In Need Of A Repair

Sometimes what is inevitable needs saving.

Photo by: Roo bhta (@the_1ast_man) | Unsplash Photo Community

“Mr. Hillerich?” a voice called from the door. Mr. Hillerich looked up from his papers and answered.

“Yes Simpson?”

“There is a man at the front desk. He wants to know if we will repair his bat.”

J. F. Hillerich owned the company. His specialty was providing baseball bats to some of the largest stars in baseball. Mr. Hillerich frowned. “We don’t usually repair bats,” he said. “I’ll be right out.” He rose from his desk and walked out into the front of the store. A reasonably tall man stood there with a bag in his hand. “Is this it?” he asked.

The man removed a bat from the bag and handed it J. F. who looked it over carefully. It was a well used bat J. F. could see. It appeared to be 36 inches long and was quite a bit heavier than normal bats. It appeared to be covered in tobacco juice. He smiled at this. He could also see that it had ball marks, cleat scratches, and a small handle crack. J.F. set it on the counter where it wobbled and fell over due to a sleight bend in it. Word had been reported that the bat was like this and now he could see it was true.

“Joe,” he said looking at the man.

“Ayuh sir,” replied Joe.

“When do you need it back?”

Joe looked at J.F. “As soon as possible. It’s my main bat. I have had it, What year is it?” he inquired. Joe’s focus was so much on the game that he often forgot anything that wasn’t baseball related.

“1911,” replied young Simpson.

Joe calculated slowly. “I have had it for 8 years as my main bat. I have had a lot of hits with her and would like to be able to use her again. Can’t see just throwing her away. She means so much to me. So as to answer your question, as soon as possible.”

J. F. looked at the crack and replied. “It will take a few days, Joe.”

Joe looked crestfallen. “What’s the issue Joe?” asked J. F..

“Ain’t been without Black Betsy since I first got her. But she needs to be fixed,” he stated bravely as he reached out to pat the bat.

“We’ll take good care of her, Joe.”

“Okay.” Joe turned and walked forlornly out the door.

J. F. gathered up Black Betsy and placed her in the cotton bag Joe had brought her in.

Simpson spoke up. “Mr. Hillerich, he has had that bat a long time,” as he glanced at the marks all over the barrel.

“Indeed,” spoke J.F. with a tone of reverence. “Son, this bat was hand made.” Simpson’s eyes widened in surprise. “It is made from hickory, which is a different choice for a bat.

“They are usually made from ash,” said Simpson proudly.

J. F. looked at his employee with an understanding. “You don’t know who that was, do you son?”

“No sir. I surely don’t.”

J.F. smiled. “That was Joe Jackson.”

“Shoeless Joe!” exclaimed Simpson. “Wow.”

“He has other bats but this bat is something else. I have heard that he sleeps with it. I have also heard that he takes his bats home in the winter because they don’t like the cold.”

J. F. Hillerich smiled. Bats were his business. This bat had a history. He would do his best to make sure Shoeless Joe could use it again. He picked up the bag and walked back into the workshop. It was time to get to work.