GHOSTS

       Last night we went to our great-neice's Recreation League basketball game in the local Community Rec Center.  Fifty-seven years ago, that building was the gymnasium for the town's high school. Adjacent to the gym is the baseball field, now used primarily for Rec League soccer games. I attended high school in the county-seat town some 15 miles away and the school here was our big athletic rival. 
    Prior to last night's game, I decided to 'stretch my legs' and walk in the area.  As it developed, more than the legs were 'stretched'.  As a high school athlete, I never attracted the attention of college and university scouts but I played well enough to enjoy the games.  Taking my seat at game time, I remembered that it was in this same building that I scored my 'career high' eighteen points, as  we who started the game, as well as the #6 player, all scored in double figures to avenge the previous year's tournament loss to this school. (Remember, this was in 1956...the numbers are indelibly locked within my brain cells.)  I 'called the roll' of our team members, sadly noting the recent death of Billy Joe, our Center.
   When walking past the baseball field which was the largest in the county, I had remembered that my now-friend threw a curve that I never solved. It was also here in batting practice try-out for the county American Legion team  that I 'knew' I had secured a uniform.  This was before dad gave me the reality lesson that my attendance at college in the fall meant that I had to have summer employment in order to help with the expenses.  Was I disappointed?  Is New York City a large town? Did I also 'understand'? Of course.  
   Stopping to look at the 'stadium' , I again 'called the roll': "Junior" pitching for 'them',  the same basketball Center was also our mainstay pitcher.  Then there was Gwen and later 'Tiny' (6'6") as catcher, Billy or Larry at third (both also deceased), Herman (deceased) or Vossie at second, Jerome at shortstop, Carl in left field, Jimmy in centerfield, J.B. played right, my younger brother was that year a 'bench warmer' awaiting his time of 'glory' later  and I was first-baseman. Both teams were coached by the same teacher who also taught Physics, Chemistry and French I and II.  How's that for multi-tasking?  Coach was essentially bald and, in adolescent fashion, we nicknamed him 'Curly', though no one ever addressed him with that moniker.
   My Alma Mater as well as this town's high school are long-gone, replaced by larger institutions that are consolidations of the 'town schools'.  The academic offerings in each now exceed the core curriculum afforded by our smaller schools. And there are teams in sports unheard of a half-century ago.  Nostalgia has been defined as a kind of homesickness of the soul, often indulged  by those of us of older age.  Care needs to be exercised here because as a former academic historian, I recognize the siren-song in 'retrospective falsification'.  The Past can be a fun place to visit; living there risks memory distortions and romanticizations.
    Were we 'good'? Well, we 'won some and lost some' and from this vantage point, the question seems irrelevant. Perhaps there were 'life lessons' gained.  Certainly, a sense of place and 'belonging' helped give stability until additional internalized guidelines could be formed and confirmed.
    As I replayed 'once upon a time' games with these 'ghosts', I wondered what our niece will remember fifty-plus years into her future.

     Satchel