Bonnie Serrell: Monarchs Rule

After two years barnstorming with the Satchel Paige All-Stars I tried out for the KC Monarchs. I fielded well, hit for average, and could hustle. But making the team seemed rather unlikely.

The Monarchs had superb players at every position. Forty-year-old Newt Allen still had the greatest pivot I ever saw. He never looked at first base. I tried to imitate him and threw the ball into the stands. I don’t know how he did it. With Allen on second, what chance did I have to play?

I had done my very best in spring training. Everyone worked hard because we loved the Monarchs. We all did what we could to help the team win. We helped each other, too. Newt showed me how things were done around second base. For example, he told me not to tip off the batter by changing my position. I could see the catcher’s glove and knew if the pitch would be inside or outside. But if I moved, then the batter would know, too. So instead of moving to the right or the left, Newt taught me to take two steps in or two steps back. That way, I would be closer to where the ball was likely to be hit, but from the batter’s perspective, I was still in the same spot.

We opened the 1942 season in Memphis. I thought I had no place to play, but there I was in the starting lineup at second base. Newt had told our manager to put me there. I will always be thankful for his help.

Frank Duncan managed the team. Actually, Newt Joseph, the third base coach, did most of the managing; Duncan’s main job was to run us to death in spring training. On the field Duncan could be mean, but outside the ballpark he was the nicest man I ever met.

The meanest man in baseball, however, played left field. Bill Simms was another Ty Cobb, a speedy leadoff hitter who hated everyone. I just stayed out of his way.

I roomed with Willard Brown, our top power hitter. He didn’t care if the pitch was in the strike zone or not. He hit it hard and far. He could be undone by a pitch around the chest, but you couldn’t get him out with a low pitch. Willard didn’t talk much, except to himself. He would get bored in center field and start saying things. One day we were down, 1-0, and Willard told me, “You’d better get on base.” So I pushed a bunt to third and beat it out. The pitcher tried to throw a curve to Willard, but it broke too soon and bounced in front of the plate. Willard hit it on the bounce and put it over the fence.

Ted Strong, the other outfielder, also played basketball with the Globetrotters. With his large hands, he looked as good on the court as at the plate. He could play any position, even catch.

Joe Greene handled the regular catching duties. Runners respected Greene’s strong arm and quick move to the bases. He struck out a lot, but hit with power.

Buck O’Neil did it all at first base and joined five other Monarchs at the East-West game. He later managed the Monarchs. Buck’s long arms could snag a high throw or scoop the ball out of the dirt and turn it into an out.

Buck had no such troubles with throws from third base. Herb Souell’s arm was not impressive, but he never threw wild and he never threw late. The hot corner deserved its nickname in our league. Souell would scoop up the ball, as smooth as you please, and lob it to first yelling, “Help me. Help me.” And just before the runner could touch the bag, that ball would land in O’Neil’s glove.

Shortstop Jesse Williams could spurt into the hole and fire the ball across the field like a bullet. He would slide across second base as he cheated on the double play. We made a lot of double plays that way. You see, we had only two umpires, and no one watches the infielder’s feet. Everybody watches the ball. It’s only natural to follow the ball. So we took advantage of that when crossing second base.

I cheated on the double play, too. The called me the “Vacuum Cleaner” because I left no dust on the infield, or so it was said. I studied the hitters and knew where to play each one. I also studied our pitchers. I had to know if my pitcher was capable of putting the ball where the catcher wanted it.

Of course, our pitchers had great control. Satchel had regained the speed on his fastball and could put it wherever he wanted. I never saw Satchel hit a batter. He didn’t have to. although everyone knew Satchel, he never remembered our names. He called me “Gospel Chicken” and “Killdee.”

One time a white all-star team requested that Satchel not pitch. We said, “Okay. You select the pitcher you want.” Connie Johnson was napping in the bullpen, so they picked him. Connie had a blazing fastball and mowed them down. After we whipped them, they told us, “We thought there was only one Satchel Paige, but you have two Satchels.”

Big, even-tempered Jack Matchett also threw hard, but was wild. His career ended during an argument with his wife. She cut his arm with a knife, slicing the muscle. He couldn’t pitch after that.

Curveballer Jim LaMarque had very different experiences with women. He was the ladies’ man on the team. If there was not but one woman in the whole town, LaMarque would be walking down the street with that woman on his arm.

Hilton Smith’s arm changed inversely with his health. If he was smiling and feeling good, we didn’t give him the ball. But if he had a headache, he was untouchable.

We had a great season, and went on to win the black World Series, stopping the mighty Homestead Grays with a four-game sweep. I knew that I wanted to spend the rest of my life in baseball.