SS José Méndez
José Méndez grew up in the crowded city of Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic. He lived a simple life with his mother and two brothers. They didn't live in poverty, but they were not far from it. The crowded streets of Santo Domingo stifled him, and he would tell everyone who would listen that one day he would live on a large plot of land away from noise and traffic and danger. He liked to go to the street corners and listen to the musicians even though he had no coins to give them. He liked soccer, too. But what he loved most, like many kids his age in the Dominican Republic, was baseball. There was never a shortage of pickup games anywhere he went and he would play on dirt, streets, alleyways, abandoned buildings. If there was a place to play baseball he was there. Over the years he got so good that the pickup squads would seek him out to get them on their team. It was really the only thing special about him in the hot, cramped, treeless capital of the DR.
One day, after he and his friends were wrapping up a game on a dirt patch where ramshackle houses once stood, a man in a suit and tie approached him. Thinking he was in trouble, José gave a thought to run. But the man put his hands out and smiled.
"You love baseball don't you?" the man said.
"Yes, sir," José answered.
"Well I can tell you that I see a lot of players and you are on a higher level. A level that might interest some teams playing real baseball on real fields and paying real money. How would you like that?"
"Really? That sounds awesome!"
The man asked the scrawny teenager his name and where he could be found, then he patted José's head and said he could wait to hear from him.
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José reminisced about all this as his tractor hummed underneath him. A year after that day he found himself on the other side of the world in a city called Jakarta in a country called Indonesia. Now he was piloting this tractor on the large plot of land he owned with the house he could see from here that contained his two teenage daughters, Grace and Zoe, the former he could see on the porch swing on the deck behind the house.
Three years after Jakarta he had an agent who was answering a call from the Louisville Sluggers organization relaying that they had drafted him in the 4th round of the BBA amateur draft. Pick #167. His agent managed a deal that paid him a signing bonus of $5,000,000. An amount he could hardly put in context in his head.
Since Louisville he had been with Sacramento, Montreal, Calgary, Phoenix, and just 3 days earlier had signed a 2-year, $2.4 million deal with the Boise Spuds. It was far from his Tennessee home, but that's the life of a professional baseball player.
Suddenly, his thoughts were cut short by a loud, sharp snap and the tractor lunged down and to his left throwing him to the ground. He had just enough time to roll onto his back before seeing the bulk of the tractor fall on him, pinning him to the ground as he yelled out in pain. His body from his midsection down was pinned under the machine and, though the pain was excruciating, he was more alarmed that he could barely breathe. He had no chance, and now no manner, to call for help.
Fortunately, Grace was watching as the lound snap hit her ears. She yelled inside for Zoe to call 911 and ran out to the tractor that she could already see was on its side atop her father. "Papa! Papa! Papa!" she screamed as she reached the scene and she immediately knew he was in immediate danger. He couldn't talk, looked like he could hardly breathe in fact, and was starting to turn pale as he tried to wiggle out from under the 1,600-lb John Deere. All she could do was tell him help was on the way.
Zoe arrived soon after, took one look at her father, and screamed. "I called 911 but I don't know that he's going to last that long!"
"We've got to get the tractor off of him!" yelled Grace.
Zoe replied, "Are you serious?! We can't move that tractor!"
"We have to try!!"
The two girls put their hands on the top of the opposite wheel well but the tractor would not budge. Over and over again they pushed but to no avail. Grace looked at her father who was getting more pale by the second and whose lips were beginning to turn purple. José was conscious, but all he could do was watch his daughters with goodbye beginning to show in his eyes.
"Zoe, we have to move this! Get on the other side of him and lift it from the ground!"
"Grace, if we can't push it up we can't pick it up!!"
"Move damnit!" Grace screamed.
They put themselves on each side of him, grabbed the body of the machine, and lifted as hard as they could. "1...2...3!!" They screamed and grunted but it was to no avail. Grace took another look at her father's face. He was not far from gone. "Zoe," she said. "We've got to life this and we have to do it NOW!! Get a grip, I'll count to three, and we're getting this thing off Papa!"
Zoe nodded. They got the best grip on whatever piece of equipment they could find and Grace counted, "1...2...3!!" The girls lifted and were stunned when the giant machine lifted just a little. "Keep going!", scream Zoe. Inch by inch the tractor began to shift off their Papa's body. They could only hope he was conscious enough and could see that they were raising it 2 inches. Then 3.
José watched his daughters as they strained. He had mostly resigned himself to the fact that these would be his last moments alive. But, miraculously, he felt the weight of the green hulk lift off him. Blood rushed back to his brain as air did into his lungs. He had a chance! As soon as he had room to move he shifted and pushed and pulled himself backwards. The girls managed to lift the tractor about 6 inches. It was just enough. As he cleared his torso from under the tractor the girls collapsed in exhaustion and the machine came crashing back down on his shins. He could move no more, but he could breathe, and he could embrace his girls as they rolled over to him, and he could cry as gratefully as any father had before.
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José Méndez awoke in a hospital bed with his wife and his daughters beside him. He was drugged and could feel no pain, and he had no memory of the first responders reaching him. But he was alive. The doctor would tell him that he had been in surgery twice and had multiple internal injuries, broken legs, and a broken arm. But he was alive.
About a week later José's agent, Daniel Ortiz, paid him a visit.
"How are you feeling, José?"
"Better. But feeling anything is a blessing from now on."
"Good, good. Look, I'm going to visit with you a bit but just wanted to let you know that Boise bought out your contract. No one is sure if you'll ever play ball again. They sent you their best regards."
"I will play again," José said softly. "God willing, I will play again."
As Méndez faded back off to sleep Daniel scanned the faces of his family. "What does he grow out there?"
Grace replied, "Oh, nothing, Mr. Ortiz. He just likes riding the tractor."
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Six months later Méndez was resting in his home. He had been through months of inpatient therapy and had improved to where he could rest at home and be driven to therapy sessions that now included baseball-focused work. His cell phone rang and he touched the front of his left temple to answer.
"José, it's Daniel."
"Hi, Daniel, how are you?"
Ortiz chuckled, "Probably still able to kick your ass at hoops." José chuckled himself.
"Listen," Ortiz said, "I got a call from Boise. That GM of theirs, Ben Teague, has been all over me since the accident. Checking on your progress. On your therapy. He phoned me yesterday and personally told me they want to sign you to a minor-league contract with a $50,000 bonus."
"I'll be damned," Méndez said while softly shaking his head.
"I told him to make it 60 and they had a deal. José, man, you could actually be on the field again depending on how therapy goes."
José shook his head slightly again and replied, "Damn, man. Damn"
