"TAKE ME OUT TO THE BALLGAME"

Can this be true ?  The Red Sox as of today are in first place in their division?  Oh, well, too early to get excited about their prospects. . . too much Red Sox history of disappointments.  I was bitten by the Red Sox 'bug' many years ago when a student at Boston University, having cut a class in Church History to see Ted Williams in his next to last game.  Now with three World Series Championships within the past 12 years a bit of the historic pain has been assuaged.

In the meantime, there is baseball at a different level and there are those who would maintain "at a purer level", i.e., the Minor Leagues and various categories of the 'non-professional', those who play it for the sheer fun .

In the late 1980's my cousin, Tommy,  pitched for a minor league affiliate of the New York Mets.  HIs team occasionally played in the city where I then lived and he would always provide complimentary tickets.  On one occasion, he was the winning pitcher in a game there and I realized that despite my love of the  game this was likely the only  time that I would see the family name in scoreboard lights.

"If they don't win, it's a shame . . ."

When a child, my grand-son Taylor enjoyed singing, "Let me   woot, woot, woot, for the home team. . ."

A few weeks ago, along with colleagues and friends, I attended a game of the local Class A-Advanced affiliate of the Chicago White Sox.  It was fun to watch the home runs but they lost.  Nearby, the Single A affiliate of the Miami Marlins has consistently provided good baseball and good entertainment.  Recently, Miss Babe Ruth retired after several years of retrieving bats, delivering balls to umpires, and playing post-game 'fetch'.  A black Lab Retriever, she has been succeeded by her brother, Master Yogi Berra, and niece, Miss LouLou Gehrig.  (Check her out on You Tube.)

"The moment of Truth . . . "

When it comes to athletic "heroes", I prefer to find mine on a more local level.  Four of my wife's grand-nephews play on  county recreation league teams and we anticipate attending their upcoming games.  Ten year old Ian who views us as surrogate grand-parents is developing into a very talented baseball player, equally adept as pitcher, catcher, shortstop and hitter.  Last week-end he had his first ever over the fence home run, having hit an 'in the park' home run the week-end previously.

Ian steals home

My late Uncle Ken was an overpowering pitcher in his youth.

Having played in the minors, he acknowledged in his later years that every Spring, he 'got the itch', meaning he would have relished the opportunity play once again.  I never progressed beyond high school athletics but I played first base well enough to enjoy the games.  Like Uncle Ken, I still 'get the itch' at this time of the year.

"Once upon my time . . ."

"Play Ball"

Satchel

'"SHOESHINE, MISTER?"

   This shoe shine box was my "office" as I made my first foray into entrepreneurship.  Our dad had built it in high school shop class many years earlier.  My brother and I guess it to be about 90 years old now.

      Throughout his life dad always maintained a high gloss on his 'dress shoes'.  He often admonished his sons that regardless of how well- dressed someone might be, if the shoes were scuffed and dirty, well... they just were not actually well-dressed.  As I write this, I touch memories of Saturday night shoe shines as we prepared for next day's church attendance. My almost 68 year old 'baby brother' maintains that he used it when shining his older brothers' shoes for their high school dates.

     Back to the entrepreneur-ing.  Around the age of  ten or eleven, wanting to earn additional money, I applied for the job of  shoe shiner at Mr. Lewter's barbershop.  (In our area at that time, barbershops had a virtual monopoly as the place to receive such service.)  Mr. Lewter  told me that Charles G. currently had the job but had not been there for several weeks. (The 'work week' was Friday afternoon after school and all day on Saturdays.)  Then he added that if Charles did not come in 'tomorrow' ...Saturday... , I could have the job.  I asked if I could stay and shine shoes that day for any customers that might want that. 'Yes'.  Well,  I had a few customers.  Charles apparently learned of all that and came to the shop the following morning.  Whereupon, I took the above box, well stocked with tools of the trade, and set up my business across the street in front of the dry cleaning plant owned by dad and my uncle.  Unlike Charles's experience that day, my business 'boomed' and by the end of the day, he 'resigned'.  The following week, I was in my new 'office' and remained there until I was hired to work in the new 'supermarket' that came to town.






    Unlike the Chattanooga Shoe Shine Boy (of the song by that title) who "charges you a nickel just to shine one shoe", I remember my fee being 25 cents.  Mr. Lewter provided the space free, so on a given week-end I could earn a respectable income.  I suppose his rationale --beyond his kindness to an enterprising kid -- was that having a shoe shiner in his shop was also 'good for business'.  It has been a long time  since I had a professional shoe shine and have no idea the current cost but likely it is in the range of what an inexpensive pair of shoes might have cost in the late 1940's.

   When Mr. Lewter moved his shop to a more spacious locale, I also had a larger 'office'.  Only once did I have an unpleasant customer experience.  On a rainy Saturday, Charlie Gray, a local 'jack-leg preacher' (according to the Oxford English Dictionary:
 "incompetent, unskilled, unscrupulous, dishonest. Frequently used of lawyers and preachers.") asked that I shine his shoes.  When I had finished, this physically large man said, "Son, it's raining outside. You don't want to charge me a quarter, do you?"  He gave me 15 cents. I felt intimidated, by his being an 'adult' and by his size. Today, we might call this behavior 'bullying'. I prefer 'grandiose'.  This same man said to dad, the dry cleaner, that since  he (Charlie) was a minister, dad ought to give him a reduced rate for cleaning his clothing.  Whereupon dad ended that claim of specialness by informing Charlie that it cost dad as much to clean his clothes as it did anyone else's.

    A few years later, when our family moved to a new town and dad began his career with Metropolitan Insurance Company, my brother launched his own  'business career' shining shoes in our uncle's shop in the nearby mill town.  He claims little remembrance of that time other than the shop's lack of indoor plumbing, necessitating considerable resourcefulness in seeking alternatives.  

    The Chattanooga Shoe Shine Artist allegedly could also 'make the oldest kind  o' leather look like new' through his virtuosity in snapping the cloth.  I never reached that level of artistry but I developed sufficient skills so that when I was a lowly army private, I could put an impressive 'spit shine' on my boots.  Only rarely, when in a rush, did I fall back on the prevailing trick of using a commercial brand deodorant pad that could produce a shine wherein you could see your face well enough to shave . . .  provided no water hit them and the sergeant was in sufficient hurry not to look too  closely.

    Wow ! If I had known that trick years earlier, I could have given Charlie his 'money's worth'.
       
    Satchel