Hidden Treasure - A Girl’s Journey of Faith and Baseball in an Alternate baseball History

By Doug Fowler

Young Sarah lost her mom at age 3. Weeks later, in this world, a missed call meant baseball's collusion plans fell apart. Salaries rose and players moved more than expected. Owners had to find other ways to stop the rise, and teams moved.

Now, Sarah and those she surrounds herself with in and around Treasure Island, Florida experience the ups and downs of the Florida White Sox - formerly of Chicago. In the off-season, she dabbles in things like snooping around a big will contest that includes a murder mystery. Mostly, though, she buries herself in baseball like her dad does in work to help cope with the grief.

She's a walking encyclopedia in this alternate history. But, how will this alternate history play out? The White Sox struggle far more than they did in Chicago after playoff pushes in 1993-4. Labor peace may have come in this world's '94, but with owners fighting steroids early instead in an attempt to keep salaries down, a strike may come later instead. And, more franchise moves may be on the way.

Will Sarah wind up in a career in sports, where she seems to be a natural? Or, will her struggles and need for acceptance and certainty lead her elsewhere?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781716186400

Book preview

Prologue – Missed Call – November-December, 1985

The receiver crashed so loudly it startled the secretary in the outer office of Chicago White Sox owner Jerry Reinsdorf.

Still busy, Sir?

Yes. We need to discuss a deal! Reinsdorf griped. He couldn’t reveal what it was - if word leaked out the union would go ballistic. They might sue the owners, and the game could be in worse shape. So, he made it sound like a routine trade.

The secretary knew he had likely been pressing redial. Are you sure you dialed the right number?

Reinsdorf didn’t want to think that he might have dialed some Manhattan housewife who had been chatting with a friend. Still, he had to play it cool. He spoke calmly. Steinbrenner’s usually busy. I’ll try again in a few minutes.

He performed other tasks before calling again. He heard an unfamiliar voice. A bead of sweat ran down his cheek, but he reminded himself that Steinbrenner changed secretaries often. Is this George Steinbrenner’s office?

I’m sorry, you have the wrong number.

Now, he was really anxious. He quickly dialed the correct number, and soon Steinbrenner was on the line.

I’m sorry, Steinbrenner said after listening to Reinsdorf, but Fisk really wanted to come to New York. When he accepted our contract, it was too good to pass up. The deal’s signed. After a moment, Steinbrenner replied. I know we all agreed not to sign each other’s free agents, but we haven’t even won a division since ’81. Fans demand more from us. Let’s discuss the Britt Burns trade. I can throw in more.

It’ll take more than that to repair the damage. Now it’ll be a free-for-all like every year. The commissioner was right. And, some of us might not last, Reinsdorf warned.

So, did your great-uncle really play pro ball? Isabelle Briggs, twenty, asked as she and Graham Butler talked near the end of their date. It was after sunset at a beachfront restaurant in Treasure Island, Florida.

Couple years in the White Sox organization. Class D. You needed a telescope to see the big leagues, Graham joked. He hadn’t played beyond Little League, but like some players, he was a playboy. He liked Isabelle, though. They were both free spirits. Maybe if they took it slow, when he felt ready to settle down in a few years…

Is that like Rookie League now? She’d had odd jobs with various clubs during Spring Training since graduating high school. So, she knew some about the game.

Right. There were a lot more minor league teams then. Even accounting for the fact there’s ten more big league clubs now. So, when you say you know some baseball… Like, Kirk Gibson just signed a five-year deal with the Dodgers. How much about the player or teams do you know?

I know he was the most sought-after free agent from the news. I think he played for… Detroit? He nodded. She felt proud. I think the Dodgers are usually good. I don’t know a lot, but I’d like to learn. Especially if it helps me with you.

Fair enough. It’s not a requirement, but I do like being able to at least talk baseball. So, I guess it’s getting kind of late, Graham said as he looked at his watch. The December evening breeze felt very cool as they began to stroll outside. So, do we have a date for next Saturday?

Sure, I’d like that, Isabelle said sweetly. She wasn’t ready to commit yet, either. She found it hard, with her parents having divorced many years earlier. Still, she liked Graham. That was the important part.

Ted and Harriet Sampson smiled sadly as four-year-old Sarah played with one of her presents the day after Christmas. The little girl’s eyelids were heavy as her grandparents kept whispering between themselves. I think she’s still a little young for that Sesame Street book about Mr. Hooper’s death, Harriet muttered so the little girl wouldn’t hear.

She did just turn four. Still, I think it helps with a few concepts, Ted replied.

She misses her mom, that’s still the important thing. Not so much what that means, Harriet went on.

It was an awful crash, Ted mumbled. I worry about our son, too. He’s working so much now. I mean, I understand his going back to work last week, but still, I worry he’s trying to escape thinking about it.

I agree. We’re not getting any younger, either. We talked about retiring to Florida earlier, before the accident… Harriet trailed off. She didn’t know what to think now. The accident had confused so many things.

And, we’ve had health problems, too. Maybe our son will get a job there and we can just follow him and Sarah, Ted said as the little girl sniffled. Grief hit children at unusual times, he recalled, and it appeared that this was one of those times. He picked Sarah up and cuddled her as she said Mommy, while half asleep. The grandparents sat close on the couch and consoled Sarah and each other.

Harriet soon began to sing Jesus Loves Me to her. It was near her naptime. Perhaps the weeping girl would fall asleep.

I hope we can find something to help her – and her dad. I don’t know how we’ll get through this, but we will, Ted considered as he joined his wife in singing.

Once Sarah was asleep, Ted quipped softly, At least I can share the joy of baseball with her.

Harriet teased him. And I think that book is above her level yet, let alone baseball, she whispered with a laugh. But, maybe it’ll help.

Chapter One – October, 1993

Sarah Sampson, almost twelve, gazed wistfully out toward the Gulf. Seagulls squawked happily as they scooped up bread that people were scattering  or holding out for them. Your view must really be something, Mom, she muttered as she studied the brilliant blue sky.

Hi, a public beach employee said kindly as Sarah poured ketchup onto the hot dog and fries she’d paid for at the counter. Your parents on their way?

Someone will be, she assured him.

Okay. He winked to show he’d keep an eye on her as usual till an adult showed up; he guessed that she was a preteen. She didn’t seem like the kind to get in trouble, but it was better to be safe. Truth be told, her dad… had he ever seen him? He’d seen her with a few women. One might be a mom.

Sarah fiddled with a little paper and smiled. She’d figured that God loved her - the message of the tract - but had been glad to read it as she strolled along the beach weeks earlier. Someone had asked if she’d like something good to read about God’s love.

She continued to ponder what the paper - stamped with the name of a church in Illinois - said as she bit into her hot dog. A seagull flew near, and she instinctively scolded it: Don’t take my hot dog! It left. One had swiped hers once. The waiter had seen it and been so kind in giving her a new one. They had put protective netting up soon after that.

Someone had a few last pieces for the birds, huh? she heard Polly Willett say a moment later. Polly and her kids carried their food and sat at Sarah’s table with her. Polly was helping their three-year-old, Larry, to carry his. The waiter felt more comfortable now that they sat with Sarah.

Yeah. There was a whole mess of seagulls. It figures; a lot of vacationers leave on Sunday, Sarah noted as her friend Millie sat beside her. Millie’s younger sister Patsy playfully grabbed a French fry from Sarah. Hey.

Swipe one of hers, Millie suggested.

To keep the tiff from escalating, Polly asked, Are you going to listen to the FloSox game?

No, Sarah replied. She tried to hide her disappointment. However, her consistent wearing of team apparel made it pretty clear to everyone. Today it was road gray, a block Florida in a half circle, the F having the state of Florida as part of it, in forest green with gold and deep orange piping. If we’d won yesterday and Toronto lost, we’d be tied. But, Toronto won, and they clinched the division.

There’s always next year, Polly promised.

Sarah frowned. I know. But we had them on our home field earlier this week, and lost all three. Two up with just over three weeks to play, then one up entering that series… She quickly turned to Patsy. At least you could say something funny, she instructed the seven-year-old.

Patsy turned to Millie, fourteen. At least you’re not named ‘Socks.’

Sarah held her mouth open for a second before deciding what to say. I don’t know what that was. It was a complete non sequitur, Sarah declared with intensity, proud of having used such a big word. Her teacher, Miss Rachel - known to the others by her last name - loved to use fancy terms to boost students’ vocabularies. Sarah couldn’t match the comical Yorkshire accent Miss Rachel used when saying something funny, though. Socks? she asked in a perplexed tone.

That was a non sequitir, Polly admitted. Millie’s still getting teased a bit now that she’s in high school about her name, because the former president’s dog was Millie. Patsy picked up on it, and she knows the current president has a cat named Socks… she trailed off as she helped Larry put ketchup on his fries. It’s an unusual connection.

Who names their kid ‘Socks’? Millie asked Patsy.

The waiter had returned to see if everything was okay and overheard. The current White Sox have a lot of people following them, but I think parents would rather use actual player names. Especially Frank Thomas, he said before leaving.

Millie observed Sarah’s dreamy gaze. Is he the crush you were talking about? she whispered.

Sarah nodded and chuckled at how Millie’s dad had soothed the fears of her dad and dad’s girlfriend/stepmom by saying kids usually knew first crushes were just dreams, because his first crush had been on a fictional character

Millie’s dad? Sarah inhaled deeply. Mille’s parents felt more like parents than Sarah’s own.

Her thoughts had caused her to miss a discussion about names. Millie repeated: Should I use my full name? I can hear Miss Rachel saying ‘Introduce friends to a love of reading with it’ since Marilla is from ‘Anne of Green Gables.’ Is that where your brain flew off to, since you have her now? She knew Sarah knew the teacher as Miss Rachel, though other students called the 25-year-old by her last name.

We have our heads in the clouds for different reasons but I’m glad you get me when I do, Sarah remarked.

Dad made the worst joke the other day. There was this Camel ad years ago, and he said someday, some boy is going to tell her, ‘I’d walk a mile for a Camille,’ Pasty shared.

Polly shrugged. Spending your time on a fishing boat’ll make you dream up puns like that.

Sarah shook her head, but inside, she loved the banter and puns. Why couldn’t she have parents like that? It was no wonder she’d adopted several adults as parents.

Roy Moyer looked over a letter after church. I was so busy, and the mail came so late yesterday, I didn’t see William Westinghouse sent a small check, he announced as his son, Brian, finished eating a sandwich at their house. Only $20, but he says pray for more.

Did he say why? Joyce, Roy’s wife, asked.

No, but I suspect it has to do with his grandmother who passed away recently. The grandmother, Esther, had raised William after his parents died when he was two. She left him money in a trust for college - he just graduated from there - but Esther’s mom died soon before she did. There could be more, he speculated. Losing his parents, he really understands what some of the kids go through in our ministry.

The family left; Roy had already announced that they were going to visit his friend Fred and get the address of a family he had mentioned, if Fred could find it. Or, maybe they’d be at the public beach where Fred worked.

Brian’s mind was on something he’d heard recently. What’s collusion? he asked his dad. When asked where he’d heard it, he explained. They were saying if they’d had it, the White Sox wouldn’t have moved here.

Roy was glad his son liked sports. While he’d love for the young teen to follow him into ministry, he knew Brian would be an excellent sportscaster. Collusion in this sense means owners try to keep players from getting higher salaries by not signing free agents. I’ve heard stories of how a busy signal or wrong number was all that kept the White Sox’ owner from calling the Yankees’ George Steinbrenner and reminding him the owners had a deal not to sign free agents after 1985.

Do you think that’s true?

Hard to say. Roy pulled the car into the public beach parking lot. Remember, players would have found out. They’d have struck by now, or be ready to, if labor relations got bad enough. This year’s World Series might have been cancelled; or next year’s. There are always drawbacks when you do things in secret, he cautioned him.

Roy’s wife Joyce added, The Expos lost Tim Raines and Andre Dawson two years after trading Gary Carter away; and Dennis Martinez was showing signs of being really good, which he was for the Rangers when he left Montreal after ’86. That really hurt their attendance. Both Florida teams might be back where they started. Hi, Fred, she said to Fred Mueller, manager of the public beach café.

Fred and Roy shook hands joyfully. After the good friends discussed other topics for a moment, Fred said, By the way, if you have seats in your ministry van, the one girl and the family I told you about are on the beach.

Thanks, we stopped by to see about that, in fact, Roy told him, asking again where Fred had met them.

Their oldest, Millie, babysits for my sister and her husband. She’s a local attorney; Kathy Reynolds is her name.

Cool. If they’re anywhere in the area, we can pick them up for activities if their parents don’t bring them, Roy offered. A lot of parents send their kids to church and stuff but don’t take them anymore, he lamented.

Fred understood. Their dad’s a fisherman, works near John’s Pass. They live in my neighborhood. The girl who hangs out with them… I might have seen her mom or some relation a few times, but never her dad. He knew there were quite a few kids who needed guidance and help, even away from the larger cities of Tampa and St. Petersburg. The important thing was for him and his employees to watch out for them. I’m glad church is on the radio now since I have to work Sundays.

Joyce and Brian walked to where Fred had indicated as the others talked. Soon, Brian naturally started a conversation with them. "Do you like the White Sox?’

Before Joyce could kid him that not everyone was a baseball fan, Sarah jumped up from the sandcastle she was helping the others build, her long hair flying as she did. I’ve always loved my home team, she blurted happily.

Brian could tell Sarah was trying to fit in. You do know this is only their fifth season here, right?

This is Florida; nobody’s from here, Sarah cracked. Well, I mean, some people have always lived here, but our baseball teams aren’t.

I hear that a lot. Know what else I hear sometimes? Little kids visiting and saying, ‘How can you have a baseball team? I thought Florida was all theme parks or beaches.’ He was glad to see the new girl laugh. He thought she looked pretty, but a bit young for him. Maybe her friend was his age. I’m Brian, this is my mom Joyce. I take it you’re not from here?

My dad and I moved from Pennsylvania in ’88, Sarah explained. She showed how she measured time by her next comment. It was right about when the White Sox said they were moving, months before the season ended. We’ve moved a couple times since we came down here; we got to this area right before they won the 1990 A.L. East and lost to Oakland in the ALCS. I thought they’d be back by now.

Brian spoke next. My parents are from a bit further south than you – Baltimore - but I guess they did move here, though I was born here. My dad’s a youth pastor. We’ve got fun activities Wednesday night if you’d like to come.

Sure. I’ll need something to do now that baseball’s over; well, for us, she elaborated. She had been looking for something fun to do with her evenings.

My dad’s had to follow his Orioles from afar; he was at the 1971 World Series, and saw them win a few others on TV, Brian said as he and Sarah found themselves meandering up toward the opening in the wall along the walkway. His mom glanced back as she and Polly continued to talk.

Sarah worried boys would never find her attractive, even though they did. Her wavy hair sparkled as she considered the beach’s incredible width. It felt like half a mile, though it was really around 800 feet. The walk felt so relaxing as she collected her thoughts. She loved the relative quietness and extra width compared to St. Pete Beach next door.

Brian kept talking. I’m hoping the Marlins can win the NLCS. Boy, the networks would be scared if they were still in Montreal; it could be an all-Canada World Series then. He was glad that his new friend enjoyed baseball; not many kids knew a lot about it, at least not like he did.

Sarah was about to stun him with her knowledge.

What do you think about Bill James saying with the new collective bargaining deal, this might be the end of the era when small market teams can win consistently? That teams might go generations without contending, like in the fifties and earlier? she asked as they got up to where his dad and Fred had been discussing Roy’s ministry and other things.

Roy heard Sarah, who could be loud at times, as the pair approached. Sounds like you’ve met your match when it comes to baseball, Son.

I guess. This- He glanced at Sarah. This is a girl I met but never asked her name.

Sarah Sampson.

I’m Roy Moyer, and you’ve met my son, the baseball encyclopedia. He shared where their ministry was, and asked for her parents’ contact details.

Oh, just pick me up with Millie’s family; they’re down there. I’ll make sure they come. Mom’s probably getting all the details from your mom, anyway, she told Brian.

Wait, I heard… Roy looked confused for a moment. Finally, he asked, Are they like foster parents, or… well, I guess what I’m asking is for contact info for the people responsible for you, he finally uttered.

Sarah muttered Mostly myself under her breath, though she felt enough anxiety she didn’t let the others hear it. Or, she wouldn’t till she got to know them. She stifled a frustrated look and spoke. Mine are hard to get hold of; you can always leave a message if Millie and the others aren’t home. I’ll give you mine anyway, just in case.

As Roy took down the details, he was glad for friends like Fred. He knew Sarah seemed like just the kind of kid who needed to know of God’s unconditional love for the lost.

You have to scrub the mascot’s head, Barb teased her friend Millie as they walked past the picture of the St. Petersburg High green devil mascot on the way to class Monday.

I do not, Millie said in a huff.

A sophomore pointed out, You did graze it, but…

The only traditions I follow are my own, Millie replied sternly. Sometimes I’m open to new ones. But, not if they involve cleaning. She turned away abruptly.

What if a boy you liked said to, Barb wanted to know.

Millie shrugged. I’d consider it. I hope there are cute boys at KidZone. Like I say, I’ll try almost anything once. Patsy’s going, and so is Sarah, Millie said as they sat at their desks and began to rifle through their backpacks for the proper books and homework.

Oh, you’ll love it; I go there with a couple friends from Gibbs High, another girl, Willa, commented. Two cousins go to the Tampa one. We’ve got fun, friendly competitions between them. You like sports? she asked Millie.

Not as much as Sarah. Baseball’s all she talks about. It’s like she thinks the world is a baseball. She must think the Andes and the Rockies and stuff are the stitching.

A boy responded. That would work, actually. Those mountains go at a bit of an angle down the west side of the two continents just like a baseball’s stitching.

Wow, Millie said as the bell rang. I thought I was just ragging on her. I’m more informed than I thought.

Patsy Willett, what are you doing here? Sarah scolded as she plopped a paper onto the desk in the principal’s office. The preteen liked to feel important by helping in the office. The principal knew that giving her responsibility – even if she was bossy – helped them to keep an eye on her and kept her motivated to stay on the right track.

Patsy’s look spoke volumes as the playground supervisor explained what had happened. Sarah turned to the principal and asked if she could handle it. I’m like family with her family.

I’ve appreciated how you’ve taken charge at times, the principal replied as he thought out loud. You’ve heard they have Principal’s Assistants in some places, girls who help even with things like discipline, like you try to do. I’ll trust you. The word trust was emphasized. He wanted her to know she’d be in trouble if she violated that trust. She still had an attitude, though she didn’t get in near the fights she had.

Sarah had been in this spot before. She led Patsy by the hand and reprimanded her about bullying. When Patsy tried to make excuses, she became more forceful.

I’m sorry, Patsy mumbled as she sat in the corner of the office like Sarah had commanded. You’re mean.

I could be tougher. I have Mom’s permission- She stopped herself – why was she calling Mrs. Willett Mom? Same reason she did a couple other women, she supposed. You sit there and think about what I said.

Sarah took papers to one of the teachers before she came back; she was glad that Patsy was still in the corner. She couldn’t stand bullying, and Patsy needed to learn it was wrong to escalate anything to where she hit someone.

After a few minutes filing things, she let Patsy up and gave her a hug. "No more hitting; ever, she whispered. We will march to that other girl’s classroom and you will apologize. Got it?" she spoke lowly.

Patsy said Yes, Ma’am out of habit; she knew she was in trouble and could have been in more.

Sarah came back a couple minutes later. "How did it go?’ the principal inquired.

"It