Everyone's Hero: The Unofficial Novelization

Chapter 7

After driving for minutes, Yankee and Lonnie finally came to Sandusky station. It was small and vintage with tent-shaped roofing, especially since it was constructed 40 years ago. The New York Central Railroad had become a part of this line after it's merger with the Lake Shore and Michigan Southern Railway, and only a few trains stopped here on the way to Chicago. They stopped at the front of the station's parking area and once they reached the ticket office, Lonnie handed Yankee a return trip's worth of twelve dollars and forty-eight cents.

"You'll be needing this money more than I. I'm sure I'll recoup by the time somebody up in the big leagues decides to make an all black baseball team for folks such as I."

"Well, I hope you get your wish, Mr. Brewster," Yankee said before holding his right hand out. "Goodbye."

Lonnie shook Yankee's hand with his left and as soon as they were finished, he tipped his straw hat, holding it about a foot's length over his head.

"Toodle-lo," he sang out before he walked out of the station.

Yankee approached the man in the booth. Judging by the badge that he wore on his right lapel, he was a Civil War veteran who had fought for General Sherman's army and he looked like he gone through a lot as well, for he was thin, elderly and wore a pair of golden spectacles that had seen better days back in 1919.

"Round trip or one way?"

"One way to Chicago," was Yankee's answer.

The man took the money and checked the timetable on his desk.

"That train won't be here for another thirteen minutes," the old gentleman said. "But you're willing to wait, just sit yourself down on the platform."

"Thank you sir."

"You know, I have hopes for that man who brought you here. If President Lincoln could abolish slavery back in my day, I'm sure President Hoover could do the same for black people in the field of sports. I was only a teenager when I fought for the Union Army back in 1864 and that war changed my entire outlook on life. I could say the same for folks living in the South...but there are some people who just never change."

Yankee, touched by the man's short tale, smiled as he waved goodbye, went to the platform and wait for the train to arrived. As soon as it did, he hopped aboard the first passenger car and settled himself and his backpack down on the second left window seat. He opened up the backpack, giving Darlin' and Screwy the view that they needed.

"You know," said the bat in his imagination. "I never properly thanked you for saving me from those Cubbies."

Yankee's eyes were transfixed on the outside world that was speeding past him at an accelerating rate.

"You're welcome," he whispered back.

The sun was going down. Lights from houses, the darkness of empty trees and flat views of the Appalachian Mountains passed quickly by. The train's passenger cars gave a steady beat, a steady rhythm and a smoosh vibration as it rolled along into the boundaries of Illinois.

During that time, Yankee's eyes were starting to droop heavily, and he was asleep by the time they passed Elkhart. There were very few passengers in the car, whose occupied seats were far from him, including an old man in a grey DAKS suit with two-toned shoes, a child with hair as unruly as his personality and a young woman in a periwinkle blue dress, hunting for a job.

The train travelled into the early hours of the night and Yankee's sleep was thankfully not too deep. He felt a drag in the train's speed as it pulled into LaSalle Street Station, the oldest operating train station in Chicago. Yankee woke to the sound of the train's whistle blasting off four times and the lights of the city were penetrating his eyelids with their yellow-orange glow. He took in the amazing sights of the city that paralleled New York by a couple of miles.