A Class Act

Baseball, being a kid, and long summer days, ah the memories. It certainly isn’t what it used to be. When I grew up in the late 50’s and early 60’s there were no Playstations, X-boxes, computers, internet, cable, dish networks, DVD’s, I-pods, or the myriad of things that keep youth occupied these days (including occupying me on a regular basis as well). My, what a deprived childhood I had.

Well, not really. In the summers there was baseball, and once school was out, and the days were long, we were free, free at last, to play all day. It was enough to make us happy! But then of course we didn’t know any better, but sometimes ignorance is bliss! If you have ever seen the movie Sandlot that is what my youth was like. I grew up three doors down from a neighborhood park that was a square block big. It wasn’t really made for baseball, but they had put a backstop up, and we created the rest. It wasn’t a perfect diamond, but there was a first, second, and third base, which were really just worn spots in the grass. Base paths came along the more we played. Some things just come naturally. It wasn’t perfectly level, but it was good enough. So what if the pitcher was at something of a disadvantage having to pitch slightly uphill? And just because there were a few trees in center field that wasn’t going to stop us. In left field there was a natural barrier, the street. Home run territory! If you could keep your feet in the grass and reach back and make the catch to rob someone you made the play of the day! Sports Center hasn’t seen some of the fabulous catches we made! There was also a power pole in left center that had a guide wire down to the ground that interrupted several running grabs. It was hard to see when your eyes were on the flight of the ball. A very painful experience.

It didn’t matter how many players we had, we had a game. Even one on one became home run derby. Two on two was just fine. Ghost runners and pitcher’s hands out. Right field out. If you don’t recognize these things you are just too young to appreciate sandlot baseball, and I feel sorry for you for what you are missing. Three on three or more became double headers and marathons.

After games it was trading baseball cards (if only I still had them), talking about the big league players, and looking forward to tomorrow and more of the same. Some of us played in the organized little league, some didn’t, but on that field we were in our own league. For those of us who did play in the organized leagues it certainly helped make us better.

The organized leagues were big events. Uniforms! Of course this was before the fantastic advances in technology that allow for the lightweight uniforms of today. These were wool, heavy, and you had stirrup stockings and no one would have been caught dead not having the pant legs up to just below the knees. When you put the uniform on it was special. It was game day. Umpires, real fields, chalked lines, people actually watching you play!

I grew up in northern Illinois, so the season for the organized leagues didn’t start until near the end of the school year and lasted into July. Back then the only “travel teams” were the All-Star teams after the season, and we might travel to a tournament in a town within about 30 miles, but that was it. At the end of each season there was a special trip we made in addition to that though. We were about 180 miles from Chicago and we would all get on school buses and go to a Saturday game at either Wrigley or Comiskey (Old Comiskey!). What a treat! Big league baseball! For most of us it was the only time that year that we would see a game live. The Saturday Game of the Week was the only game televised, and other than that it was falling asleep at night listening to the White Sox, or Cardinals (or the Cubs during the daytime, but we were normally too busy playing the game to listen to one) on the nine volt transistor radio with you earpiece in your ear. This was BIG!

I don’t believe there is any better place to see a baseball game than Wrigley Field. Of course I am biased, and have not been to all major league parks. I am sure that Fenway is quite nice, I would love to go to Dodger Stadium someday, and the new “old school” parks probably have their plus sides. But Wrigley is special. Always has been, and always will be. The ivy, the closeness, the wind, the neighborhood. It all comes together to make a baseball heaven. And, of course there is always the Cubs.

I remember one year in particular. I don’t remember the exact year, but it was in the early sixties, and I really don’t remember who played the Cubs that particular day. I do remember that it was during the time when the Cubs had come up with the brilliant idea of not having a manager, but having a rotating “head coach” among the coaching staff. Leave it to the Cubs to come up with things that just don’t make any sense what so ever. And don’t work either. I also remember that it was the “Saturday Game of the Week” and was being televised. This was REALLY BIG.

This was during the time when Dizzy Dean and Pee Wee Reese were the commentators. Or should I say Pee Wee was the straight man for Dizzy and his ramblings. We always left very early so that we would be there in plenty of time to try to get autographs and an opportunity to go down close to the field. When we got there that day and got into the paradise that was, and is, Wrigley we all noticed that there was a pretty big crowd of boys our age right behind home plate. So of course that was the first place we headed. It turned out that Pee Wee Reese was on the field with the camera crew interviewing one of the players for the pre-game show. I don’t remember who the player was, but I knew who Pee Wee Reese was. While I wasn’t quite old enough to have seen him play I knew all about what a great player he had been and how he had been integral in supporting Jackie Robinson when he had come into the big leagues. And he was on The Game of the Week!

We were fascinated by the scene. This was actually going to be on TV. Maybe they would scan the camera and catch some of us. Probably not likely for our group though since we were buried a little deep in the crowd. But anything was possible.

After the interview was over the camera crew started wrapping up the wires and microphones and equipment. Pee Wee made his way to the wall right behind home plate where we were all gathered. The brick wall at Wrigley is only about waist high to a man, and at that time it was the only way off the field to get up through the stands to the broadcast booth. When he got to the gate there was a sea of boys waiting to get an autograph. I had been able to gradually inch my up through the crowd during the interview so that I wasn’t actually in too bad a spot. My heart was beginning to beat a little bit quicker.

Pee Wee started signing everything that was pushed toward him while gradually inching his way through the crowd. He was very gracious and accommodating talking while he was signing and making a lot of young guys very happy. As he inched closer to where I was I got more excited by the minute. He had several “big” guys with him of course that were helping to make a path for him so that he could get through. I had managed to get right along the steps up through the stands so he would have to come by me.

As he got closer and closer, all the while signing and moving, signing, and moving, I was absolutely sure I was getting his signature on my autograph book. But just as he got to me, the next one in line, he suddenly stopped and said to the crowd in general “O.K., sorry guys but that’s got to be it. I have got to get to the booth to get ready for the game. I hope you all understand”.

Well of course I didn’t understand! I was next! If you have ever gone from an extreme adrenaline high to complete despair in a matter of seconds you know how I felt at that moment. I am sure I looked like the most pathetic young kid in the history of Wrigley Field. And that’s saying a lot considering how many losses the regular kids who attended games had to go through! My head sank, and my shoulders drooped to my knees.

Pee Wee Reese had very good eyesight. He noticed me. The next thing that happened is, to this day, almost unbelievable to me. He put his arm around my shoulder and started walking me up the steps with him. He said “I really have to get to the booth. I know you were the next one in line, but if I signed for you, then I would have to sign for the next, and so on, and I have to stop at some point so that I get to where I need to be.” He kept his arm on my shoulder and walked me up with him to the walkway between the box seats and the upper level. There he and his escorts walked away and up the next flight to get to the broadcast booth.

I know that there are a lot of professional athletes who are great guys. And in the history of sports there have been some truly wonderful people, and I have even met a few of them. But Pee Wee Reese was a hero to me that day, and has been ever since. I regret that I didn’t take the time to write to him while he was alive and tell him what that moment had meant to me. I didn’t get an autograph that day, I got a memory that lasts a life time. One that always brings joy to my heart, and one day I will actually wash the shoulder he had his hand on (just kidding of course…though it did take several days at the time). It was a class act by a very classy guy…