Baseball Memories
ALAN writes:
“Young and foolish,
Why is it wrong to be,
Young and foolish,
We haven’t long to be,
Soon enough the carefree days, the
sunlit days go by…..”
— “Young and Foolish” (1954)
How very true. And so now, I look back to those carefree, sunlit days from the other end of life. The years 1958-’64 stand out in memory, and baseball was a big part of those years — as it was then, not as it is today.
Grandfather, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins — all took an interest in baseball, mostly via radio, sometimes in attending games at Sportsman’s Park in north St. Louis. Some of them had played softball or baseball at neighborhood parks when they were young. When I was 9-10 years old, each of my parents took me to games at that wonderful old ballpark, just a few years before it was made into dust. (Frank Sinatra comes to mind: You could stand at that location today and invoke his recording of “There Used to Be a Ballpark” right there.)
Baseball entered my awareness in 1958. My father taught me the essentials of the game on many evenings and Saturday afternoons at Marquette Park. I learned about baseball cards from classmates at St. Anthony of Padua school. All summer long, we collected them, traded them, and carried them in our pockets. In spring and autumn, we played games with them outside our school building during recess. We reconnoitered our neighborhood and found five confectionaries, two dime stores, two drug stores, and two corner markets where we knew we could find five-cent packs of baseball cards in case our nickels and dimes became too burdensome.
The vivid colors, the format, the names and players pictured on those 1958 Topps cards became etched forever deep in memory. My boyhood pal Jeff and I compared our evaluations of such cards as we walked through Marquette Park in the heat of midsummer days, pausing now and then for life support at one of the two drinking fountains. We walked countless times past the screen door with a bell on the top and into the Kozy Korner Confectionary in search of such cards. One of my classmates suckered me out of a nickel in exchange for a 1957 Cardinals team card. (Real value in 1958: One cent.) Couldn’t even trust a fellow altar boy.
I remember sitting in our living room with my grandfather as he watched games in the 1958 World Series on our black-and-white television. Twenty years earlier, he watched my mother and her classmates play softball at Fox Playground in south St. Louis. If the Cardinals were well on their way toward losing a game, he would get up and turn the radio off in exasperation. At age 79, he could endure only so many losses by the home team. In later years, I felt the same. (more…)






