agent and friend. Then, in a brief fluttering of panic, asked him, “You guys are still going tonight, aren’t you?” “Hey,” Herb said laughing, “Easy, kid! We wouldn’t desert you in this hour of need. You know that,” Herb reassured him. “Yeah, I know,” Jack replied. “I just get a little nervous at these social gatherings.” He paused momentarily. “So why are you calling?” “I just wanted to give you a little update on tonight’s guest list. Just so there won’t be any surprises for ya, ya know?”   

posted this in comments to make it easier to access...

ooops.... copied it twice.... my bad.

Despite sprained ankles, bruises from pitches that missed their target (or in Machefsky’s case – found their target), twisted knees, spike lacerations and various contusions on almost every portion of his powerful body (though, luckily, never THERE!) Jack had played in all 120 games the Eagles had batted. Everyone on this team had their part and Jack Machefsky was their warrior. In real life, he was kind and light and talkative. His wife, on explaining her divorce five years earlier from Jack Machefsky, tried to convince Oprah that she felt baseball was too much Jack’s mistress and he had too little passion left for his family. He was a wonderful, doting father for his two children (now aged 8 and 10) but a pushover and still too much of a child to be a good husband. She also admitted, reluctantly, that her lover, a woman, was much more aggressive than he ever was. He was, surprisingly, too soft for her. Jack “the Hairy Ape” Machefsky, Peggy said, had no spine. His teammates, though, knew the truth about their leader. He was fearless, the heavy center of their baseball universe around whom they all revolved. Even their manager encouraged the young players to watch Jack play. He played with precision and intelligence, power and speed, abandon and authority. Sportswatchers were always making comparisons. He was Murial, Mays, Tyson, Chamberlain, Pete Rose and Joe Dimaggio all rolled up in a chunky version of Joe Namath looks and Denais Franz attitude. He loved the poetry of Walt Whitman, the music of Joe Cocker and Louie Armstrong and the nightlife of San Francisco. He wasn’t a womanizer yet he found himself involved with many women since his divorce. Some were friends, some were lovers, and some were both. Maureen was his pal, his erotic mistress, his advisor. But there was one problem. She was married. Her husband was Mr. Will Pratt and that was a big problem. Maureen and Jack had met at a William Pratt Foundation publicity party/ fundraiser for underprivileged kids. Will Pratt was otherwise engaged in business matters that had him in meetings throughout Europe through most of July and Maureen went in his place. It was her obligation and her pleasure. She ran the foundation’s camp, was it’s high profile trustee and this was her passion. The day Maureen Dehillo Pratt and Jack Machefsky met was a beautiful summer’s evening in San Francisco. He had picked up Michael and Corinne from his ex-wife’s home, right after breakfast and headed out with his two kids to pick up their Aunt Jessie from the airport. Peggy and May (his ex-wife’s significant other) had asked Jack to take the kids that day because they had some golf tournament to play in. Even though he wanted to be with the kids he knew that Peggy would never let him get away with a last minute request if things were the other way around. So, Jack managed to use this request to his own advantage and told Peggy he’d have to have them the entire three days of his break from baseball. This was a simple request she had previously denied him after the divorce but now was willing to do because it gave her and May some “alone time”. He was ecstatic that the kids would be with him for the three days and they were happy, too. His sister, Jessie, was coming in from Pennsylvania and this would work out perfectly. The four of them could go to Golden Gate Park together giving Aunt Jessie a tour and just enjoying the moment. He’d keep an eye on Aunt Jessie, too. She was known to partake of the “herb” and he knew she’d want to wander around Haight Ashbury and take in the sights. Hopefully, with the kids around she’d be discreet. Could be a delicate operation, thought Jack, as he prepared to pick them all up. She was never shy about her smoking, daring anyone to try and make her feel guilty about it. He smiled at the thought of his radical sister. She would’ve made a great hippie. His kids loved their Aunt Jessie. Jack Machefsky made his home in Sausalito, just north of Fort Baker. From his house he could see Angel Island when the fog lifted. He loved it there but Peggy’s + May’s house in Pacifica was extraordinary. It helped that May was a real estate broker. She’d found this house 6 months before she met Peggy at some gay meeting in Berkeley. Together they could afford it and originally went in on the house as a business venture. Eventually, they discovered they had a lot in common and finally, after falling in love, decided that this majestic palace could be their home. He was just happy that Peggy had given Michael and Corinne a nice home life. He drove across the Golden Gate Bridge and headed south toward Pacifica. He had been tempted to pick up Jessie at the airport first but immediately realized that this wasn’t a good idea. Peggy and Jessie had never gotten along. They were both stubborn women. Jack drove a new cherry red Saturn. The red was the main color of the Eagles uniform (with purple, black and teal) and he drove the Saturn because the company was employee owned. He actually felt comfortable not driving a Mercedes or a B.M.W. or other fancy cars he could’ve bought because he’d feel like he was showing off. The one thing he allowed himself was a vanity plate that read Jacksky. The breeze was warm as Jack drove down Route 1 to Pacifica. The road was as familiar as an old shoe to the burly driver as he took in the view of the Pacific Ocean as he entered the small but influential town just 20 minutes from San Francisco. At the first light he made a left turn and headed up the hill to Peggy and May’s. The kids were on the swings when he got there and Corinne came running up to the car to greet him. He had to admit that he and Peggy made some beautiful children. Michael, 10, was tall and lean and had Peggy’s oval face and fair complexion. His hair was dark and his nose was bumpy like Jack’s. Corinne, though, his eight year old daughter, had Jack’s round face but inherited Peggy’s thin nose and henna colored hair. Both were athletic but Michael enjoyed tennis and basketball more than baseball while Corinne loved to swim and was the catcher on the local Rookies baseball team. She was “Daddy’s Little Girl” from the moment she came into the world. Michael loved his father but tended to side with Peggy and May during any family conflicts. Jack couldn’t blame him. He was away from him a lot during the baseball season and tried not to do the same with Corinne. She, therefore, had seen her father a lot more when she was younger than her brother had. Jack even had to admit that hew as always closer to his mother when he was a child. Of course, his father worked long hours and the mill when he was growing up and the warion took up a lot of his time, too. However his mother always spoke highly of his father and explained his prolonged absences on trying to make Jack’s life better. Peggy called baseball “an obsessive game played by idiotic men with little talent in any other part of life”. Michael couldn’t help but be affected by this. His father was a famous baseball player but could hardly understand the basics of computer programming. Michael also thought Will Pratt was a genius and a hero that Jack could never be. That probably hurt Jack the most. Corinne had yelled “shotgun” as she ran up to the car as Jack parked in the circular driveway behind Peggy’s Mercedes and May’s B.M.W. Peggy’s car was violet and May’s was forest green. Jack remembered the plain black cars of his you8th and smiled at the psychedelic hues of these vehicles. Jack had just closed the door when Corinne slammed into him grabbing him around the hips and yelling, “Hi, Daddy!” “Howdy, baby. How’s my angel today?”, he said reaching down and picking her up to hug her. With a bearlike squeeze, Corinne smooched her father on the cheek and flinched at the feel of his rough unshaven face. “You look like a wild animal, Daddy! How come you didn’t shave?” She rubbed his face feeling the sandpaper skin as Jack watched Michael stroll leisurely towards the car, his hands in his pockets. “Hey, Big Mike, how’s the team’s best player?”, Jack called out to his son hoping to get off to a good start. Sometimes, Michael was a little distant after a long period between visits. Jack learned to go slow with his oldest child or else he’d sulk for the first half of their visit. Michael smiled cautiously. He was never one to instinctively react with enthusiasm. This was also like Jack. “Pretty good, I guess. Got a three the other night.” Jack smiled. “No shi…kidding. That’s great.” Peggy opened the door and stood there with arms folded. “You should’ve been there, Jack,” she said with a slight chill to her voice. “He shot it from the top of the key as time ran out in the first half.” He looked at her. She still had a great figure but her eyes were hard. Eyes like that shriveled his dick. An instinctive reaction, he felt, as his body prepared for a fight. She would definitely go for the groin first in any physical fight he might imagine them having. “You know I had a game that night,” Jack tried to explain but she cut him off. “Of course, Jack. I know that. I didn’t say you could’ve made the game I just said should’ve.” She smirked. “Guilty conscience, Jack?” He just sighed. She loved to goad him even after all these years apart. He didn’t fall for it this time. May arrived from the garden at the perfect time. Jack liked May. “Howdy, May,” he said walking towards his children’s “other” mother. She was in overalls and a flannel shirt. Her shapely breasts bounced as she walked with a basket of fruits and vegetables in her arms. When they met between Peggy and the two kids she turned her cheek towards him to kiss, which he did easily. She smelled of lavender. “You smell nice, May,” he said smiling. “Thank you, Jack. You’re such a gentleman.” She leaned towards him and whispered in his ear. “I don’t believe half of what Peggy says about you, y’know.” He whispered back. “Thank you, I think.” She handed him the basket. “These are for you. We grow them right here in the garden.” “Thank you, earth mother,” Jack said accepting the basket. “Michael,” Peggy called to her son, “Come get your sister’s and your bags.” Michael ran in the house and was back carrying his old San Francisco Giants bag. Peggy smiled at Jack. A final parting dig. Jack smiled back as Michael got in the back seat and Corinne in the front. Peggy and May waved goodbye from the front steps as the car headed out. About 20 yards away it stopped and May and Peggy looked at each other. Jack got out of the car, opened the trunk and pulled out an Eagles bag, and placed it on the roof of the car. Then he opened the back door and took out the Giants bag. He took out the kids clothes and put them in the Eagles bag and tossed the S.F. bag toward the house. He smiled and waved at the women. “Nice try, Peg,” he called out the window. “Bastard!” Peggy snapped and stormed into the house. May retrieved the bag and went to the garden and soon had filled it with kindling for the fireplace. “Better than throwing it out,” she thought heading back to the house. “...and I think I like that “Hairy Ape”. He’s got balls. “Imagine that,” she chuckled, “me liking someone with balls!” Jack was whistling as the cherry red Saturn pulled out of the driveway and back onto Route 1 heading south. They turned left on the road that took them to the 280 Freeway and then at San Bruno got back on 101 towards the airport. “Where are we going, Daddy?”, Corinne asked. He winked at his daughter. “It’s a surprise,” he whispered as he ruffled her hair. When they got to the terminal a woman was standing out front waving at them. She wore jeans and a dancing bear tee shirt that had been tie-dyed. Michael, who had been quiet the whole ride, recognized her first. “Aunt Jessie!” he hollered and jumped out when Jack stopped the car. He threw his arms around his favorite aunt and gave her a big kiss. Corinne was right behind him. “Hey, kiddos!” she said in a voice that sounded like their dad. “How’s things?” Jack kissed his sister on the cheek and took her suitcases and put them in the trunk. Now, no one wanted to sit in the front with Jack. When he opened the driver’s door they were all sitting in the back seat. Jessie had gotten in the middle with Michael and Corinne one either side. She had her arms around them both. “Home, James,” she commanded Jack and they all laughed. Jack headed north on 101. Back to the City by the Bay. Jesse began to sing. “If you’re going to San Francisco…” (Visual: Jack driving along, Jessie and kids singing in the back seat while he flashbacked to earlier days in Pennsylvania) Jack would be 32 this September 10th and in two days Jessie will turn 40. It was a big number for Jessie. Four decades on the earth. She didn’t feel old. She still had her figure because she ate healthy and exercised regularly. Backpacking was her passion but if she had her druthers she’d probably be a full time singer. Her voice was the most comforting sound Jack knew. When they were kids, Jessie could do no wrong. Except, maybe that pot stuff. He was such a straight laced individual some people might suppose his political views would be far right but it was conservative Christians that Jack despised. He hated their hypocrisy and their “holier than thou” attitude and always voted Democratic or Liberal and occasionally independent. Just like Jessie. Except he was deeply concerned about finances. He knew that without the basic necessities, individuals could be swayed toward less noble objectives. Worse still, they could waste their talents, their love and their time doing meaningless tasks for some godless corporation. Work could be rewarding in itself and he understood that. He understood his father’s pride in what he did. He understood his father’s need for validation as a good, hard working father, a courageous soldier and as a solid citizen. Yet, to Jack, it was a mindless tragedy that he died so young. In Jack’s second year in the majors, Stanley Machefsky was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. Two months later he was buried. ON that day, Jack had vowed to carry on his father’s legacy of union activism. It was not surprising that the company that his father had worked all his life for had not sent one representative to his funeral. That sealed the vow. He knew if he even had the power, he would do the right thing. He would simply extend his hand. (Visual: Jack reaching out his hand to thank hi s father’s friends for coming, to his daughter pulling him off the bench to dance with her.) Jessie was singing and dancing with Michael in the park and Corinne was pulling her father up off the bench to dance with her. They loved to dance. Jack knew this was purely Peggy’s influence. He’d always admired her dancing abilities and she still performed occasionally because she practiced constantly. That was her obsession. He rose and felt a little silly dancing like this in public. Spinning around and around with his daughter in his arms, he soon forgot his inhibitions and when Jessie finished singing he was startled by the smattering of applause by a few passersby who had stopped to watch his joyous display. One kid with a skateboard and a Giants hat turned backward on his head needled him. “Hey, Jack,” the kid yelled over to him as his friends laughed, “is that how the Eagles taught you to circle under fly balls?” Jack smiled, admitting aloud, “Good one, kid.” The kid and his buddies gave each other high fives as the others realized that the dancing man was the former Giant and now Eagle’s outfielder. He was immediately surrounded by these people asking for autographs. He accommodated them as he pointed towards Jessie and gestured that this was all her fault. Even the kid with the skateboard came over for one. Jacked looked up at him from the park bench. “OK, wiseguy, what do you want?” Jack said smiling. “Your autograph,” the kid said nonplussed. “Could ya sign my hat?”, he asked handing him the black and orange S.F. cap. “Make it out to Ron, please.” “I’ll tell you one thing, Ron,” Jack said as he began to write on the inside of the sweat stained hat, “You’ve got major league oevos/cajones!” What’s your last name, Ron?” His friends laughed at the question. “Why are they laughing, Ron?” “My last name, I guess.” “What is it?” “Swoboda.” Jack smiled. Fate’s a funny thing, he thought. “You know about your namesake, kid?” “Sure. ’69 Mets.” He handed him back his hat but held on to it for a brief moment to get his attention. “Be proud of that name, kid.” “Why should I? He was nothing special.” Jack let go of the hat and the kid turned to go. Jack called him back. “Hey, Ron!” “Yo?” the kid turned around as he put his hat back on facing backwards. “He was special. Ron Swoboda was my dad’s favorite player.” Jack’s eyes were steady and sure. Then Jack smiled. The kid nodded and pointed his finger at Jack. The kid finally smiled without the smugness. He decided the old guy was for real. “I guess we Polacks gotta stick together, huh?” he said to Jack. Jack nodded and pointed back at the kid as his buddies started to skate away. They were all black, Asian and white kids with dreadlocks blowing in the breeze and earrings pierced in various parts of their bodies. The kid caught up with them but turned around once more to give Jack the “hang loose” sign. Jack returned the sign and went over to Jessie and the kids. “Sometimes, I forget my brother is a big celebrity,” she said. “I’ll try not to attract so much attention, bro.” He smiled. “It’s cool,” he said. “So where do we go for lunch and what time is your big extravaganza tonight? “Just follow those skateboarders, Jess. They’re heading out to the Haight. We can grab something exotic or just some organic munchies there. I’ll even show you the place where the Grateful Dead used to live.” “Excellent,” she said nodding, “and what about tonight?” “I need to get back by four so we still have a few hours,” Jack said as he and Jessie lifted up Corinne between them. They swung her back and forth three or four times. “Hey, dad,” Michael asked his father, “Can I buy a new skateboard? I’ll bet they got some rad designs here!” “I guess so,” Jack agreed. “Your mother won’t be mad, will she?” “Nah,” he said pushing his bottom lip out and pulling on it, “ May got me one last year but the wheels came off.” “I want one, too, Daddy!” Corinne declared. “Alright, kids,” Jack said, “One good present each, but remember, this isn’t Christmas!” They nodded. “We know,” they said in unison, “Nothing comes for free!” “Right!” He stopped and looked at them with arms out. “Well?” They gave him big hugs. “No one rides for free, Jess!”, he said laughing with his sister as they headed out of the park. She gave him a high five. Jack looked at the watch his father had left him. It had the insignia of the ‘69 Mets on the face with the words “World Champions” below it. He glanced skyward and smiled. The clock read 12 o’clock. Both hands pointed up. Corinne and Mark ran up ahead and stopped at the light waiting for their father and Aunt Jessie. They pointed across the street. “McDonald’s!”, they cried with delight. While Jack took the kids to McDonald’s Jessie wandered the streets of Haight Ashbury. She told Jack later that she felt like she had found her spiritual roots. It definitely wasn’t the Haight of the 60’s and 70’s but it still held the heart of the counter culture much like the Woodstock area. Their histories were like siblings, linked to the past by common experiences but separate, equal personalities… like Jack and Jessie. She enjoyed the recycled clothing stores, vegetarian cafés and art galleries. People were lined along the side streets, sitting on the sidewalks, their saleable wares before them. She bought two tee shirts for the kids and one for Jack. Michael’s was bright yellow with huge black sunglasses drawn across the chest with the words “Tell the teacher we’re surfing” in childlike letters with the back reading, “Children’s Community Energy Center”. For Corinne, she found an older women’s baseball league silkscreen design on the front and the Silver Bullets written on the back of a tee shirt that declared “Women’s Baseball Lives!” For Jack, Jessie found a tie dyed shirt (XXL) with the sleeves cut off and an image of two bald eagles in flight against a cloudless blue sky. A poem by Gary Snyder encircled this picture and on the back it read – “Beauty is…Eagles Soaring.” Jessie smiled at a handsome young man playing a Lyle Lovett song and was very surprised when he returned her smile with a gesture to come closer. In between verses, he whispered to her that she was “very beautiful.” She almost found herself blushing at the young man’s flirtation. He was definitely at least 10 years younger than she was but his eyes were warm and kind. She whispered back that she had a joint. Would he like to join her? The man stopped playing, removed the money from his guitar case and put it in his pocket. He placed his guitar gently in the velvet lined case and snapped it shut and grabbed it by the handle. “Absolutely,” he said. “Let’s walk around the block and away from traffic.” Jessie nodded. They walked side by side. ` When they arrived at a small two story house, the young man sat down on the steps. Jessie sat down beside him. She lit up the joint, took a hit and passed it to him. He did the same. Jessie found out his name was Arnie Gregory and had just moved up here from San Diego. He had dark curly hair and a walrus mustache. His fingers were extremely long and he had thick wrists. They talked for about fifteen minutes and she discovered he loved to tinker with computers, could take apart motors with his eyes closed and he had a problem with alcohol. He made enough money playing guitar to get by but hoped to one day get a band together and sing original music. She suddenly realized Jack would be waiting for her with the kids and she had to leave. He handed her a card. She took it. “Call me,” he said. “I can’t,” she began to explain but he stopped her, placing one long finger on her lips. “Please,” he said. “Maybe. I’ll try…”, she called back as she hurried away. She began to jog up the street and had realized she was grinning ear to ear. “I’m such an asshole…” , she thought to herself. “He’s practically a kid…” When Jack saw her, he knew she’d been smoking. Her eyes were sparkling with laughter and she wore a silly grin. “Hi,” she said taking Michael’s and Corinne’s hands, “Sorry I’m late.” She held two plastic bags. Jack shook his head and smiled. He knew she knew he knew. He handled her a small brown paper bag. “What’s this?” she asked. Corinne answered, “Daddy got you a smoothie and a piece of carrot cake.” She smiled proudly. “At McDonald’s…?”, she asked confused. Michael laughed. “Yeah, right, Aunt Jessie,” he smirked, “like McDonald’s sells that stuff!” He pointed at a small shop right behind her. “We got it over there.” She looked up and turned around. The sign read, “The Music of Life Food Emporium”. “Thanks, kids. Thanks, Jack,” she said kissing them each on their cheeks. “I got something for each of you, too,” she said and handed them a tee shirt each. “Cool!” said Michael. “Alright!” said Corinne. “Wow!” said Jack. “So, where are we going now?” Jessie asked between bites of the carrot cake and sips of her smoothie. “Present shopping,” he assured her, “and I thought maybe we’d get a Frisbee to throw in the pack. How’s that sound?”, asked her brother. “Excellent idea, bro!”, Jessie agreed, “but let’s get two so we can play Schoelkopf Frisbee.” “Sure,” he agreed. Michael and Corinne knew this frisbee game. Their dad taught them the game last year at an Eagle’s picnic. It was named after one of his teammate’s friends who played it as a teenager. The object of the game was to try and get 21 points before your opponent did. Points were given to the receiver when he caught a “catchable fling”. The thrower tried to make the two frisbees arrive simultaneously by tossing the first one as a slow lob and the second as a rifle shot towards the head area. If the player drops a “catchable fling” then the tosser gets the point and vice-versa. It could be a lot of fun. There was also “Ultimate” Frisbee where style, grace, and athletic prowess proved to be the most desirable traits. It was an anselfish game where the tosser tries to set up the receiver for a chance to make a fancy play. Typing it up, spinning on one finger and kicks were the highlights of an “ultimate” frisbee player’s vocabulary. Good hand-eye coordination was necessary as well as leaping ability, showmanship and general flexibility. By 3:30, Jack, Jessie, Michael and Corinne were tired and heading back to Sausalito. In the backseat, Jessie fingered Arnie’s card with his number on it. Michael and Corinne were falling asleep leaning against her arms on either side of her. She smiled contentedly. “Maybe I will call him…”, she thought to herself. “After all, I’m still not 40,” she reasoned. Jack saw her face in the rearview mirror and smiled at her. She smiled back. “You like San Francisco so far?” he asked her quietly so as not to wake the kids. “Friggin-A,” she whispered back. “Good,” he said, “me, too! Y’know, you still play a mean frisbee.” Then he paused. “Just don’t go rooting for the Giants now, y’hear?!”, he told his sister. She nodded, smiling. They crossed the Golden Gate Bridge, the sun brightly shining, with Jack’s thoughts wandering to this night’s upcoming event. He hoped it turned out well. Pushing in the tape, he smiled as Louie Armstrong, the Satchmo, sang ‘Wonderful World’. “It was, wasn’t it,” he thought to himself as his exit ramp approached. This was a day to hold onto. A day to treasure. He looked at the time displayed over the radio. It read 3:50. “Shit,” he thought to himself, “the Simpsons are coming on in ten minutes!” He hated missing the beginning just because he loved whatever Bart had to write on the blackboard. After a dinner that Jessie had prepared, Jack went upstairs to get ready while the kids played video games. He could hear Jessie in the music room playing the piano. The music was a pleasant change to the normally sedate environment he lived in when the kids weren’t here. He smiled when he recognized the Joni Mitchell tune of “California”. Jessie always loved her music. After waiting for the song to finish while looking out the sliding doors to Angel Island, Jack turned and closed the bedroom door and got undressed for his shower. He stood up, naked, and looked at himself in the mirror. What he saw was a hairy male with a receding hairline and a three o’clock shadow. A scar ran down his stomach from the appendectomy surgery he’d had that day in high school when he was rushed to the hospital at the end of the first playoff game. He’d been having a pain there all week but had ignored it for fear of not playing. On the final play of the game he had dove for a ball, fully extended and caught the last out to preserve the 1-0 victory. The pain had been so intense that he had blacked out. When he awoke in the hospital he was told that he had nearly died of peutontitus when his appendix had ruptured. The papers played up the fact that instinct had caused his hands to grasp the ball so tightly that it took two nurses and an orderly to pry the ball from his hand before surgery. He had awoken a celebrity and baseball hero. He had other scars on his body, too. One was over his left eye from running into a fence in the minors in a ballpark that had no cushioning on the walls. Behind his right shoulder was another from orthoscopic surgery. His left thumb was deformed from a collision with a second baseman who ignored his warning, calling him off a “dying quail” hit in a night game in San Diego. He felt like the Frankenstein monster except for the nodes sticking out of the mythical creature’s neck and with more bruises. He walked over to his dresser and picked up his invitation for tonight’s ceremony. It was the normal pretentious and gaudy format that Jack abhorred but it was for a good cause. Naturally, it listed the recognizable celebrity names that would draw the wealthy to such events. There were names like Joe Montana and Jerry Rice, Barbara Boxer and Jerry Brown, Robin Williams, Tony Bennett, Tiger Woods, George Foreman and baseball players like Mark McGuire, Willie McCovey, Ken Griffey Jr. and even his friend and opponent Todd Handley. They had even put Jack’s name right below Hundley’s, which he knew Todd would nag him about. All of these people were scheduled to be at the Palace of the Legion of Honor tonight. The William Pratt foundation always had to hold these ceremonies at very prestigious places. They even had planned a concert from music created by one of the famous Hearst brothers and performed by the Russian Philharmonic Symphony. Jack was, however, looking forward to Herb Halpern and his wife, Lori being there. It had been a couple of months since he’d seen them. They were a good pair. Kind, intelligent and subtlely radical. Lori and Jessie had once sung together when they had visited him in Woodstock, just after he and Peggy divorced. It was like the sound of angels. He put down the invitation and looked at the clock. There was still time to take a nice long hot shower and get into his tuxedo before the car arrived to pick him up. He stretched, did a couple of trunk twists and bent down and touched his toes. The crackle coming from his bones made him feel older than he was. Still, he reminded himself, the babes dug him. He chuckled as he turned on the shower. Sure they did. Corinne and Michael had hugged their father goodbye. Corinne told him he looked “pretty” and Michael corrected her, telling her men were “handsome”. She then whispered in his ear that he smelled “handsome”, too, and he laughed and thanked her. Even Jessie said he “cleaned up real good”. He took it as a compliment. Then, dressed to kill, the Eagles’ right fielder got into the car the Foundation had sent for him and headed back across the bridge. Even before they had reached the bridge, his cellphone began to ring. “Yellow?” he said answering the phone. “Green,” came the reply from the other end. The voice was very familiar. It was Herb Halpern Eog. “Hey, Herb, what’s going on?” he asked his lawyer, confidante, semi-agent and friend. Then, in a brief fluttering of panic, asked him, “You guys are still going tonight, aren’t you?” “Hey,” Herb said laughing, “Easy, kid! We wouldn’t desert you in this hour of need. You know that,” Herb reassured him. “Yeah, I know,” Jack replied. “I just get a little nervous at these social gatherings.” He paused momentarily. “So why are you calling?” “I just wanted to give you a little update on tonight’s guest list. Just so there won’t be any surprises for ya, ya know?” Jack didn’t like the sound of this. He opened the little door in front of him that held the refreshments and glasses. He might need a little liquid courage if circumstances warranted such action. “Good news or bad news, Herb?” he asked as he pulled out a tumbler and dropped a few ice cubes in it.