Springtime and Baseball

I am delighted to share this blog with David McCollum who has his roots in the Osage and Shidler and of course the oil camps.  David must have been one of those outstanding students of Mrs. Head and Miss Stebler as he now owns and publishes the Las Cruces Bulletin, Rio Rancho Observer, and Kirtland AFB Nucleus.  Whatever the formula those teachers had at Shidler it was great and lets give a little credit to great parents and community.

Here is one of his stories:

Shidler Baseball Park

Shidler Baseball Field

Photo by David McCollum

Springtime and Baseball

There was a time when every young boy’s goal was to grab his bat and glove for a game of baseball

                At the age of 10, I was certain that at some point in the future, I would play major league baseball.  Of course, at that time, there were no video games to play.  Pinball machines were illegal for minors because they were considered to be “gambling.”  Rural telephone connections were on “party lines” which meant that six to eight families were connected to the same phone line.  Cell phones were a futuristic concept found only in science fiction and Dick Tracy comics.  Few of us had televisions in our homes, and for those who did, the images were often “snowy” as our dads regularly had to climb upon our roofs to manually adjust the reception antenna.  As youngsters, it was up to us to use our imaginations to keep ourselves creatively occupied.

                There were about a dozen boys from ages eight to 12 who lived nearby in oilfield camps close to our crude baseball field that had been carved out of a somewhat level piece of cattle-grazing pastureland.  As youngsters, we all had one thing in common.  We loved baseball. 

Our heroes were Mickey Mantle, Stan Musial, Willy Mays, Duke Snider, Hank Aaron, Warren Spahn, Pee Wee Reese, Yogi Berra, Rocky Colavito, Al Kaline, Richie Ashburn and Roy Campanella.  We fervently collected and traded Topps baseball cards. For one cent, you could buy a single baseball card enclosed with a cardboard-like piece of pink gum in a wax paper wrapper.

Because you could not easily see through the wax wrapper, your penny investment was like a lottery.  Occasionally, you picked a star player.  However, more often you ended up with a “common” like Tex Clevenger, Jack Harshman or hundreds of other major leaguers whose names have been lost to obscurity over the years. The most valuable card at the time was a Mickey Mantle.  If you were lucky enough to have selected a package that included a “Mickey Mantle”, you were king of the mountain among your card collecting friends. To trade for a “Mickey Mantle” you likely had to give up at least five other All-Stars, a bunch of other select cards and probably some cash money as well.

                Card collecting and trading was entertaining.  However, our real thrill were getting out onto the dirt field and actually playing baseball, something we did almost every single day.  Two of my proudest possessions as a youngster were my three-fingered Stan “The-Man” Musial fielder’s glove and my 32-inch Mickey Mantle Louisville Slugger bat.  I can still recall the smell the freshly-oiled glove and the unique wood odor of the perfectly balanced ash bat.

Because we did not have enough players for two full teams, we invented a game we called “Work-Up.”  Among eight to 10 players we would draw straws to determine who would be the first three or four batters.  The rest of us would then race to our favorite position on the field.  The youngest and slowest were relegated to the outfield positions.

                The rules were simple.  The fielders played together against the batters.  When an out was made, the batter who made the out was sent to right field, and all the fielders moved up one position, rotating from right field to center field to left field to third base to shortstop to second base to first base to pitcher. Usually the batters had to furnish the catcher.  If a fly ball was caught, the fielder who made the catch traded places with the batter and no other fielders moved up.  The goal was to work your way up to be a batter, a position you maintained until you made an out.

                This was a great game.  We could play for hours.  The game was fair, because each participant, regardless of skill, had a chance to play every position.  There were no coaches.  There were no umpires.  Disputes were typically resolved by the oldest, strongest kid or the one who had brought the baseball.  If the owner of the baseball departed the game with his ball, the game was over.  As it turns out, “Work-Up” was a terrific game in which we not only were able to exercise, but we also learned about rules, mutual respect, communication, competition and getting along with one another. 

The baseball field was a great training ground for thousands of youngsters from my generation.  It was a time of dreams and great expectations.  And while, my childhood goal of playing major league baseball was not realized, I will never forget the lessons learned and the friendships made in those games of “Work-Up.” 

I would not trade those days for anything.

--------------------

 by David McColllum

Thanks for your time and especially thanks to David McCollum,

thepioneerman.com