It developed most of the boys in my new class seemed strongly interested. Jeff Linch, though, declined the invitation to join, saying: “Guess I’d better not. I never played a lick of baseball, ever. Right now, I gots too much to do with my pap ailin’ an’ such.”
I didn’t ask about Mr. Linch’s condition, but I learned later he’d been “laid up” after piling the front of his pickup in the ditch, breaking his wrist and ankle. It was reported he was so drunk, he sat there, enraged, spinning his wheels until the tires melted and burst into flames. Then the wheel rims cut two deep grooves in the road surface, dropping the truck to its axles. Such behavior confirmed the area’s opinion of the “Linch Mob,” as Uncle Albert, Nathe’s father, pegged the family and its branches.
I also learned both he and Nathe considered Jeff redeemable and were trying to inspire him to break free from the cycle of alcoholism and poverty. Both the Summerses and the Kinkades were hiring him for various jobs and projects and helping Jeff learn how to reach higher. “A sorry lot and a blight,” said some scorners in the community concerning the Linches. Though I’d known him for less than a month, I could sense when Jeff’s shame became readable.
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