Lonnie Wheeler - The Bona Fide Legend of Cool Papa Bell

Copyright 2020 Lonnie Wheeler

Cover 2021 Abrams

Published in 2021 by Abrams Press, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020932374

ISBN: 978-1-4197-5048-9
eISBN: 978-1-64700-111-7

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For a while there, it seemed like Cool Papa Bell was the man who would ease me into fiction. He deserved a biographycried out for one, in factbut there were good reasons why one had never been completed, starting with a shortage of the raw materials ordinarily used to reconstruct a life. Bells image derived largely from an oral heritage, inspired by eyeballs and exaggeration, which provided much in the way of theme and tone but precious few snapshots. Without some of the traditional mines to tapimmediate family, old buddies, correspondence, comprehensive records, or attentive reportingfundamental aspects of his circumstances, routines, interactions, and even his Hall of Fame career simply wouldnt make it to the surface. One capable researcher spent ten years in pursuit of an appropriate monograph, only to be turned away by the chasms and complications.

The solution, I figured, was fiction by dots. The tale of Cool Papa could be told with as much legitimacy as might be mustered, and the gaps painted over with poetic plausibility. A virtual biography, if you will: the Cool Papa Bell of the imagination.

It has been ten years since I first broached this notion with the literary agent on whom Ive been depending for decades. He replied by suggesting alternatives, including a conventional biography. Having already reconnoitered that terrain, I packed up my notes and moved on. But after a few other projects and periodic reminders of the gentleman outfielders irresistible nobilitymatched, of course, with the earthy allure of the Negro LeaguesI came crawling back to Papa, determined this time to give stubbornness a chance.

The research proliferated but didnt betray the genre. Waffling, I even batted out a couple of chapters in what was to pass as Bells narrative voice, testing the conceit on my chief adviser and more casual consultants. They responded with coughs and nudges.

Ultimately, all the nudging turned me face-to-face with this conclusion: For a proper portrait of Cool Papa, the place for imagination was not in my mind but the readers. Fiction it mustnt be. Rather, let the absent material play its part. The abiding myth, after allthe player so fast he once stole two bases on a pitchout, so instantaneous he could flip off the light switch and be under the covers before it got darkis the essence of Bells gossamer legacy. May that myth be documented where possible and cherished where not.

The essence of Bell, meanwhile, is not the urban legend of his outlandish speed but the epic nature of his unfailing grace, to which fabrication could not do justice. The sharecroppers son, though never far removed from Mississippi poverty or anywhere close to his professional due, became, through it all, an angel of equality and a generous man of enchanting virtue.

He was the most beautiful ballplayer, reflected Willie Wells, the Hall of Fame shortstop.

Id have to say that Cool Papa was the cleanest, most decent man I ever saw, declared Double Duty Radcliffe, the famous catcher-pitcher.

He was the most gentle man I knew from the Negro Leagues, attested Buck ONeil, the Negro League icon.

If everybody was like Cool, summed up Judy Johnson, the Hall of Fame third baseman, this would be a better world.

Bells ancient ballplayer pals are of course long gone by now, but their voices blend in a rather poignant portrayal, do they not? Without a word of fiction.

As fast as he was, there were plenty of times when it didnt feel that way to Cool Papa Bell; not after his various parts reported in. His knees kept up a steady complaint. His legs in general were so customarily tattered that he taped sponges around the messiest spots to keep the blood and gunk from soaking into his uniform pants. His feet were so chronically sore that he concocted and even sold his own salve, Cool Papa Bells Foot Ease: Directions: Apply on corns for three nights... Remove with knife...

But there was nothing slowing him down that day in Mexico City. Looking back on it years later, Cool Papa recalled the heady sensation of being all over the outfield the entire afternoon. It was an unusually big outfield, and a big outfield, to him, was like open road underneath a roaring convertiblebetter, even, since he had never learned to drive. So it might have been the exhilarating sprawl of grass that put the extra voltage in the Mississippians step that day. For that matter, it very well could have been the stimulating company of Jimmie Foxx, Rogers Hornsby, and Heinie Manush on the other side. And quite possibly, given his keen sensibilities, the discernible quickening may even have issued from the winds of change that hed perceived throughout the spring and summer of 1936 and that now, in October, in Mexico, in that heavenly outfield at 7,400 feet, in the presence of all those lightly complexioned Hall of Famers in waiting, were finally at his back.

The Pittsburgh Crawfords, for whom Cool Papa graced center field, began the eventful year as the big cheeses and reigning champions of the Negro Leagues, the latter title having been acquired even as Satchel Paige, their ace and leading attraction, was AWOL in Bismarck, North Dakota, for double the salary and a Buick sedan. The Crawfords had swaggered onto the scene in 1931, owned and assembled by Gus Greenlee, the numbers, bootleg, and entertainment king of the citys Hill District. Bell signed on in 1933, joining Paige, Josh Gibson, Oscar Charleston, and Judy Johnson on a monumental roster considered the greatest in Negro League annals, at the least.

But it wasnt their eminence alone that made the Crawfords, by 1936, the epitome of black baseball. It was an organic synthesis of Paiges theater, Gibsons might, Bells almost unimaginable speed, Greenlees signature accommodations, and, most of all, the vigorous sub-society that the Hill District represented. Its epicenter was the Crawford Grill, Greenlees headquarters, restaurant, jazz club, and vice depot, where Bill Bojangles Robinson served as best man for Paiges wedding to a house waitress, the Mills Brothers wore Crawfords uniforms and tossed a ball around in the back alley, Lena Horne sang with Duke Ellingtons band while her father ran the numbers operation upstairs, and professional ballplayers kept lookout at the side door for cops and trouble (a duty that Bell declined).

With Cool Papa Bell flying around the base paths, Josh Gibson drawing accolades as the black Babe Ruth, and Satchel Paige intentionally loading the bases, telling his fielders to sit down, and then striking out the side, Pittsburgh spearheaded the rejuvenation of black baseball during the 1930s, wrote Donn Rogosin in