Baseball Story

I first met Hal when I moved into a rooming house in Evanston,
Illinois in 1965. The rented space was more of a dormitory, almost like
an army barracks, and had beds very close together. As the landlord's
son, Jimmy, showed me to a bunk, I could smell body odors and alcohol.
These were the best accommodations I could afford on my $70 per week
expense money.

After placing my briefcase and clothing bag under the bed, I introduced
myself to Hal and was off to the bathroom. When I reentered the room, a
real ruckus had broken out. As quickly as I had exited the room, stage
right, one of the roomers had started to pilfer my bag. Hal had taken
him to task and had a bloody nose to show for his efforts. Just as I
entered the fray, Jimmy and his mother appeared to restore order.

Being the aggrieved individual, I was offered a move to a lower level,
where I'd share a room with Jimmy who'd be leaving soon to attend
college back east. I really got a bargain for my $21 per week. I stayed
in the room for the whole summer.

The next afternoon was my afternoon for fishing. A walk out on a jetty
made smelt fishing easy. Hal and his friend Vick came out on the jetty
and became my constant companions as I fished each afternoon. They'd go
for bait, snacks, hooks, water, beer, or whatever was needed. Hal and
Vick always took what fish we caught (for a friend.) I never knew where
they stayed after that. They just appeared after I finished work each
day. My yellow Mustang was easy to spot in North Chicago. They weren't
pushy. They'd eat food spamples which were a part of my business.
They'd help me drink beer. They never asked for much...just enough to
get a bottle of MD or Thunderbird, which I think was 82 cents a bottle
at that time.

I never regretted feeding their habit of drinking. It was just
something they'd gotten into over the years. Hal could really scare
birds away from the bait. His left handed throw would knock a bird into
Lake Michigan from 30 paces just as would Vick's right handed toss.
Both appeared to be in their sixties. I thought they would have made
great baseball pitchers a few years back.

My fishing buddies always wanted to get me a girlfriend. The trouble
was that most of their friends were addicted or mental cases, not the
southern belle type female that I had always envisioned. Hal and Vick
were a part of my life.

After my three month gig in and around Chicago, I left Hal and Vick
with crisp $20 bills in their pockets and smiles on their faces as I
migrated back south to avoid the winter cold and snows.

My winter months were filled with college studies, family and friends,
without a thought of Hal and Vick and the cold Chicago winters;
however, the spring thaws came and my job in North Chicago and Evanston
resumed. I drank beer. I fished for smelt. I didn't have anyone to run
errands for me. Where were Hal and Vick? As fall and my return south
approached, I began to search more thoroughly for Hal and Vick.

I found a bartender who had seen the three of us together the year
before. "Yes," he remembered Hal and Vick. It seemed that the harsh
winter had gotten them. The bartender reflected, "You know, both those
guys were 20 game winners in the 40ies on the same team. Too bad! They
died together just like they played together."

I missed my friends. They'd experienced greatness. I was special to
them. That what makes the old baseball they gave me so special. They
didn't attach any stories to it...just gave it to me. I can add the
stories myself.