In 1948, When Jackie Robinson played in the All-
Star game at Detroit, I went to his room
in the hotel and knocked. I was 9.
He came in a towel, dripping from the shower,
and seemed surprised to see me.
"Will you sign my ball?" I asked in a trance.
"Where are you from, freckled little carrot top?"
"Alabama," I replied. I stared intensely.
He was the handsomest man I'd ever seen.
Laughing, he said he'd gladly sign my ball.
Others with Dad in Alabama's delegation
to the hardware convention teased him
when I showed them the ball.
Mother managed to lose it when I brought the ball back home.
Nobody ever said anything about it.