Paul
The Nash automobile factory had introduced its employee baseball league with the intention of improving morale among workers who were putting in twelve-hour shifts.
The league was supposed to give employees something to look forward to, particularly those who had children between nine and thirteen years old.
But what had started as a recreational activity had quickly become a source of resentment.
Employees with eligible sons received additional time away from their departments to attend practices and games. Those without children, those with daughters, and those whose children fell outside the age limits received no such consideration.
And now the factory management had discovered something else.
Several employees had lied about their children’s ages. At least one had entered a daughter as a son.
The consequences were about to become much greater than anyone had anticipated.
A Uniform for a Boy Who Hadn’t Been Chosen
Harold Peterson was a shift supervisor at Nash.
He was accustomed to having authority over the workers in his department, and he expected his instructions to be followed without argument.
That Saturday afternoon, he arrived home carrying a folded baseball uniform.
He walked into his son’s bedroom, where eleven-year-old William was sitting on the edge of his bed.
“Here you go, Billy.”
He tossed the uniform onto the mattress.
Billy looked at it.
“What’s that for?”
“Put it on. We’re leaving in a few minutes.”
“Leaving for where?”
“The ball field. You’ve got a game today.”
Billy stared at his father.
“What do you mean I’ve got a game?”
“You’re playing for our department.”
“But Dad, I didn’t make the team.”
“Well, you have now.”
Billy picked up the uniform and examined it.
“I didn’t even go to most of the practices. There were boys there who were a whole lot better than me.”
Harold folded his arms.
“Well, it turns out quite a few of those boys shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some weren’t even nine years old. Some were too old. And we’ve found out that some of these children weren’t boys at all.”
Billy frowned.
“What?”
“Girls, Billy. Some of the workers dressed their daughters up like boys so they could get them onto the teams.”
Billy thought about the players he had watched during the tryouts.
There had been one particularly good player named Frankie.
Frankie could run, catch, and hit better than practically anyone on the field.
“Does that mean Frankie isn’t playing?”
“That’s exactly what it means.”
Billy looked down at the uniform.
“But Frankie was the best player we had.”
“Frankie wasn’t supposed to be there.”
Billy didn’t answer.
He wasn’t particularly excited about playing.
He remembered how badly he had performed during the few practices he attended. He had trouble catching fly balls, and he rarely managed to hit a pitched ball.
Now his father was expecting him to take the place of one of the team’s best players.
“Get dressed,” Harold repeated. “We’re leaving.”
He walked out of the room.
Billy slowly began putting on the uniform.
The Old Ford
Harold Peterson had worked at the automobile factory for years, but he didn’t drive one of the company’s products.
His automobile was an aging Ford Model T touring car.
It had served him reliably enough, and Harold had never seen much reason to replace it.
He went outside, attended to the controls, and hand-cranked the engine.
A few minutes later, Billy came out wearing his uniform.
The boy climbed into the passenger seat.
Neither said very much during the drive.
When they reached the baseball grounds, the parking area was already filling with automobiles.
Workers and their families were gathering for the afternoon game. Some had brought picnic baskets, while others were standing around discussing the teams.
Harold parked his Ford and stepped out.
He immediately spotted the team’s coach.
Patrick O’Rourke was an older Nash employee who worked under Harold’s supervision. He had volunteered to coach the department’s boys and had spent considerable time teaching them the fundamentals of baseball.
Patrick approached with a smile.
“Afternoon, Harold. Looks like we’ve got a good crowd today.”
“Looks that way.”
Patrick noticed Billy standing beside his father.
“Well, hello there, William.”
“Hello, Mr. O’Rourke.”
Patrick turned toward Harold.
“Is he here to watch?”
“No. He’s playing.”
Patrick looked surprised.
“Playing? Well, Harold, we’ve already got our lineup settled.”
“Not anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“Frankie is off the team.”
Patrick shook his head.
“Frankie? You can’t be serious. That’s the best player we’ve got.”
“Frankie is a girl.”
Patrick stared at him.
“A girl?”
“Her name is Francine. Her mother entered her as a boy.”
Patrick glanced toward the field.
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
“Not only that, but she was thirteen when her mother signed her up. She just had her fourteenth birthday a few days ago.”
Patrick considered that.
“So she’s too old now?”
“Exactly. She’s a girl, and she’s fourteen. That’s two reasons she doesn’t belong on this team.”
Patrick rubbed his chin.
“Harold, I don’t care whether that child is a boy or a girl. She can play baseball better than most of the boys I’ve seen.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“Well, it ought to count for something.”
“It doesn’t.”
Patrick’s expression hardened.
“You’re going to take our best player off the field and put your own son in her place?”
“That’s right.”
“Your boy hasn’t even been practicing.”
“He’ll learn.”
Patrick shook his head.
“That’s no way to run a baseball team.”
Harold took a step closer.
“You know something, Patrick? We no longer need your services.”
Patrick looked at him.
“Fine. If that’s the way you want it, find yourself another coach.”
He started walking away.
Then he stopped and turned around.
“I certainly hope this doesn’t carry over to the work we’re doing at the factory.”
Harold’s face remained expressionless.
“You must have misunderstood me.”
Patrick frowned.
“What?”
“I said we no longer need your services. Not as a baseball coach, and not at the factory.”
Patrick stared at him.
“You’re firing me?”
“That’s correct.”
“For disagreeing with you about a baseball game?”
“You can collect your belongings Monday morning.”
Patrick stood silently for several seconds.
Then he shook his head.
“Twenty years of working around automobiles, and this is what it comes down to.”
He turned and walked toward the parking area.
Billy had heard the entire conversation.
He looked at his father.
“Dad, you didn’t have to fire him.”
Harold turned toward his son.
“Get over to the dugout.”
Billy obeyed.
The New Coach
When Harold reached the dugout, several boys were already sitting on the bench.
They looked up as he approached.
“All right, boys. There’s been a change.”
Nobody spoke.
“Mr. O’Rourke is no longer coaching this team. I’ll be taking over.”
One of the boys raised his hand.
“What happened to him?”
“He’s no longer employed by Nash.”
Several boys exchanged surprised looks.
Harold continued.
“And Frankie won’t be playing today, either.”
“Why not?” another boy asked.
“Because Frankie is actually a girl named Francine. Her mother lied when she signed her up.”
The boys began talking among themselves.
“She’s a girl?”
“No wonder she never changed clothes with us.”
“She could sure hit the ball.”
Harold raised his voice.
“Quiet!”
The boys stopped talking.
“She also just turned fourteen. That makes her ineligible for two separate reasons.”
He pointed toward Billy.
“William Peterson will be taking her place.”
The boys looked at Billy.
Billy wished he could disappear.
He knew what they were thinking.
He wasn’t nearly as good as Frankie.
The Chair on the Pitcher’s Mound
Harold had brought something else with him.
In the rear of his Ford was a folding metal chair.
Attached to its back was a strong magnet holding a pair of hand-operated hair clippers.
The clippers were the sort that barbers used before electric clippers became commonplace. Their cutting teeth moved when the handles were repeatedly squeezed together.
Harold carried the chair onto the baseball diamond.
He unfolded it directly on the pitcher’s mound.
Several spectators noticed.
“What’s he doing with that chair?”
“Beats me.”
“Maybe somebody’s getting a haircut.”
Harold returned to the dugout and waited.
A short time later, Francine O’Connor arrived with her mother, Eleanor.
Francine was wearing ordinary clothes rather than her baseball uniform.
She had recently turned fourteen, and although she had been disappointed about being removed from the team, she understood that the factory had discovered the truth.
Her mother was considerably more worried.
Eleanor worked at Nash, and the wages she earned were important to her household.
She had entered Francine into the league because she believed the additional breaks would make life a little easier.
It had seemed harmless at the time.
Now she was afraid she might lose her job.
Harold approached them.
“Mrs. O’Connor, I’d like a word with you.”
Eleanor nodded.
“Of course.”
He led her a short distance away from the other families.
“I suppose you understand why your daughter can’t play anymore.”
“Yes, Mr. Peterson.”
“You deliberately entered a girl into a boys’ league.”
“Yes.”
“And you gave false information about her eligibility.”
“She was thirteen when I signed her up.”
“She’s fourteen now.”
“Yes, sir.”
Harold glanced toward the field.
“Well, you’ve caused quite a bit of trouble.”
Eleanor lowered her eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t undo it.”
She waited.
Harold pointed toward the chair on the pitcher’s mound.
“You see that chair?”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to sit in it.”
Eleanor looked confused.
“What for?”
“I’m going to clip all the hair off your head in front of everyone.”
She stared at him.
“You’re going to do what?”
“You heard me.”
Eleanor instinctively reached toward her hair.
It was thick, dark brown, and reached below her shoulders. She generally wore it pinned up while working at the factory.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m perfectly serious.”
Harold continued.
“You have two choices. You sit in that chair and let me take your hair off, and you keep your job. Or you take your daughter home, keep your hair, and don’t bother coming back to Nash.”
Eleanor felt her stomach tighten.
“Mr. Peterson, I need that job.”
“Then you’ve got your answer.”
Francine was standing a short distance away.
She had heard enough to understand what was happening.
“Mother, don’t do it.”
Eleanor looked at her daughter.
“It’s all right, Francine.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Eleanor took a moment to think.
She knew she had broken the rules. She had deliberately entered her daughter into a league intended for boys.
But she had never imagined the punishment would be anything like this.
Still, she wanted to keep working.
Finally, she nodded.
“All right.”
Harold gestured toward the field.
“Then come along.”
A Haircut Nobody Expected
By the time Eleanor walked toward the pitcher’s mound, the bleachers were nearly full.
Families had gathered to watch the game, and many were surprised to see a woman being escorted onto the field.
Harold stood beside the folding chair.
He raised his voice.
“Ladies and gentlemen, before we begin today’s game, I have an announcement.”
The conversations in the stands gradually stopped.
“I am Harold Peterson, and effective immediately, I am the new coach of this department’s baseball team.”
He paused.
“We’ve discovered that several employees have been dishonest about their children’s eligibility. Some were too young, some too old, and at least one child was entered as a boy when she was actually a girl.”
People began murmuring.
Harold pointed toward Francine.
“That child is Francine O’Connor. Her mother entered her as Frankie.”
Several spectators turned toward the girl.
Francine looked down.
“Francine is also fourteen years old now, which makes her too old for this league.”
Harold placed a hand on the back of the chair.
“Mrs. O’Connor has admitted what she did. As a consequence, she has agreed to have her hair clipped off before the game.”
A surprised murmur spread through the crowd.
Someone called out, “What does her hair have to do with baseball?”
Harold ignored the question.
He motioned for Eleanor to sit.
She lowered herself into the chair.
Her hands were trembling.
Harold removed the clippers from the magnet.
Then he pulled the magnet free and tossed it onto the ground beside the chair.
He stood behind Eleanor.
“Take those pins out.”
She reached up and began removing the hairpins that held her hair in place.
One by one, she pulled them free.
Her long brown hair gradually fell around her shoulders and down her back.
People in the bleachers watched in disbelief.
Harold gathered the hair away from her forehead.
“Head back.”
Eleanor tilted her head backward.
“Farther.”
She complied.
Harold placed the teeth of the manual clippers at the center of her front hairline.
Then he began squeezing the handles.
Click. Click. Click.
The cutting teeth moved back and forth as he pushed the clippers into her hair.
A strip of dark brown hair came away, exposing a closely clipped path running from her forehead toward the crown.
Several people gasped.
Harold continued working the clippers through the center of her head.
Click. Click. Click.
A thick section of hair fell into her lap.
He returned to the front and started another pass beside the first.
The manual clippers required repeated pressure on the handles, and the cutting was slower than it would have been with an electric machine.
Eleanor sat rigidly.
More hair fell across her shoulders.
Harold worked across the top of her head until the long hair was gone.
Then he moved to her right side.
“Turn your head.”
She turned.
He placed the clippers above her ear and began working upward.
Click. Click. Click.
Long strands dropped onto the mound.
He continued around the ear and up toward the crown.
Then he walked around to the opposite side.
“Other way.”
Eleanor turned her head again.
Harold clipped the left side just as closely.
By now, the woman who had walked onto the field with shoulder-length hair had almost none remaining.
Only the back was still long.
Harold stood behind her.
“Head down.”
She lowered her chin.
He gathered the remaining hair at her nape and began running the clippers upward.
The long brown hair fell in heavy sections onto the back of the chair and the dirt below.
He made several more passes until the entire back was clipped.
Finally, he ran the clippers over a few uneven places, pressing his free hand against the back of Eleanor’s head to steady it.
When he finished, he stepped away.
Her hair was reduced to a very short, uneven-looking stubble, with none of its former length remaining.
Harold looked toward the crowd.
“That concludes the matter.”
He set the clippers down.
Eleanor slowly stood.
She touched the top of her head.
The sensation was startling.
There was no longer any hair to gather, pin, or brush away from her face.
Francine hurried over.
“Mother!”
Eleanor looked at her daughter.
“It’s all right.”
But Francine could see that it wasn’t.
Harold folded the chair and carried it away.
The spectators were still talking.
One woman shook her head.
“That’s the most disgraceful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Another replied, “All over a baseball game.”
A man sitting nearby added, “I don’t care what she did. Nobody deserves that.”
Eleanor heard them.
But she also knew that many of the workers understood why she had entered Francine in the first place.
The Game
Eleanor and Francine could have gone home.
Instead, Eleanor made a decision.
“We’re going to stay and watch.”
Francine looked surprised.
“After what he did?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the other children didn’t do anything wrong. And because I did break the rules.”
Francine looked at her mother’s nearly bare head.
“But he didn’t have to do that.”
“No,” Eleanor said quietly. “He didn’t.”
They walked into the bleachers and found two empty places.
Several women immediately made room for them.
One of them, Mary Sullivan, worked in another department at Nash.
She looked at Eleanor’s head.
“Good heavens, Eleanor.”
Eleanor gave a small, embarrassed smile.
“Well, I suppose I won’t need to spend much time fixing my hair before work.”
Mary shook her head.
“If I’d had a boy that age, I’d have done the same thing you did.”
Another woman leaned forward.
“Half the factory was complaining about those extra breaks. Why should somebody get more time away from the line just because they’ve got a boy between nine and thirteen?”
“Exactly,” Mary replied.
“My daughter is fifteen,” another woman said. “She can’t play. I don’t get any extra breaks. But a woman working beside me gets to leave her department to watch her son practice.”
Eleanor listened.
“I know I shouldn’t have lied.”
Mary shrugged.
“Maybe not. But that doesn’t make what he did right.”
Another spectator said, “And what about Patrick O’Rourke? I heard Peterson fired him for arguing about Frankie.”
“He did,” somebody answered.
“Fired him from the factory?”
“That’s what I heard.”
The conversation continued as the teams took the field.
When Billy Peterson stepped up to bat for the first time, Eleanor watched carefully.
The boy looked nervous.
The pitcher threw the first ball.
Billy swung and missed.
The second pitch came.
He swung again.
Another miss.
On the third pitch, he swung too late.
“Strike three!”
A few spectators groaned.
Later, a fly ball came toward him in the outfield.
Billy moved underneath it.
He raised his glove.
The ball struck the edge and fell onto the grass.
Two runners advanced.
Someone in the bleachers shouted, “Frankie would’ve caught that!”
Another voice answered, “Frankie would’ve caught it with one hand!”
A few people laughed.
Billy’s face turned red.
Harold shouted instructions from the dugout.
“Keep your eye on the ball, William!”
But the afternoon didn’t improve.
Billy struck out again.
He made another fielding error.
And when the opposing team began scoring runs, the spectators grew increasingly restless.
Some started booing.
Francine watched quietly.
She knew she could have made several of those plays.
But she didn’t say anything.
Eleanor leaned toward her.
“Don’t laugh at him.”
“I’m not.”
“Good. He didn’t make these decisions.”
Francine nodded.
By the final inning, Harold’s team was badly behind.
When the last batter was retired, the game was over.
They had lost.
The Supervisor’s Final Decision
After the game, Eleanor and Francine made their way toward the parking area.
Eleanor had brought a scarf, but she hadn’t put it over her head.
She was still getting used to the feeling of the breeze against her closely clipped scalp.
Several workers stopped to speak with her.
Some offered encouragement.
Others expressed anger over what had happened.
Eleanor thanked them and continued walking.
Then she heard a familiar voice.
“Mrs. O’Connor!”
She turned.
Harold Peterson was approaching.
His son was several steps behind him, carrying his baseball glove.
“Yes, Mr. Peterson?”
Harold stopped in front of her.
“I’ve been thinking about what happened today.”
Eleanor waited.
“If my son had been given the same opportunity to practice that your daughter had, he could have been just as good.”
Eleanor glanced at Billy.
The boy was staring at the ground.
Harold continued.
“Instead, your daughter took a place that should have belonged to an eligible boy. My son didn’t get the chance to develop his abilities.”
“Mr. Peterson, I understand that you’re disappointed.”
“Disappointed? We lost the game.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And I believe your dishonesty had a great deal to do with it.”
Eleanor said nothing.
Harold seemed irritated that she wasn’t arguing.
“Well, I’ve made another decision.”
She looked at him.
“You’re no longer employed at Nash.”
Francine’s mouth fell open.
“But you told my mother—”
Eleanor raised her hand.
“Francine, let me handle this.”
Harold folded his arms.
“I’ve decided that what you did was serious enough to warrant dismissal.”
Eleanor looked at him for several seconds.
Then she smiled faintly.
“That’s fine.”
Harold seemed surprised.
“What?”
“I said that’s fine.”
“You understand you’re fired?”
“Perfectly.”
Harold had expected tears, pleading, or anger.
Instead, Eleanor reached for her daughter’s hand.
“I have an automobile, Mr. Peterson. I can drive to Racine.”
Harold frowned.
“What’s in Racine?”
“J. I. Case.”
He stared at her.
“The tractor company?”
“Yes.”
Eleanor continued.
“They’ve been manufacturing farm machinery for years, and with the war going on, factories need workers. I already know how to work around machinery. I’ve worked long shifts. I’ve done factory production.”
Harold interrupted.
“You think they’ll just hire you?”
“I intend to find out.”
She looked directly at him.
“And if they do, I won’t have to worry about whether my daughter can play baseball just so I can get an extra break.”
Harold’s expression hardened.
Eleanor continued.
“You took my hair off in front of half the factory. You told me I could keep my job if I agreed. I did exactly what you demanded.”
She paused.
“And now you’re firing me anyway.”
Harold didn’t answer.
“So I suppose there’s nothing left for us to discuss.”
She turned toward Francine.
“Come along, sweetheart.”
As they walked away, Francine glanced back.
Billy Peterson was still standing beside his father.
He looked miserable.
“Mother?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think they’ll hire you in Racine?”
Eleanor took a breath.
“I don’t know. But I’m going to give them the opportunity.”
Francine reached up and gently touched her mother’s head.
“Your hair is awfully short.”
Eleanor laughed softly.
“Yes, it certainly is.”
“Are you sorry I played baseball?”
Eleanor thought about that.
“I’m sorry I lied to get you on the team.”
She looked toward the ball field.
“But I’m not sorry you learned to play.”
No Union to Protect Them
In 1917, workers at the Nash automobile factory did not have the protection of a recognized collective bargaining agreement comparable to those that would emerge in the automobile industry decades later.
The factory was not operating under the established United Auto Workers representation that would eventually become important in Kenosha.
That union movement belonged to a later period, particularly the organizing struggles of the 1930s.
For employees like Eleanor O’Connor and Patrick O’Rourke, this meant a supervisor could exercise considerable influence over whether they remained employed.
There were no modern federal protections against sex discrimination in employment, and workers had far fewer practical ways to challenge arbitrary treatment.
Harold Peterson had used his authority to dismiss two employees because of a disagreement surrounding a children’s baseball game.
Patrick had lost his job for defending a talented player.
Eleanor had lost hers even after submitting to a humiliating punishment intended to preserve her employment.
