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The Fort Stockton Mud Hens employed an old 1936 White Model 706 Tour Bus back in the late 40s.  Money was tight, what with them not having had a winning record since long before the Germans attacked Pearl Harbor, and it was about the only thing the team manager could afford.  He may have bought it from the Park Service, no one really remembers where the darn thing came from.  Just like Knuckleball Newton, the ace pitcher for the Mud Hens, the bus just showed up one day and nobody asked any questions.

Shorty Schliecher, the shortstop for the Hens, could twist a wrench almost as fast as he could twist an ankle and he was the one who kept the thing running.  The ol’ Gray Goose, that’s what everyone called the bus, made its way all over Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona when the Mud Hens were still in the Frijole League and, like the Mud Hens themselves, it developed a reputation.  While the players lacked the level of athleticism to take them beyond the Frijole League, they were still a draw for the young ladies across the Southwest, particularly those who’d lost a boyfriend in the war or had poor eyesight.  The running joke during baseball season was that the skirts on the rear fenders of the bus were a whole lot harder to get off than those of devoted fans invited into the bus for a 7th inning stretch.

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‘Mitts’ Mitchell, the catcher for the Mud Hens, tagged more ladies out in the back of the Gray Goose than he ever did at home plate.  But he was a fan favorite for the way he’d flip off the home plate umpire behind his back and go through a series of obscene gestures while making it look like he was signaling Knuckleball Nelson just what type of pitch to throw.  Not that it made any difference.  Newton only had two pitches, a curveball and a curvier ball.  Both of them had a lot in common with the bus; everyone could see them coming a mile away and not particularly fast.

There was a rack mounted on top of the gray White bus that held trunks with all the uniforms, bats, balls, and gloves.  Each player was allowed one small duffle bag for all his personal gear.  Piggly Wiggly ice chests full of tuna and egg salad sandwiches and Grape NeHi were a staple, keeping the per diem low enough for the team manager to still qualify for a bonus at the end of the season.  Ice, even dry ice, doesn’t last long strapped on top of a bus in the Arizona desert in the middle of the summer.  Residents in the towns of opposing teams said they could smell the Mud Hens coming before the bus ever hit the city limits.

Funds being tighter than a ducks butt, it wasn’t uncommon for the team to have to sleep overnight in the bus.  Motels, even cheap ones, were a luxury that was reserved for winning teams.  Players would take turns sneaking pretty little fillies from small towns all over Texas into the bus for a trip around the bases.  Something they almost never got to enjoy on an actual ball diamond.  One girl in Las Cruces told her friends after a torrid time on the bus, “There were jockstraps airing out while hanging from the arched roof supports all over the bus.  Turns out that wasn’t the tuna salad we’d been smelling.”  But she assured friends it was worth it.

“The man knows how to choke up on his bat.”

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