Brittle Innings Read Online Free

without so much as a fare-thee-well or a forwarding address, Mama had to work to keep us fed. By the time of Pearl Harbor, she’d worked her way up to a line manager’s position. Problem was, after FDR declared war on the back-stabbing Nips, the WPB—War Production Board—told us floor waxers didn’t contribute to the defense effort. Neither did toasters, vacuum cleaners, coffee makers, vending machines, toothpaste tubes, and lots of other products with metal or plastic in em. So the WPB cut the supply of materials our factory needed to make the Deck Glider. In fact, it was illegal to make a floor waxer. You could even get fined for hoarding old toothpaste tubes.
    Mama nearlybout panicked. How’d she support us if Deck Glider shut down? Tenkiller didn’t offer much in the way of jobs for women. It already had all the carhops, waitresses, switchboard nellies, and secretaries it needed. Besides, any of those jobs would’ve meant a step down in pay. Mama had monthly house payments to meet. Some men, heads of bigger households than ours, were even scareder than Mama.
    Then a section chief from H. C. Hawkins headquarters in Tulsa motored down to soothe everybody’s fears. The parent company—old Mr. Hawkins had brains—had arranged some war-production contracts with Uncle Sugar. Deck Glider, Inc., would close for a month to convert its equipment and its assembly lines to the boring of gear housings for antitank guns. No one would get laid off. It might even be necessary to add on to the plant and hire some line workers from out of town. Local builders would have to put up housing for these people. Commuting—even with car pooling and special gas and tire dispensations for defense workers—was unpatriotic.
    When Mama told me how the Hawkins Company had saved her job, she cried. “It’s gonna be Boomer Sooner around here again, Danny. The armed forces need a lot of antitank guns.”
    But even after Deck Glider geared up for war work, a core of old hands—native Tenkillerites—set up their hours, or traded off with new workers on other shifts, so they could attend Red Stix home games. The plant ran three shifts. It never shut down. Mama worked days, six days a week. Even so, our field had a bleachers section, behind the backstop, for Deck Glider personnel. Despite her shift, Mama never missed a home game or a single hour of paid labor. She traded off or went in early. And Mama was no crazier for the Red Stix than Mr. Neal, the barber, or Tom Davenport, the owner of a wildcat oil company, or anybody else in town. The Red Stix glued that sagebrush community together. Deck Glider and our local churches didn’t even come close. . . .
    Sunday mornings, New York’s Mayor LaGuardia read the funnies to his city’s children over the radio. A station in Muskogee picked up this feed and played it for us dumb Okies and Arkies. I heard him once. I knew LaGuardia’s kisser from Movietone newsreels. I’d seen him conducting civil defense exercises, supervising air-raid wardens and such. He’d wear a white metal helmet, wave his arms, and carry on, reminding me of Lou Costello, the short funny fella in the Abbott and Costello comedy team. Over the radio, he sounded sort of sissyish. How did a fella who looked and sounded like him get to be mayor of New York? Tenkiller’s mayor, Gil Stone, wore yoke-collared shirts, snakeskin boots, and dungarees.
    Then I read in the Tulsa World that a crew of politicians wanted to halt major-league ball for the duration. LaGuardia got hot about that. He ripped into the jerks: “Our people don’t mind being rationed on sugar and shoes, but these men in Washington will have to leave our baseball alone!” Hooray for LaGuardia. A guy who stood up for baseball was defending America better than some hot airbag in Congress, maybe even better than a poor dogface on KP down in Alabama or Missisloppi.
    Of course, baseball was my meat and drink. Mayor LaGuardia, even if he looked like Lou Costello, at