September 8, 1947: Austin, TX:
"What time are you supposed to be at the ballpark?" Rose Winfield asked James Slocum as they sat eating lunch in Austin, Texas.
"Ahh, who cares at this point?" James replied sulkily.
"Well, I'd think you'd care since you are getting paid to play baseball," Rose pointed out.
James nodded, but he still looked like he was pouting. Rose reached out and lifted his chin with her index finger.
"I didn't come out here to see you sulk like a little boy who didn't get a lollipop," she told him.
James bristled a bit and said, "No, you came out here to look at some field your father might buy. I'm just here by coincidence."
She smiled and said, "A happy coincidence." She narrowed her eyes and asked, "Or am I the only one who thinks that?"
James shook his head and said, "No, of course, I'm happy to see you. I just wish I were in Oakland instead of here." He waved a hand around.
"This is a perfectly fine restaurant," she said, giving him a hard time.
"I mean Austin," he said with a frown, though he knew precisely what she was doing.
"I know that," she said and then laid her hand on his. "Listen, I know you want to be playing in Oakland, especially after Brooklyn cut you loose." That had been a terrible blow for James, getting released by the Kings at the end of spring training. That the news had come from his uncle Tom didn't make it sting any less. Tom had made a point of telling him to "try and hook on with one of those Great Western League clubs."
Well... he had, and they'd promptly shipped him to the minors. He'd just about had it - he was hitting over .300 and playing well and still the Grays left him rotting in Waco. James was unhappy, and for the first time in his life, he felt he was adrift and directionless. Maybe his heart wasn't in baseball any longer. He even missed the Air Force (the Army Air Force was going to be detached as its own separate branch in just a couple of weeks, and James felt a pull for his old military life, although he certainly didn't miss the war, he did miss the structure and the sense of having something important to do).
He sat in silence for a few moments. Rose was looking at him, her sandwich only half-eaten and apparently forgotten. James came to a decision. He looked up and saw her looking into his eyes.
"Rose, let's get married," he said. Saying it out loud, it felt surreal.
Rose stared at him, her brow furrowed. "Married?" she asked.
James felt an instant urge to backpedal, to lie and say he didn't mean it. But he held his tongue and instead, he simply nodded and grabbed her hand.
"Wow," she said, clearly not expecting this (who would?). After a moment, she said, "I don't know, James. I can't really see myself being a baseball wife. Who knows where you'll be next year?"
James squeezed her hand and said, "I'll retire."
"Retire? And do what?"
"I don't know... I could fly; Bill told me he'd give me a job flying for his airline whenever I wanted it."
She shook her head. "That might even be worse than being a ballplayer's wife. You'd be home even less," she pointed out.
James frowned and thought, then he said, "Well, why don't I talk to your father? Maybe I could become a driver, or at least work with him on that new racing circuit he's been thinking about starting."
Rose's eyes widened, and she smiled. "Now you're talking," she said. "We'd be together all the time then!"
James' smile was so wide his face hurt. "Does that mean?" he asked, not even finishing before she was nodding and saying, "Hell, yes, I'll marry you James Slocum! I thought you'd never ask!"
"What!?!" James nearly shouted. "If that's true, what was with all that business about baseball and flying?" he asked.
"Well," she said matter-of-factly, "I had to make sure you'd be around. I'm no housewife, and you'd better get that straight, buster."
James laughed and said, "I wouldn't have it any other way."
That night, with Rose in the stands, James had his best game of the season. He went three-for-five with a double and a home run, driving in five runs and scoring three as the Waco Wranglers downed the Austin Violets 12-5. Only his teammate and good friend Rufus Daniels knew why James was in such a good mood. Daniels, the son of Rollie "Possum" Daniels, was playing center field, and James played left. Possum was James' grandfather Rufus' best friend, and James had immediately hit it off with the man named for his grandfather. James called him "Roof" because "Little Possum" seemed a strange nickname for a 34-year-old man.
"Shoot, son! That's the best news I've heard all year!" Roof said. Roof himself was getting married in October and James was to be his best man. "Now you get to return the favor!" he told James. James agreed but held back what would have been the really big news around the Waco clubhouse: that James Slocum was playing his last couple of weeks of pro baseball.
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James and Rosie at Rufus Daniels' wedding, October 1947
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