“An Evening at Roosevelt Park”
Summer 1967
Del Rio, Texas
Age: 14
It's been a "slow" summer. I've done all the usual things of course. Ride my bike a million miles. Climb the big pecan tree in front of our house with little Sterling. Fly my Cox .049 PT-19 airplane at Star Park--a lot. Swim at Moore Park--and even once at Dodson's Trailer Park. Watch Tarzan movies on TV. MAN! I'd like to have some of those swingin’ vines and a jungle!
But that's just it. I'm doing all the "usual" stuff while some of my friends are drivin’ real cars now.
I can drive--sure--but not with a license. In fact, two Saturdays ago, Daddy had our gold '65 Galaxy 500 worked on by something he called a "shade tree mechanic.” When it was ready, he had me to follow him home driving our other car, the '56 Ford, while he drove the Galaxy. I did good up until I turned left too closely in front of that north bound car at Main and our street – which is 5th. But he had said "follow right behind me." So, I did. Thankfully we didn't wreck or even get a horn honked at us, but I have to admit--It Was Close! I hadda gun it a little to clear the other guy's front bumper.
So, anyway, how am I gonna salvage this summer?
I could start a fire in the back yard! Nah. Already did that in the 4th grade.
I could shoot Daddy's 22 rifle in the kitchen and put another hole in the counter top! Nah. Too dangerous.
I could take Poochie on a walk all the way to the airport!!! Never done THAT! Nah. He'd do it, but his short little wiener dog legs might fall plumb off. Too far.
I guess there's nothin. Shoot man! It’s a usual summer...
But then everything changes. It's Thursday afternoon, which means Daddy went today to his Lion's Club meeting for noontime dinner at the Roswell Hotel. He almost always has good stories to tell after those meetings, and I hope supper tonight will be no different.
And, speaking of supper, it’s finally ready, and I know this because I hear, "Y'all Come On!" Ring out from the kitchen. I wash my hands--sorta--and head to my spot at the big round kitchen table.
Salisbury steak with gravy, green beans, rice, fresh tomato slices, and iced tea. It's a great meal, and I wait for the Lions Club story.
Here it comes! Oh boy! I love my Daddy...
"The Lion's Club is going to play the Kiwanis Club to raise money."
"Play WHAT?" I hear myself ask. These guys usually only play with Food, but THIS sounds like some kind of a sporting event!
"Baseball! Well, softball." He answers, and then adds, "It'll be at Roosevelt Park in three weeks. 8 PM, Thursday night. And we have to start practicing."
I'm stunned. This is the answer to my "usual" summer--AND my greatest fear--all rolled into one shocking announcement!
So many BAD things can happen here. The Lions can, and probably will, lose--which will cause me endless kidding from friends whose dad's are in the stupid Kiwanis Club. Or, the Lions could leave Daddy in the dug out and not let him play.
But worst of all--Daddy could play and screw up! That--I can't handle. I don't want his feelings hurt. I don't want the entire town to laugh at him! And they WILL if he screws up.
Oh please God! When I prayed for an UNusual summer, I didn't want this.
I'll just be a Freshman in high school this fall, and I'm already a good bit taller than Daddy. He's not a midget, but I can now see that he's a little short for a man.
Even though his mom ("Mama" to us grandkids) calls him simply "WP," his sister, Aunt Jo, calls him "Pee Wee." And he's been bald all of my life. We cousins often poke fun at him, and he smiles, but it's not really fun--or funny--to me. I just play along to sorta be one of them.
I'm proud of Daddy for so many reasons, but being an athlete isn't one of them. Why couldn't the Lions and Kiwanisians have a shooting match? He'd certainly hold his own there! But--oh well--softball it is! I wanted an UNusual summer, and I sure got one this time...
- Three Weeks Later -
Three weeks have flown by. Both teams have been practicing three times a week, and, though I've not seen any of the "practices," they say they're ready. Tonight's the night--under the Big Lights, and of course, I'm going with Daddy to that game. I go with him everywhere I can--even boring things like our new church building dedication service--just to be WITH him.
So, he comes home from work a little early and changes from his business suit into his Saturday work clothes. I've never seen him in shorts, much less a baseball uniform. Apparently, that's either not required this evening, or he'll be the onliest one NOT in uniform.
Oh well, let's get it over with.
As we near Roosevelt Park, I see that the lights are already on even though it's barely sundown--and I start to get excited.
This is where the Wildcat Baseball Team plays. Where World Champion Little League All-Star teams have played. Where Real baseball happens--under the big lights.
Daddy says, "Looks like a good crowd." as I squint through the cloud of dust kicked up into the flood-light-brightened sky by cars parking on unpaved side streets nearby. "And that's the point." he adds.
Of course, I know that's NOT the point. The Lions simply HAVE to win this game.
Car parked, we head in toward the "hallowed ground." Daddy pays the admission fee for both of us, and I see that even all the players have to pay--a little bit.
He gives me some change for a Coke and heads off with his laughing Lions club buddies. They don't seem to be real worried about who wins--or worse yet--who loses.
I sit down between two of my buddies from school--both wearing their red Little League baseball caps down low over their eyes. Both chewin’ and spitin’ salty sunflower seeds. And we look out into the freshly groomed infield--under the big lights. "Beautiful," I think. This is alMOST the Big Leagues.
The Lions are home team, and they take the field as the announcer quickly calls out their names. Daddy isn't there! He's sitting on the bench with two other guys talking, laughing and clapping.
Oh no! Please Lord, let him play!
NO WAIT!--leave him right there having fun with his friends!
OH HECK!!! Please let him play but don't let the ball come his way--PLEASE!
Three innings go by and the Lions are ahead by two runs. I am stunned because they are actually playing "well." Those rowdy Kiwanis guys are fooling around more than playing, but the crowd seems to be enjoying it all, and that's a good thing.
Daddy hasn't played--yet.
Finally, the Lions take the field for the top of the fourth--and Daddy trots out to right field! He's going to play!--With a borrowed glove.
Now I REALLY start praying. "Please no long fly balls to right field! Please."
The Kiwanis guys keep goofin off, but somehow they get one man to second. Two more batters, and this half inning is over on a pop-up to first. No hits to right field. "Thank You Lord!"
Time for the now Mighty Lions to bat again. Gotta hold this lead--just two more innings after this at bat.
First batter gets a blooper hit single! He's On and---
And OH NO!!
Daddy's comin’ to the plate! "Oh Dear God!" I haven't seen him swing a bat since I was in the fourth grade at North Heights. My heart's RACING!
"Please don't let him screw up! Please!"
Over the loud speaker I hear, "Doc Meredith is our next batter!' and the crowd politely applauds--me among them. Someone shouts something funny, and Daddy laughs, turns toward the voice and waves.
The bright lights reflect off his shiny bald scalp as he steps into the batter's box with a long black bat. He looks like he knows what he's doing. "Thank you, Jesus!"
I'm SO nervous as my buddies smile and elbow punch me from both sides.
What's this? The pitcher, first baseman and catcher call a conference at the mound. "NOW they get serious??!!! Couldn't they just let him get a little hit?"
Oh well. Conference over. Here we go.
The pitcher leans forward and stares a long time at the catcher. He shakes off one, two, three signs.
For gosh sakes guys! This is softball! SLOW PITCH! There ARE no signs!
He stands back up straight, swings the ball back and loops a high arching pitch toward home plate. It's a FAT one, and Daddy winds up his bat for the swing!
I can't breathe!
Daddy LET'S LOOSE on that ball like--well-----The Babe woulda been prouda him!
HE CLOBBERS IT! IT’S GOTTA be a HOME RUN!
NO!
Wait!
It exploded.
The ball E X P L O D E D !
And what's this?
He's wet, and the crowd is ROARING with cruel laughter.
Then someone in the stands says it, “Grapefruit!”
The ball WAS a grapefruit wrapped in white tissue paper, and Daddy annihilated it!
He's soaked from head to toe and he's what? Laughing. Laughing till he can hardly stand up.
But deep down inside, I'm crying, and I can't show it. I don't dare.
As the laughing pitcher runs toward Daddy with a towel and then helps him clear his glasses, I "laugh" and applaud along with the crowd. It's not easy. Why have they done this to my Daddy. That WOULDA been a home run. I'm sure of it.
My friends finally figure out that I'm not really laughing, and they stop, reach down almost in unison to pick up their cokes from the floor between their feet. We always protect our cokes that way, but right now, they're trying to protect me. That's what good friends are for. Some things you just don't mess with--especially our parents.
The players finally quit trying to clean up the mess and award Daddy a double. He trots off toward second base still laughing--a little bit.
The rest of the game is a blur.
The Lions win, and Daddy never does screw up.
Despite it all, he's on the winning team.
- The Drive Home -
As he drives us toward 604 Avenue D--home--I congratulate Daddy on the big win.
He says, "Thank you." and keeps on steering us toward Avenue F--in silence.
I finally say it. "You sure creamed that grapefruit!"
He says, "Yep, I guess I did."
"It woulda been a home run ya know." I sorta mutter.
"Well, maybe. We'll never know will we?" he replies.
"Are your glasses ok?"
"Sure, but I'll have to wash 'em when we get home. Hand me my pipe."
Which I do,
and we drive the rest of the way home …
… in silence.
- Present Day -
Daddy and I never again discussed that evening at Roosevelt Park. He loved his Lion’s Club friends and their primary cause, helping blind people – especially children. So, raising money that night was a worthy goal that both clubs definitely achieved.
And it’s quite possible that he viewed being selected for the fat-white-grapefruit pitch as an honor. Certainly, he was far more mature than was I. However, I knew him well, and I think that the laughter of that crowd really WAS cruel.
Of course, the good people in the crowd had no way of knowing that my dad had suffered more than his share of ridicule throughout his life – or that he had simply internalized all of it as he went along.
And they had no way of knowing that the internalization of all those hurts might eventually do more than just emotional damage. They had no way of knowing that it might someday tragically and suddenly contribute to the act that ended his life at just 50 years of age.
Copyright 2013