A word from Blackie: MICHAEL DID AWAY WITH HIMSELF—How a redneck boy learned to understand and love gay people

THE PAIGES LIVED three doors down from us in a typical, clean little house of the time. Cathy Paige, a forbidden blonde teenager who had blossomed into womanhood early, used to like to water the back garden in her pink bikini on hot summer days. She was three years older than my pals and me. We would spy on her with binoculars from a safe distance as she got her tan. She had on a permanent smile as the sun gazed down on her body, often stretched out on the cheap plastic lounge chair. She fascinated us. Scared us, too.

Michael, her older brother, was nearly the opposite. This tall, hefty guy always worn blue jeans and a long white shirt, even on the hottest August days. He often sat in the shade and read for hours. He would always wave at us and called us each by name. Michael never joined us in any sports or play.

Except for one time.

He strolled up to the baseball diamond carrying a new Nellie Fox bat on his shoulder and hit us fly balls and grounders one day. He cheered our excellent plays and kept hitting the ball toward our eager gloves.

His white shirt ended up covered with sweat as he gave out a tired wave to us and headed home.

I ran up to him and said: “Michael, that was really neat. Thanks for giving us so much practice. That is one cool bat. I’m going to try to be as good as Nellie Fox someday. Will you come up again?”

“You can be that good, Bobby. I know you can.”

He smiled and touched my ball cap and nodded. He never returned.

On a still blistering sultry summer night, as I stood outside barefoot in the front yard watering the trees and bushes, my favorite assigned chore in the dark, I heard Michael’s pickup start.

The apple-red Chevy pulled by me. I gave an eager wave. He returned it with an added little honk of his truck horn. He turned right, cruised down a half a block to the alley, and turned into it. I heard the motor stop as he parked under his carport.

I came up the basement stairs early the next morning and noticed Mom looking out of the kitchen window for some reason. I joined her. An ambulance and a police car sat silently in the Paige’s back driveway.

“Mom, what happened?”

“I think Michael did away with himself,” she answered.

I raced back downstairs and turned on the black and white console. I cried underneath the comfort of one of grandma’s handmade quilts as I tried to follow the plot of Sky King. The Huckleberry Hound cartoon came on, but I didn’t feel like laughing, so I flicked it off.

I sat in the dark and cool of the basement as my innocent brain tried to process my friend, Michael gone. I had known no one who had died before. The Jensen brothers came running down the stairs.

“Michael killed himself! He put a hose into his window in the carport and filled it with gas fumes from his truck engine. That’s what Dad said,” spoke Mark.

I sprang off the couch and opened up the basement patio door. We were outside in time to see the ambulance and cop car slowly leaving the alley.

We saw Cathy and her mom hugging and rocking. Mr. Paige, an older version of his now-departed son, came out and softly guided the two into their basement.

The three of us were totally mixed up and didn’t know what to say or do. We finally headed to the shed next to our tiny back patio and got out our wiffle ball and bats, as was our habit. We were heading out to play our usual game when Mike spotted something on the table.

“Look at that, you guys.”

I ran over and there on the top of the picnic table sat a nearly new baseball bat. I picked it up and held it. It was a Nellie Fox model with its famous thick handle!

I polished that bat and kept it with me under my bed. Six years later, I took it out the night before the big game against cross-valley rival Clarkston and swung it. I used it in the game, went four for five and knocked in the winning run with it in the top of the eighth inning.

I never used it again.

I held it up in the evening sky as I left the field as a tribute to Michael. A rumor had circulated around about how this near man had wished to become a Catholic priest. He wanted to help people, ease suffering, and change the world.

But something must have happened for him to give up on his dream. Despite his inner suffering, he thought of leaving me with a last endowment.

With that gift, I indeed had become Nellie Fox, for one day at least. The special bat will always be with me.

Nellie, in action

It sits against my wall with all my baseball memorabilia to this day. Thank you, Michael.

We never spied on Cathy again.

Note from the author on this story.

This story is included in my baseball book. It really bothered my grandtwins and they asked me to explain.

“Why did Michael kill himself?” asked Sister.

“Well, I talked to his sister years later and she shared that Michael thought he might be gay. Being gay is another way of showing love in this world which is pretty okay now but not back in the early sixties. Cathy said that Michael while studying the Bible read that being gay was a mortal sin according to Catholic beliefs at the time. It meant that you were likely going to hell when you died. Can you even imagine the suffering that he went through for taking your own life is also a mortal sin? The poor guy. He would be alive today because people, society, and many of the churches have changed. Most people have figured out and accepted that there are differences in how people pick who they will love and spend their time with in this lonely life.”

“He must have been a really good guy, Papa, to think of leaving you that bat in his last moments on earth.”

“Yeah, you're right. It was a truly loving thing he did. He was that way. He was a gentle soul who couldn't make it in this sometimes too rough of a world.”

“I think I would have liked him, Papa.”

“No doubt about it and he would have enjoyed you, too, my precious twins. He knew everybody's name, smiled, and wanted to make the world a better place. It is a sad story but an inspiring one, too. It's all sadly true.

Now, kids, promise me that you will remember this. In our family, we don't judge people, tease people, or add to anyone's suffering in anyway. We help others and when they stumble or have troubles we help as best we can. That's what we do, twins. I know you will add good to this world. We don't cause tears. We wipe tears away, if we can. You have listened so well that I think it is time to go get a donut."