Holyagnostic

The Peanut Man Chapter Nine

Xavier Banbridge, who got his nickname, The Peanut Man, from selling bags of peanuts on the streets of downtown Birmingham was now a wealthy man. He was treating Holyagnostic to a meal at the Summit Club overlooking the city where he and his wheelchair had become a local tradition.

"It changed my life," were his words to Holy as he pushed a baseball scorecard from the year 1957 across the linen tablecloth to Holy.

Holyagnostic examined the pencil marks that described all of the transactions on the field from that day that was now decades in the past.

"Turn it over", said Xavier.

Holy flipped the card over and there in one of the blank sections on the front were a series of numbers:

1000
2000
4000
8000
16000
32000
64000
128000
256000
512000
1024000

"If one had $1000 and could double it only 10 times, he could become a millionaire," Daddy B. had told him.

Think about it. Ten doubles.

"How many doubles do you have left?" the Peanut Man asked Holyagnostic.

To be continued...

The Peanut Man Chapter Eight

"Are you ready for another lesson?"

The Peanut Man was on the other end of the line. Holyagnostic had not heard from him in months. And what historic months they had been. The first black President of the United States was elected and the economy had gone into a meltdown that was deeper than any since the 1930's. Holy yearned to find out how Xavier Bainbridge was relating to all that was happening around us.

"I have some family business in Birmingham this week. Can I have "Not Too" pick you up on Thursday for an early afternoon meal before I head back to Atlanta?"

"Absolutely," Holy said. "Gracious, do I have some questions for you!"

"Great. I have some answers. We'll see if they match," he laughed with that deep rumbling voice.

On Thursday, the grayness of the February day was punctuated by the white Maybach Landaulet limousine pulling up in the driveway of Holy's home with "Not Too" Swift sitting jauntily in the driver's seat. Soon with Holy settled into the white leather seats, we were moving north through light early afternoon traffic on I-65 with people craning their necks to look at not only our car, but to try to see who it was beeing so magnificently treated. As we topped the crest of Red Mountain with the cityscape spread out before us,"Not Too" appropriately filled the car with Randy Newman's, Birmingham. After a brief stop at the Peanut Depot to pick up Xavier Bambridge's supply of peanuts, Holy stepped out of the car at the door of the Regions-Harbert Plaza and was whooshed by elevator to the thirty first floor to the Summit Club. Holy was beginning to think that The Peanut Man liked to spend his time on the top of tall buildings.

Holyagnostic was ushered to a private room where Xavier, in his wheelchair, was already sitting at a table with a view of the corner two blocks away where he had derived his nickname by selling peanuts, not only to the elite of the Ham's business community, but to the worker bees, too.

The Peanut Man saluted Holy as he entered the room and gestured to the chair next to him where he wanted Holy to sit. As Holy slid into the comfortable cushion of the chair his eyes scanned the view outside the plate glass window. The Vulcan statue held it's vigil on the mountain with the lamp in his hand held upward as though he wanted its illumination to spread to the valley below. The Club from here looked like a white scar that might have been placed by some long ago geological surgery on the side of the ridge. Antennae with winking lights to ward away aircraft pointed upward, but their tips were covered by the slate colored winter cloud layer. Condominium structures completed the scene and from our perch gave the illusion of being able to look into their windows and see the owners looking back at us.

"How many doubles do you have left?" X's question brought Holy's attention back to the tastefully appointed dining room.

"None," replied Holy. "My baseball playing days were finished with Pony League. If it weren't for my lack of ability to hit, field, or throw, my running would have taken me to the Majors."

"The first time I heard the question, I thought it was about baseball,too. Especially since it came from Daddy B while we were sitting down the first base line watching a game at Rickwood. It was late in a game that the Baron's won 12-2. I think Daddy B was bored."

"Wow! What a memory. You even recall the score?"

X reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a ragged piece of cardboard paper that was preserved in acrylic. He slid it across the table to Holy.

"I remember the score because I kept the scorecard."

Holy picked up the plastic encased document and saw, recorded for posterity, the written record of a game played on August 14, 1957 between the Birmingham Barons and the Chattanooga Lookouts. Every player, pitch, out, and score faithfully recorded in pencil.

The Peanut Man continued, "Daddy B always kept score. People don't do that much anymore. I can almost hear him asking the question even today. Look at the top of the eighth inning. Forrest Daily, the Lookout's fourth pitcher got a lead off double. While the first base coach was taking the player's warm up jacket to him at second, here came the question,'How many doubles do you have left.' And it changed my life."

To be continued...

The Peanut Man Chapter Seven

"Did you know that Willie Mays played for the Birmingham Black Barons?"

Since they were talking about percentages,Holy thought the question came out of left field. Well in Willie's case, it was out of center field. The sun was sitting on the edge of the Atlanta's western horizon and looked like a cartoon character sneaking a peak at us over a backyard wall.

"Willie used to stay in my grandfather's spare bedroom when the Baron's were in town."

The Peanut Man had a smile in his eyes as well as on his lips. Holy could tell that the memories in his mind were strong and pleasant.

"I was still just a kid, but so was Willie. He was only sixteen when Piper Davis the player/manager of the Barons signed him to play in Birmingham. Willie would play catch with me in the back yard."

"You played catch with Willie Mays?" Holyagnostic's voice was filled with awe and hero worship.

"Is there's an echo out here?" Xavier laughed as he said it. "Yes, and it was a conversation that Willie had with Daddy B. that gave me my first lesson in the significance of percentages."

The Peanut Man looked off in the distance. Then he closed his eyes for just a moment before he began to recreate for Holy an afternoon from long ago.

"The Birmingham Black Barons were near the end of the season that was Willie's second with the team. It looked like they would play in the Negro League World Series against their old nemesis, the Kansas City Monarchs. But they needed to keep winning to make it happen. On this particular Sunday afternoon the Barons were awful. 12 to zip was the final score. Willie hadn't helped the cause. He had gone 0 for 5 with three strike outs. He managed to get on base once because of an error, but proceeded to get picked off of first on the very next pitch."

"'Say Hey!' Willie said to me as he came into the house after the game. He seemed chipper and happy. He whistled his way down the hall, still dressed in his uniform, and we could hear him singing over the sound of the water running in the shower."

"Daddy B and I looked at each other. Willie's disposition was in complete contrast to what we had seen happen in the game earlier in the day. Daddy B. was already formulating the questions that he wanted to ask even before Willie joined us for the evening meal."

"Willie, with the kind of game you had at the plate today, how can you stay so upbeat?"

"Mays laughed in a way that made the room feel like it had more light. 'Pops, I may be young, but I have been playing baseball since I was eight. I learned early on to pay very close attention to my batting average. This year, after today's game, I am hitting .382. It is a comforting number this late in the season. The peaks and valleys have been lost by the shear volume of the times at bat.'"

"He let that information sink in before he continued. 'Nearly forty percent of the time I will get a hit. It's true that over sixty percent of the time I won't ,but a day like today means only one thing. There is some pitcher out there tonight, who doesn't even know it yet, that is going to paaaay tomorrow.' He extended the word and gave emphasis and certainty to the damage that his experience with his abilities and numbers would do to the guy who dared take the mound to face him the next day."

"Daddy B. took me to the game. Willie knew where we sat and after Willie got his fourth hit, he looked up in the stands where we were and pointed. His gesture said, 'Told you so.'"

The Peanut Man pushed his wheel chair away from the table. It was the signal that Holy's first lesson was nearly over.

"Most people know how to add and subtract, but it has amazed me as I have accumulated wealth, that very few are able to work with percentages. Rates of return, profit margins, and so many other pieces of information that are indispensable in business are found by knowing how to work with the ratios that reveal percentages. Learn that secret and you will be singing in the shower even after bad days at bat."

To be continued...

The Peanut Man Chapter Six

Editor's Note: Back by popular demand, here is a little bit more of the PM to whet your appetite. If you are new to the story, the early chapters are available in the archives. Click on the "Peanut Man" category and the rest of the PM chapters will be at your fingertips.

The Peanut Man answered in the affirmative when Holyagnostic probed about wanting to know how his economic circumstances had so dramatically changed. Lights were beginning to twinkle in the Western neighborhoods of Atlanta that lay beyond the balcony railing and the solid red stream of taillights identified the ribbon of concrete that was Interstate 20 leading out of the city. Holy always wondered why WSB bothered with spending all that money on traffic reports. All they needed was someone to say, "Gridlock!"

"You've gotta know percentages."

Xavier Bainbridge's comment drew Holy's eyes and attention back to the balcony. Not Too Swift was bringing us another glass clinking with ice. We were far enough above the sounds of the city that the fizz of the recently poured Dr. Pepper announced X's companion's presence.

"That was the first lesson that Daddy B. taught me. You gotta know percentages."

"Daddy B. was your father?"

"No, he was my grandfather. He marched across the Edmond Pettus bridge with Martin and was father to my sisters and me after our father was killed in the accident."

"Accident?"

"Train accident. Happened right there in Titusville where we lived. Killed my father and put me into this wheelchair."

Xavier took a long pull off the Dr. Pepper and looked out toward the sun that was now painting a masterpiece, hung just for us. Golds and reds contrasted with the crystal blue of the September sky. Grey shadows provided depth to the bright colors. Holy envied the fact that X could marvel at the artwork every day from his perch in the Atlanta skyline.

"Sun was brighter than that and it was right in our eyes. We were running an errand for Mom. We had turned a corner and that light blotted out the world just as we got to the tracks. The train was on us before we knew it was there. Hit on my father's side of the car and spun us down the tracks like some children's toy top."

He paused, shook his head thinking of those moments that changed his life forever and then with a sigh came back to the sunset splashed balcony with Holy, the peanuts, and the Dr. Pepper.

"But Daddy B told me about the power of percentages way before that."

To Be continued...

The Peanut Man Chapter Five

The elevator in the Carlyle Residency's building was lined with wood, leather, and mirrors. Holy resisted playing his usual elevator tricks. His favorite was to turn to his fellow trapped travelers shortly after the doors closed and say, "I guess you are all wondering why I called this meeting." On other rides to the top floors of a building he would act like he was catching gnats in the air with his hands and then popping the captured prey in his mouth like he was enjoying a snack.

Holy was alone when the doors opened on the 47th floor. In order to reach the penthouse floor he had to turn to his left and get permission by using the intercom next to the elevator that went only to the top floor. The private elevator ride took twenty seconds. The doors glided open and Xavier Bainbridge, The Peanut Man, was smiling at Holy while he pushed himself toward him in his wheel chair.

"I'm wanting to buy some peanuts," Holy said, smiling back.

"You came to the right guy," laughed Bainbridge in the deep tones Holy remembered from the streets of downtown Birmingham. The voice dripped with the humidity of a July Alabama afternoon.

The decor was bachelor modern. Clean crisp lines, black leather, art providing the splashes of color summed up Holy's quick look around the space. But almost every angle was designed to draw ones eyes toward the expansive views of Atlanta seen through floor to ceiling windows that stretched twenty feet high.

It took nearly an hour for X to show Holy around. The end of the tour was on the balcony that faced the western skyline. Already the clouds were beginning to gather themselves on the horizon into what was going to be a spectacular cirrus shaped sunset. We sat in rocking patio chairs drinking Dr. Pepper and eating, appropriately enough, peanuts.

"Not Too Swift always stops at the Peanut Depot when he is on an errand in the Ham to make sure we have a fresh supply of their product. I suppose after all those years of selling them on the streets of Birmingham, I should be tired of them. But to me they taste as good as they first time I ate them."

"I guess in a way it's those peanuts that bring me here, X. It is really none of my business, but when I heard of your dramatic change of circumstances, I wanted to know how it happened. From Peanuts to the Penthouse sounds like the name of a book of fiction. But you have lived it. Will you tell me about it? "

"Of course I will," he answered.

To be continued...

The Peanut Man Chapter Four

"Mr. Bainbridge," Holyagnostic said almost breathlessly. He at last was in contact with The Peanut Man, if only by way of a voice through the ether.

"Please,call me X", The Peanut Man said authoritatively. "If you will be free tomorrow, I will send a car for you about 10 and we can spend a little time together in Atlanta. Is that convenient?"

Holy quickly calculated the shuffling that would be necessary in his Monday schedule, and said, "I'll be ready at 10. Do you need my address or directions?"

The Peanut Man laughed, "My security is pretty good at what they do, Holy. We KNOW where you live." And he laughed again, "10 o'clock then. I'll see you tomorrow."

After their goodbyes, Holy clicked the DVR play button and Jason Whitten moved from his frozen image on the screen to a collision with Washington Redskin burgundy beyond the first down marker. It was all Holy could do to keep his mind on what was left of the game. The Cowboys moved on in for a score and another big early season win, 38-28.

Holy got up early and had finished the flurry of rearrangement of appointments and duties to clear him for the trip to Atlanta. At precisely 10 am a gleaming white Maybach Landaulet. appeared like a silent ghost.

Chauffeur, N. T. Swift came to Holy's door, escorted him to the Maybach and got him settled into the white leather surroundings. On the two and one half hour ride Holy would learn that N. T. had finished 968 out of 1006 at the Naval Academy and that his midshipman buddies had nick named him "Not Too" It had stuck.

They were past Anniston and almost to the state line of Georgia when Holy said, "A bright fall day like this and I want to sing "September Morn." N. T. flicked a finger hit a touch pad, and Neil Diamond's voice surrounded Holy like the "Jazz Singer" was sitting in a jump seat in front of him.

Now, what for Holy will always be the Charlie Brown airport, was on the left. He could remember touch and goes in his plane. The Maybach moved past Six Flags, the western Atlanta projects, and finally they glided to a stop at The Carlyle Residences, a 48-story crescent-shaped building on Peachtree. Holy looked up as he got out of the car and wondered if The Peanut Man was watching from the pinnacle of the building.

To be continued...

The Peanut Man Chapter Three

For those of you who have just discovered Holyagnostic, you may have missed the first two installments of the Peanut Man. For you, and for those with short term memory loss, you can find the first chapters here and here.

As Holyagnostic walked out of the Health Department waiting room and into the muggy air of a Birmingham summer, he flipped open his cell phone and punched in the numbers that Annie Tupelo had given him for the Peanut Man's sister, Valentine.

Two buzzes and then a deep voice, "Bainbridge Mortuary. You stab 'um, we slab 'um."

Holy paused. Somebody in the household was a jokester. "Uh...I'm trying to reach Valentine Bainbridge, please."

"Wait a minute," Deep Voice replied.

After a yell that had to be heard over the XBox game noise playing in the background, someone picked up an extension phone. Holy could hear a door closing and the game sounds were gone.

"Hello"

"Hi, my name is Holy. Is this Valentine?"

She answered in the affirmative and Holy began to explain his quest for the Peanut Man and how he had found her. She listened with an occasional grunt to let me know she was there. Her attitude changed when Holy said, "Can you tell me how to reach Xavier in Atlanta?"

"THAT may be a problem," she said.

The conversation continued pleasantly, but Val let Holy know that the Peanut Man was extremely protective of his privacy. She took Holy's contact information, said that she would pass it on to him, and when he had Holy checked out, he would let Holy know.

"Don't call me, I'll call you," thought Holy. This was going to lead to a dead end street.

Weeks went by. Holy was patient.

The Cowboys were playing the late game on a Sunday Night in September and were leading the Redskins 31-28 late in the fourth quarter when Holy's phone rang. Holy paused the DVR and froze the football as it was about to land in Jason Whitten's hands.

"Holy, this is X Bainbridge. Understand that you have been wanting to talk to me."

It was the Peanut Man.

To be continued...

Peanut Man & Church Report (Update)

For those waiting patiently for these posts, Holy must explain.

The Right Reverend Doctor Tweedle, D. D. was flying first class from his Maui vacation. A stopover in Dallas was brief, but gave The Right Reverend's trophy wife an opportunity to shop at Nieman Marcus and watch the Dallas Cowboys. The Rev hopes he will be able to talk her back to the Ham soon

The Peanut Man is having Holy checked out by his security force before allowing a visit.

"Can't be too careful these days," he said.

Holy supposes he is right, but he REALLY wants to know how he went from selling peanuts from his wheelchair to the penthouse condo in Atlanta.

The Peanut Man Chapter Two

Holy's quest to find out what happened to the Peanut Man who had vanished from his usual location on the corner of 5th Avenue and 20th street had led him to a fat black woman in the waiting area of the health department clinic.

"I know what happened to the Peanut Man," she smiled.

"Really," Holy said, "I had almost given up."

The woman shifted in her chair in order to let the other half of her bottom hang off the side. "Yep, you talkin' about Xavier Bainbridge. That's his real name. His brother and sister, Christopher and Valentine live near me in Titusville."

Hearing the names of the Bainbridge brood, Holy thought to himself, "They must be big into saints." Out loud he asked, "How can I find him? Do you have any idea?"

"Chris and Val told me that X, that's what we always called him. had moved over to Atlanta. He's perched in one of those fancy new high rise buildings. His place takes up the whole top floor lookin' out on the city. They told me that he has a balcony that goes all the way around the building. They think he might have spent over four million just to move in. Must be somethin' to see."

"Wait a minute," Holy said, puzzled. "X, sold PEANUTS. He's cripple. He couldn't have THAT kind of money!"

"Just tellin' what his kin told me. Guess you may have to talk to them to find out any more."

Just then a nurse appeared through the door to the right and called, "Tupelo, Miss Annie Tupelo..."

"That's me," she said. "Here let me give you the phone number for Valentine. She can tell you how to get in touch with X"

A quick scrawl on the back of one of the government forms and she waddled out of sight with the pneumatic whoosh of the closing door. Holy felt the tingle of adventure as he looked at the phone number and wondered where those digits would lead.

To be continued...

The Peanut Man Chapter One

He sat in his wheelchair every day at the "heaviest" corner in Alabama. The corner's name came from the fact that four bank building towers were located at the intersection. The man who couldn't walk was named for what he sold to the thousands of workers in those four buildings and to anyone else doing business in that part of downtown. He was the Peanut Man.

For years and years he had bought peanuts at the Peanut Depot on Morris Avenue, sacked them , and sold them on the corner of 5th Avenue and 20th Street. But today, the Peanut Man was gone.

"Maybe he is sick," someone said.

"He'll be back by next week," someone else offered.

But he didn't come back the next week or the next. He was gone and nobody seemed to know why or where.

Months later, Holy's curiosity and boredom got the best of him. He wanted to know why the Peanut Man disappeared. He talked to the homeless guy who parked himself every day in the closed and boarded up department store entry. The police department knew nothing. The officer on the desk suggested checking at Cooper Green Hospital where the indigents went for medical treatment. They in turn referred him to the health department.

After telling the part of the Peanut Man's story that Holy knew to the clerk at the health department, and getting another "...sorry, don't know anything" response, Holy turned to head back out into the streets.

On the second row of seats, waiting to be ground up by the bureaucracy was a corpulent black woman drinking a diet Coke and fanning herself with a pad of the health department forms she was having to complete. She must have overheard Holy's discussion with the clerk because she was giggling and waving him over to her.

"I know what happened to the Peanut Man," she smiled.

(To Be Continued)