There are many ways to remember events of the past: what house you lived in, what grade of school you were in, the age of your siblings or kids, your job, stories of baseball games, just to name a few. I would like to concentrate on baseball memories.
My first introduction to the game of baseball was in early elementary school in the rural area of Shiloh, Pennsylvania, about five miles from York. There was a ball diamond within walking distance of our farm house, built in 1792, and I remember watching the games, drinking orange soda and a hat being passed through the crowd, with, I suppose, any money collected going to the players. I don’t remember seeing their special game once a season when they played the game on donkeys. Obviously, this was many years before the founding of PETA in 1980.
I knew nothing about Major League Baseball until entering fourth grade, when my family moved to Delaware County. That’s when I became a lifelong Philadelphia Phillies fan, and not a very astute one at that. I remember betting kids in my class that the Phillies, who ended the season that year with 75 wins and 79 losses, would beat the Brooklyn Dodgers, who ended the season with 92 wins and 62 losses. This was obviously not a very sound bet, but I was lucky enough to collect my 75 cents in winnings.
The other disappointing/stupid thing I did was that I was such a strong Phillies fan, I never sat back and enjoyed many of the baseball heroes of the day, such as Hank Aaron, Willie Mays, Willie McCovey, Stan Musial, Roberto Clemente, Pete Rose (before he played for the Phillies) and many others.
Ninth grade brings back a good memory. I was invited by a school friend and his dad along with several other boys to see a game at Connie Mack Stadium. When I found out we had seats on the third base line around third base, I asked the father if he ever caught a ball. When he said yes, I asked him if he caught one that night if he would give it to me. Sure enough, a foul ball came rolling down toward our box and the father caught it and gave it to me. I treasured the ball for many years and still have it today. No, it wasn’t hit by one of the heroes mentioned above. It could not be sold for a handsome down payment for college tuition. It was hit by backup catcher Jim Coker, who was a very average (that may be a compliment) player who played nine years for the Phillies from 1958 to 1967. He only played 233 games with the Phils in all those years and had a lifetime batting average of .231, while hitting 16 home runs. However, it was a ball from Connie Mack Stadium. The ball is now slightly older than Jim Coker’s lifespan, because he died at the age of 55.
As we grew older as teens but not old enough to drive, many times a few guys would take a bus from Swarthmore to 69th Street, take the El closer to the Phillies’ Connie Mack Stadium, take a bus and then walk the rest of the way to the ballpark at 21st and Lehigh. Later on, we found it much easier to take a bus from Chester that would drop us off at the ballpark. I doubt if I had kids at that age that they would be allowed to take the same routes. Of course, back in the 1960s the world seemed like a safer place, or we were just naive.
As one or two of the boys turned 16 and obtained their drivers’ licenses, the trip became much easier. We got to see more of the world and were truly impressed. On our first trip via car, we passed a location with several bridges and one of my friends was so taken by them he said, “Look at them bridges!” I still remind him of his surprise and poor grammar 50 plus years later!
I played in various leagues until I was in 10th grade, at which time I joined my high school baseball team. I thought I was half decent until I was taught a very valuable lesson at the York County Fair. With my great throwing arm, I was quite confident I could knock the leaded “milk bottles” off the short stool with a softball and win a large stuffed animal for my sister, who drove us there from Delaware County. The man who was in charge of the booth knew a sucker when he saw one. I started off at 25 cents and each time I failed, he had me trying again at double or nothing until I lost five dollars! Don’t try to do the math because it doesn’t equate. However, I know I lost five dollars. In viewing one Present Value Calculator, that amount in 1960 would be worth $40.22 today. That stuffed bear I was after was probably worth less than that. Lesson learned!
During senior high school, there was a man, Henry, across the street that was old enough to be my father and we talked much about baseball. I used to stay up late at night in my room and listen on the radio to the games on the West Coast. My bedroom was in the front of the house, and if the Phillies won the night before, I would hang a red nightshirt out my window to let Henry know of the victory. Henry was also very superstitious. He would sit in one chair to watch the game, and if the Phillies were losing, he would get up and stand or sit in another chair to change their luck.
It was refreshing at the game on cool nights, especially just before the game and about midway through it, as the infield dirt was smoothed into a milky chocolate color and clean bases were placed at first, second and third. It reminded me of cocoa, with the pure white bases being marshmallows. Of course, before the game the infield dirt was wetted down, so it looked more like dark chocolate cocoa.
I hope you will be able to join me next week to hear about taking our oldest son to his first game, how a teen can teach an old pro, baking in the sun and being a hero to two old ladies.
Jeff Hall, of Honey Brook, contributes columns to Berks-Mont Newspapers. Questions/comments may be directed to jeffreyhall77@comcast.net.
