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loaded for the Rice Birds, bottom of the ninth, up against the the Jeanerette Blues. And he didn’t hit a home run and he didn’t hit a single and he didn’t get hit by a pitch, but he still drove in the man on third, so that man could win the game. How Herman Allen Dunn did it was to flap his arm up, flinch back, and done it so good wearing that loose fitting uniform that he made a called third strike look like ball four, and the umpire gave him a walk.
    So he was named Dynamite Dunn for that. He was like Dirty Boy in one of them stories McKinley Short Eyes used to tell us about the young man who was underestimated and laughed at until he saved the day somehow. He had something to prove, and it was about changing what his name meant when people said it.
    â€œDoes anybody here know you already, Gemar?” Dunn asked. “I ain’t heard your name that I can recall.”
    â€œA man showed up on the reservation and told me I could come try out to play baseball for the Rice Birds,” I said. “He said he’d send a telegram to the manager and let him know I was coming.”
    â€œWho said that to you? What did he look like?”
    â€œName of Leonard Piquet.”
    â€œI don’t know that fellow,” Dunn said.
    â€œI’m supposed to see the manager. You reckon he’s here?”
    â€œDutch is here this morning, all right,” Dunn said. “He’s in there sweating blood and writing names on little bitty pieces of paper like it was going out of style, I imagine. He loves to play with the lineup. He figures he’ll get it set just right one of these days. He told me to come in here early before the workout started, and he’d be able to let me know where I’d be staying in Rayne this season.”
    The last time I’d had something to eat was when I finished up a can of sardines just before getting off the L and N freight in Lafayette, so I was feeling a little weak. I figured I’d better see the manager pretty quick and get him to let me do my tryout to get on with the Rice Bird baseball team before it got too much later in the morning, or else I might not show what all I could do. Maybe I could hurry things along a little.
    â€œI need to talk to this manager myself,” I said to Dunn. “I’m feeling like I need to eat something, too. You think we can go see him right now?”
    â€œWe can go eat breakfast before we knock on Dutch’s door, if you want to,” Dunn said, and pointed at a building across the street. “There’s a diner over yonder that ain’t worth a damn. You got any money?”
    â€œI got two bits,” I said and fingered the last coin left in my pocket.
    â€œThat’ll get you three doughnuts and a cup of coffee,” Dunn said. “You want to let me carry that bat for you?”

3

    Both folks working in the diner knew Dunn, and that’s when I first heard him called by his nickname Dynamite. I could tell he didn’t particularly care to have me hear him called that. It didn’t take us long to eat them doughnuts that woman brought us, and in a little while we were back across the street.
    â€œDutch is in there in what he calls his office,” Dunn said, nodding at the door marked PRIVATE.
    Dunn had to knock for a good while before somebody hollered to wait a minute and then the door opened up and we could see who it was talking, a man that was probably only about forty something. He was wearing a baseball cap, even though he was inside the building. He had on a regular shirt and pants, though, and a pair of cowboy boots that looked run down.
    â€œWhat you want, Dynamite?” he said. “Shouldn’t you be in bed this time of morning, or is it just the shank end of night to you?”
    â€œNo, I got me a good rest last night, in the back seat of somebody’s car behind the icehouse. That’s why I’m here to see you. Remember you told me to come by