Jim & Me Read Online Free PDF

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    I was about to rip open the wrapper when I realized something. Even though the reprint card had taken us to the wrong year, it was still a Jim Thorpe card. So that meant that Jim Thorpe had to be somewhere nearby. Bobby could still meet him. That was all he said he wanted to do in the first place.
    â€œWait a minute,” I said suddenly.
    â€œWhat’s your lame idea now, Stoshack?”
    Shoving the cards back in my pocket, I explained the situation to Bobby as I looked around. There were some men in the distance digging with shovels and pouring cement. I saw one guy with his back to us digging a hole in the ground. He was about 50 yards away.
    â€œMaybe that guy can tell us where Jim Thorpeis,” I told Bobby.
    â€œYou’re nuts,” he replied. “These guys are just construction workers. Let’s go home.”
    I walked over to the guy who was shoveling dirt; Bobby followed me. I guess he figured he’d better stick close to me or I might leave him there.
    The guy with the shovel was stripped to the waist and his body was shiny with sweat. He looked to be about six feet tall. The muscles in his arms were huge. When he turned to face us, I could see he was a little chubby around the middle. His hair was jet-black, and it flopped over his forehead. He was about forty, I guessed.
    â€œWhat are you boys doing here?” the guy asked as we approached him. He leaned on his shovel and wiped his face with a rag. “This is a dangerous area.”
    â€œExcuse me, mister,” I said, “but can you tell us where we might find Jim Thorpe?”
    â€œJim Thorpe?” the guy asked. “What for?”
    â€œMy friend here wants to meet him,” I said.
    â€œHe’s my great-grandfather,” added Bobby.
    The guy looked Bobby up and down. “You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree, son. Jim Thorpe doesn’t have a great-grandson. He doesn’t even have any grandchildren.”
    â€œHow do you know?” I asked.
    â€œBecause I’m Jim Thorpe.”
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    I took a closer look at the guy. He had small brown eyes that nearly disappeared when he squinted atthe sun. He had high cheek bones. His skin was a shade darker than mine. But he didn’t look like an Indian. At least, he didn’t look like the Indians I’d seen in movies and on TV. It could have been a suntan, from working outside all day.
    â€œ You’re Jim Thorpe?” I asked in astonishment. “The same Jim Thorpe who won the decathlon in the 1912 Olympics?”
    â€œAnd the pentathlon.”
    â€œWhy are you working here ?” I asked.
    I didn’t mean to be rude. There’s nothing wrong with being a construction worker. But I was used to famous athletes making beer commercials and signing autographs at card shows after their playing days were over. I just didn’t think a superstar like Jim Thorpe would be shoveling dirt.
    â€œLots of men would give their right arm for this job,” Thorpe said.
    That’s when it clicked. 1931. It was the Depression! I remembered when I traveled back in time with my dad to see if Babe Ruth really called his famous “called shot” home run. That was in 1932. There were people all over the streets begging for work and begging for food, struggling to survive.
    Bobby Fuller took a step forward.
    â€œMr. Thorpe,” he said, “you probably won’t believe this, but we came from the future. I really am your great-grandson—or will be, in the twenty-first century.”
    Jim shook Bobby’s hand, looking him square in the eye.
    â€œThe Aymara tribe of the high Andes sees the future as behind them and the past as ahead of them,” he said. “The past is known, so man sees it in front of him. But man cannot know the future, so he believes it is behind him, where it cannot be seen.”
    â€œThat’s whacked,” said Bobby.
    Jim Thorpe stared at Bobby, a puzzled look on his