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I spent most of the summer of 1970 waiting for Judge Cooper to shunt my case toward the U.S. Supreme Court where it belonged. I lacked the patience to paint. I refused employment in the photography businesses that used my name. I avoided gainful pursuits, as if they might indicate that I was trying to start a new career in expectation of losing my case.
By August I found myself focusing on some unpleasant truths.
"The Curt Flood corporations are on the rocks," I was told.
"So, the Curt Flood corporations are in deep trouble. Maybe I should put some money into them."
"You don't have enough and none is coming in. The way you're going, you'll be lucky to last the year."
I had been whistling in the dark. I actually had believed that the businesses would keep me alive if the need arose. Their prosperity had been what I had in mind when I assured everyone that my commercial interests meant that suing posed no financial hardship for me. Failure of the corporations would be a crushing embarrassment.
"I'll be ashamed to show my face in St. Louis after playing big shot all this time," I grieved. "I might as well clear out now.
"I'll go to Copenhagen," I announced. "Nobody knows me there. I can stretch a dollar further. Maybe I can find a bar or restaurant to buy into. Best of all, I won't have to worry about my image all the time. It will be a real vacation."
I did go and found a pleasant room overlooking a yacht basin near Copenhagen. I bought a sketch pad and beret and grew a goatee. I played artist on street corners and in the happy hunting grounds known as Tivoli Gardens. "Little do these beautiful Danish pastries realize," I mused, "that the esthetic black in the beret is actually Curt Flood, the famous St. Louis business tycoon and athlete, vacationing between triumphs."
I learned by mail that Judge Cooper had ruled, as expected, that the issues in my case could not be resolved at his level. And then I discovered that my supposed vacation was not at all what I had planned.