The Boys of Summer

From: James Algiers <james.algiers@gmail.com>

Subject: The boys of summer

Date: October 26, 2010 at 4:10:00 PM CDT

To: Louie

Louie…

Hot off the press.

JLA

The Boys of Summer - Summers Past

At this time of the year, October, when not watching the brutal sport of mayhem, i.e. football, many think of the World Series.  I find myself thinking, on occasion of the North Side vs South Side baseball games of the 1937 and 1938 summers, when two opposing teams, one of North Siders and one of South Siders would wage baseball games at the West Park.  

A coach from the high school would attend the park during the summer and would encourage and arrange ball games and other activities for kids from the city.  When compared to the present recreational programs, those programs of the 30’s were very minimal and were more or less spontaneous.  

Nevertheless, the games, after teams were recruited by my cousin from the South Side and myself from the North Side, were vigorous and possessive.

Possessive of bragging rights for the winter.  

Memories of the games have diminished, really passed, but memories of recruitment of players and procurement of supplies remain vivid.

One of the issues was the purchase of “hard balls.” 

Regulation hard balls were expensive, so expensive that the items were not supplied by the rec department but were required to be purchased by the players.  

That posed a real problem.  

We, the players, had no cash, and had no way of obtaining cash.  In fact, when we had a true, regulation hard ball, we nurtured and protected the ball.  One ball served for weeks, and soon became pounded. The laces were destroyed and loose flaps replaced the smooth surface of a new ball.  Ingenuity was needed to replace the damaged balls, and ingenuity was the manager’s job.  

When the laces were destroyed and the gapping flaps were present at the end of the day, and plans had been made to play again on the next afternoon, the night was spent sewing the ball.  The local harness maker, a neighbor, furnished a large needle used to sew horse collars and bridles.  He could not furnish suture material for the sewing, but did suggest the use of store string impregnated with wax.  Canning jar wax was obtained from home and the nights were spent sewing the balls. 

I recall one night sewing the ball completely around so that the next day’s game might be battled out.  It was accomplished, the game was completed, but the ball was not reparable.  This occurred on a Friday afternoon, the next scheduled game was on Monday.  

No one had the cash for a new ball, but an idea was generated.

On Sunday afternoon, the Land Of Lakes semi professional, local talented players played at the West Park.  The park was in a low flood plain, and the river surrounded the park.  Foul balls frequently were hit over the river into the marsh and “Ball Shaggers” were employed to shag for and recover the balls. 

The greatest of shaggers was a somewhat mentally slow boy by the name of “Wally.”  He spoke slowly, had few friends, but was known by all.  He collected papers during the week from the garbage cans and throwaways in the alley, and  delivered those papers to his uncle on the south side. His uncle lived in a rundown house, a house needing more paint than usual, a house with cracked and broken windows, a house which was off limits for kids.  

It was a house full of cats, his uncle’s house.  Wally was always seen at the ball park, never played, but always carried an old outfielder’s mitt.

On Sunday afternoon, my cousin and I applied for a job of ball shagger, to rescue and find foul balls.  We had other plans.  The manager hired us, explained the rules, “find and return the balls.”  

We had other plans.

When we staked out our assigned territories, one down the 3rd base line, and the other down the first base line, Wally took his assigned position behind the home plate grand stand.

During the game, Wally approached me and in a sly manner addressed a few mutual problems.  He slyly stated that he heard us speaking of our plan to obtain a ball.  He also stated that we needed a right fielder more often than not.  He had watched our ball games, from afar, but “would like to play.” 

He knew we were in need of an extra player for the next game; in view of what had happened during the last game. These ideas were expressed in “Walleze” manner, slowly with great hesitation and searching for adequate words.  

The idea of  “a ball for the right field position” slowly developed.  An agreement was made when Wally went across the creek, came back with a brand new ball which he “had just found last week--after the ball game.” 

He was hired on the spot.  We had a non-hitting, slow outfielder, who played out the season in right field, smiled a lot, and took pride in furnishing a new ball each week.  He enjoyed the summer, he struck out many times, but was the most valuable player of the team.  

A fallout benefit for Wally was that we furnished many papers to him during the week and he smiled not only in right field, but during the week.  His uncle was surprised with the increase in near-new papers. 

Wally was most quiet when asked “where he found the papers” and we never sewed another ball for the remainder of the summer.

Wally knew of our need for a right fielder when he observed a near catastrophe at a previous game.  He was an observer, I was a principal in a close call, a near death on the ball diamond.

Our right fielder was a teenager, as we all were.  He had a most protective mother. She watched over him; saw that he was not too active, and cautioned, no, she forbad him to run, play, or participate in the activities of West Park.  In spite of her control, let’s call him Tommy; Tommy learned to throw, catch, and hit.  He never learned to run.  His father bought him a glove, a Paul Werner glove, a leather glove; the sharpest glove on the north side.  

Tommy could catch, throw, but he never ran.  He had a heart murmur and the doctor told his mother to limit his activity to walking, and not too fast! It seems that he had a Patent Ductus; a congenital defect of the heart.  At that time, 1937 death with exertion was not too uncommon if the child exerted too much. 

Consequently, in spite of having a good arm, in spite of catching the ball, he was forbidden to run or exert.  His mother forbad playing ball.  He wanted to play, he sat on the side lines and held the glove in his hands. He was at each practice, and he asked to play at each game.  One day we were short a second baseman and he played.  Fortunately, there are times when the second baseman moves little and he got through the game.  

No one informed his Mother.

On the day of misfortune, he played second base.  He hit number six on the at bat chart and on his first at bat, somehow connected and sent the ball over the shortstop’s glove.  Tommy ran, yes, ran to first base.  On arrival he was short of breath, profoundly short of breath.  

He became blue, he wheezed, and he nearly collapsed. 

We were all scared. 

He went to the bench, wheezed, and looked gravely ill.  

He asked to be taken home.  He had his bike at the park. 

There were no adults at the park, no cars.  

So he sat on the cross bar of the bike and I pedaled him home; up the hill on High Street, over to Highland Ave.  I rang the door bell, presented him, still wheezing, and now cyanotic, to his Mother.  She was panicky, she was speechless, for a moment; she placed him on a chair, got cold towels for his forehead, and slowly his color returned to normal.  His breathing slowed, he was able to speak and he told his Mother, “I got a hit.” 

He smiled, closed his eyes and rested.

She, his Mother, didn’t smile. She told me how it was, and asked me to leave. I left, Tommy recovered, never visited West Park again and Wally played the number nine man in right field.

For closure on this episode, Tommy was operated in 1946, the ductus was closed, and at this time is still living, age 85.

He never again played ball, but he worked all his life, and became a stamp collector, extraordinary.  He also had the largest card collection of ball players in the county. His Mother also lived to be an older woman, and would say hello, in later years.

Wally died in middle age, in his uncle's home, on a cot, in the back room among the stacks of paper.

The North Side won.