The Making of a Bonus Baby
The Story of Major League Baseball's First Black Bonus Baby
by
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It was August 30, 1930, and the summer sun had already risen well overhead. The rooftops of the little Oklahoma town had been baking for hours now in wave after wave of dry, relentless heat. But neither the heat nor the growing Depression had dampened the spirits of five young boys, ambling along Main Street in search of adventure. The bigger problems weighing on the minds of the shopkeepers in the middle of a Saturday were no match for the fact that school would start back up in just over a week. Those last precious days of summer were like the last licks of an ice cream cone; they were to be savored, tasted, enjoyed to the last drop. Ten-year-old Lawrence led the way. He was a stout, sturdy, brown-skinned boy. His electric smile charmed adults and peers alike, and his solid form was infused with boundless energy, even for a boy his age. Lawrence was always moving. His creativity produced dozens of carpentry projects around the house: shelves, stands and a bench for his sisters. Decades before American Idol, Lawrence displayed his talents fearlessly whenever those old-fashioned street shows came to town. Of course, true to his generation, his show was wrestling and boxing, not singing or dancing, and he almost always emerged victorious. His competitive streak was as relentless as it was respected, and only added to his popularity. The little posse made its way past the center of town and on toward the fairgrounds, which stood at its edge toward the highway. As they passed the last of the larger buildings, the unmistakable sounds of hooves relentlessly pounding the grass accompanied by spirited shouts caught the boys’ ears: a polo match! The realization hit all of them simultaneously, and they picked up their pace without realizing it. The closer they got to the arena, the more clearly they could picture the match in their minds: the exuberant cries, the pulsing excitement, and most of all, those beautiful horses careening about at impossible angles, turning on a dime to make that perfect score. It was too much to resist. The thirst that had been building up in each of their mouths since midmorning was now overpowered by an urge to SEE THAT MATCH. Of course they were Negro children. Four of them could never dream of walking up to the fairgrounds and gaining entrance. Yet all the boys knew that Lawrence’s skin tone, compliments of a few Cherokee ancestors not too far back, would let him pass easily as an American Indian. He had pulled this off many times at lunch counters when he’d scraped together enough pennies for an ice cream float, and he knew it would probably work at the arena too. But there was still the problem of money, and while ice cream floats taste good alone, a polo match is best enjoyed with one’s cousins and best friends. “If we could just get higher, we could see over the arena walls,” one of the boys suggested. “Maybe we could climb a tree or something,” said another. “Nah…ain’t no trees high enough,” Lawrence reasoned. Oklahoma had never been known to house any forests; most trees had been planted by settlers during the Westward Expansion, and for some reason they hadn’t planted many at this end of town. His eyes caught a new possibility: “How about that pole over there?” He pointed across the meadow to the arena’s right. The wooden pole stood tall enough to allow them to reach the top of a small utility building that would afford them a good view of the match, albeit at a distance. Without waiting for the boys to agree, Lawrence took off running across the grasses toward the pole. He knew the others would follow, and they did The pole was at least twenty-five feet tall, and as the boys got nearer, it became apparent that it was supporting a number of electrical wires. Lawrence pointed to them as he began climbing, yelling down to his buddies “Touch the wires and you’re a dead rat!” To demonstrate, he reached up and tapped the wires lightly with his index finger. Nothing happened; the wires were dead. This would be easier than he thought. His cousin was now at the base of the pole, attempting to follow Lawrence. The other three shielded their eyes from the sun, watching and waiting their turn. Lawrence had reached the top quickly, and was now judging the distance between the pole and the roof to make his jump. The shingles were missing in some places and peeling in others, and it occurred to him that it might not be able to support the five of them. Oh well, he would make the jump and test it out. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. As Lawrence leaned sideways toward the roof, he lurched unexpectedly. The sole of his shoe had caught in a rough spot on the pole and caused him to lose his balance. In that split second gravity forced his torso toward the ground, which now looked a mile away. Instinctively, he reached up and grabbed the wires with both hands, using all the strength of his back muscles to force his shoulders up. This time there was a spark.
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About the Book
Throughout this book you will be told a story about a very special man. His life was an extraordinary one because he suffered a potentially fatal accident, but conquered. He achieved as much as he possibly could without the use of his hands and when he had no more to give of himself, he then created and gave the world Major League Baseball's first "Black Bonus Baby". This book is written from actual experiences and a wealth of material from 1919 through 2020. The pictures, letters, stories and excerpts from speeches and newspaper articles have been included in hopes that you, the reader, might be motivated to NEVER GIVE UP.
About the Author
I am a mother of two and twice divorced. I have a will to survive, a knack for making things happen, and a love for life that never seems to die. I've looked in the mirror occasionally and wondered where my drive comes from? Why, no matter how hard I fall, the stronger I get and why I am able to find the good in almost anything in my life. After some soul searching and examining what I remember of my days as a child, I think that I understand why I am who I am. You see, growing up I was surrounded by people that never quit. People that never gave up, no matter what the obstacles. There was love, but it was always a very tough love. I was never allowed to say "I can't." I was told emphatically to "find a way." Although there was an unconditional love and support of those around me, their was also a very direct order to never give up, to make the best of what you are given, and to make a way out of no way. Anything and everything is possible, but giving up was never an option. Although I did not grow up in the house with my grandfather, I saw much of him in my father, his oldest son Mack. Many of the experiences which shaped my life, though not given to me directly from my grandfather, were experienced through my own father, his son, who was taught by the best. The spirit of never giving up and making a way out of no way is mine now. It was given to me as a gift. Telling my father that I could not do something was never acceptable. I was made to find a way; to figure it out and I always did. The good and the bad, the fair and the unfair were dealt with accordingly. Growing up, I often felt that my father was unyielding and many times unfair, but he only made me stronger, usually what doesn't kill us will do that for us, if we allow it to. Understanding that everyone at some point must come to grips with the windmill of experiences that are placed before them; it is what we choose to make of those experiences, that ultimately determines who we become. We must decide whether these instances will become opportunities or obstacles. Often what we choose to do in those moments will determine the rest of our lives. There will always be good and evil, blessings and curses set before us. It is how we embraces those experiences when they are presented that determines what life holds for us. On our journey, many things will be given to us, as well as the many that will be taken. What is done with we have left, as well as what no longer remains can become our strengths or our weaknesses, the choice is our own. Having the heart to wake up each day and say, "I will make things happen, and make my dreams come true in spite of anything else going on around me," is the constant that must remain. Our journey may leave us weary and often distraught, but we must never give up. There have been great disappointments in my life, but I have found a way to turn them all into something wonderful. It has truly been a journey, one that I would not trade for the world, because even in darkness, often not knowing or understanding, I was equipped. I had everything that I needed all the time and we all do. Through it all, what remains with me now is my peace and my will to survive. I have been blessed with a daughter named Sydney Mitchell, who was born on my grandfather's birthday, October 5th-my gift to him. As it would only be expected, she embodies the same cantankerous, feisty spirit that could only be his. In pursuing her dreams she has ultimately graced the screen of several television shows and films after remaining determined to never give up on her dreams. I also have a son named BJ Mitchell, who by the age of 12 had already graced the pages of JET magazine,as my father did, in an article about television's "Little Star's with Big Talent" he has since appeared on countless national commercials, television shows and films, all as a reward for his spirit of never giving up. There also remains a family that has wrapped its arms around me every time that I have needed it. A mother, Saundra and brother, Michael who have been my backbone. My fathers brother, my uncle Don Kuykendall, now Donkor Kahlid, who also embodied a spirit of never giving up, when he became one Oklahoma State University's first black baseball players in the history of the school and has lent his endless support in all of my endeavors. Also, friends that have remained close enough to catch me every time that I fell, yet stood far enough away to allow my growth. There is truly much to be grateful for in the midst of it all. Remember, counting even the smallest blessings can fill you up and make you whole. Always give all that you have to give every day, in spite of what is going on around you. Allow yourself to experience the good and the bad, the wins and the losses, and find a peaceful place in them all. Never looking down or back, simply always finding a way to continue moving forward and remembering "Rest if you must, but don't you quit!" Lovingly, The Author Michelle Kuykendall BA/Counseling and Human Behavior