When I was a boy I was a Boy Scout. One day in the early 1960s when I was about
10 years old my scout troop held a special event, the only one of its kind I can
remember. In a local hall, a small rectangular-shaped
brick building consisting on the inside of mostly one large room, there was a
gathering featuring two former major league baseball players. My father was an assistant scout leader and
took me to the event after work that evening.
In the previous couple of years I had become a big fan of the White Sox,
and to a lesser extent the Cubs, and I was learning the names of some former
ballplayers. But these two men were utterly
unfamiliar to me.
It’s truly amazing what small details one can remember from
so many years ago, while forgetting so many things of far greater
importance. We arrived late and sat in
the back on the left side of the one middle aisle. About 50 boys were there, Scouts themselves
and probably some brothers and cousins, and a few scoutmaster dads. One of the former players was speaking, and
he had everyone’s attention. He was
talking about a baseball camp he ran for boys, and he showed lots of slides. It looked and sounded like a great place, one
I could only dream of attending. I even
remember that it was near Kansas City, that’s how big an impression it made on
me at the time. We missed the remarks of
the first former player, but they couldn’t have been much because we weren’t
very late and the second player was already talking.
When Mickey Owen finished talking about his baseball camp, the
event came to a close. Many boys left,
for home and homework and chores, but many stayed and gathered around Owen up
in front to hear more about his camp and to grab a brochure and maybe an
autograph. I started for Owen myself,
but my dad stopped me and told me to head up front to the right side where the
other former major leaguer was standing talking to a few dads. I resisted.
The other guy was too small to have been much of a ballplayer, and he
didn’t have a baseball camp. But my father
was strangely insistent, and since by then I would have been way in the back of
the large group around Owen, I finally relented and we walked up front and said
hello to the other ballplayer.
Up close he still seemed small as baseball players went, as
far as I could tell such a thing at age 10.
Although all the other boys were gathered around Owen, all but one of
the few dads present were talking to the other player. He greeted me warmly and gave me an
autograph. My dad and I stayed talking
for a few minutes and then left for home.
I never did get close up to Mickey Owen and that’s as close as I ever
got to his baseball camp. But I did get
to meet and get the autograph of a former player I later learned had been an American
League Most Valuable Player.
The lesson here is that 10 year olds don’t know as much as
their fathers.
A Hall of Fame shortstop who played on seven New York Yankee
world championship teams and still holds numerous records for shortstops in
World Series play, Phil “The Scooter” Rizzuto passed away in 2007 at the age of
89 and would have been 100 years old today. Holy cow.
R Balsamo
