though the world was falling down around us and the war in Southeast
Asia was raging out of control. Amidst growing opposition to the war
in Vietnam, large-scale anti-war protests were held in New York, San
Francisco and other cities. On April 4th, a lone assassin killed Dr.
Martin Luther King Jr., America's leading civil rights activist. James
Earl Ray was later convicted of the assassination. Robert Kennedy,
brother of the late President John F. Kennedy, was killed on June 5th,
after winning the Democratic primary for the Presidency in California.
Kennedy was killed by a lone gunman, Sirhan Sirhan, in the kitchen of
the Ambassador Hotel. Although I was only ten years old in 1968, I
was conscious of these events as they unfolded before us. However, I
had my own personal crisis that kept me busy. This is a short story
of my time with the Senators of the Arcade baseball Little League
which took place in the spring and summer of 1968.
In the summer of 1968, Simon and Garfunkel were busy with their #1 hit
song, Mrs. Robinson. Although the song lamented the loss of Joe
DiMaggio, a certain Mr. Don Drysdale was the current hero in the Major
Leagues, pitching his 6th straight shutout, en route to 58 straight
scoreless innings. I knew this of course, because my father had his
Philco radio tuned to the Major League Baseball Game of the Week every
weekend. The radio sat perched on a table inside the backyard patio
of our modest three-bedroom home.
My brother collected sporting news tabloids, and he hung posters of
his favorite athletes of the day on every wall of our bedroom. The
poster of Ray Nitschke still haunts me today. He played linebacker
with the Green Bay Packers and my brother told me that Nitschke had a
steel plate inserted in his head as a result of an industrial
accident. There were a lot of posters of my brother's favorite boxer,
Smokin' Joe Frazier. Frazier TKO'd Manda Ramos for the World
Heavyweight Boxing title on June 24th.
These events and my home environment helped to shape my life in 1968.
The Arcade Little League held tryouts in May at the Arcade Middle
School. I showed up with my glove, hoping to pass inspection. I must
have made the grade, because the next week I was notified that I
assigned to the Senators. The league had five teams including the
Tigers, Dodgers, Cardinals, Giants and the Senators. Team sponsors
included Jack's Rod and Gun Club, Ace Auto Towing, Carl's Lube & Tune
and Sandy's Rock and Gravel Yard. Our team was sponsored by Crystal
Dairy, so we had a lot to prove to the other teams.
From the start, it was clear that the Senators of the Arcade Little
League were in a world of trouble. Each team faced one another twice
during the season. On Opening Day, we faced the Giants. Butch Lane,
their notorious ace pitcher could hurl the ball 80 miles per hour, or
so it seemed to me. He was the most imposing pitcher in the league,
not only because of his velocity, but because he stood 5 feet and 5
inches tall and had the beginnings of a mustache. This guy was scary.
He No-Hit our team until the final inning when the Chubb brother's
hit back-to-back singles in the last inning. Our team was desperate
to avoid a complete shutout.
League rules stipulated that each member of the team was to play at
least one inning and get one at bat. I had just completed my duty in
right field in the top of the inning and with two outs and two runners
on base, it was my turn at the plate. With much foreboding, I
wandered up to home plate. Butch was not happy about losing his
chance at a no-hitter and everyone in attendance knew it. It did not
help that the Chubb brothers were goading him from their positions on
the bases. He took his windup and launched a missile to the catcher.
Strike one. Our coach quickly emerged from our dugout with the league
rulebook in hand. Coach Needles was a stickler for the rules. He
pointed out that with a runner standing on first base, the pitcher was
required to throw from the stretch position. That challenge meant
little to the outcome of the game. Butch retired the side and ended
the affair by blowing two more fast balls by me, throwing easily from
the stretch position. I was out before I knew it.
With one game in the books, and nine left to play, it was shaping up
to be a long Little League season. Occasionally during the games, I
would gaze into the stands to see if my parents were in attendance.
Not surprisingly, they were; however, it was not the bleachers facing
my game they were seated in. I'd look over and see them watching the
Giants and Butch Lane mowing down another team. I half-wanted to go
over and watch him myself. Butch and the Giants always packed them
in. Concession stand earnings were always higher when the Giants were
scheduled to play. It was rumored that when the Giants were playing,
concession stand revenue reached above $500.
Finally on July 24th, the Senators played their final game of the
season. Our opponent that day was the undefeated Giants, and Butch
Lane was scheduled to take the hill. It was "standing room only" as
every bleacher seat was taken. Our team had developed into a
moderately good baseball team thanks to the hitting of the Chubbs'
brothers and our own hurling hero, Juan Lupe Osuna, whom we acquired
mid-season when his family moved to our area from LA. The Senators
had not lost a game with Juan Lupe on the mound.
Both teams were held scoreless through the first five innings, but in
the top of the 5th, the Giants scored a run as a result of a hit and a
throwing error. As usual, I cheered on our squad from the safety of
the dugout. Our league only played 6-inning games, so we were down to
our last three outs. Fortunately for our team, the Chubbs' brothers
were due to leadoff. Oral Chubbs singled up the middle and his
brother Bart sacrificed him over to second base. Merrill McMinn hit a
ball to dead center for out number two, however Oral tagged up and
scampered over to third base.
Just then, the Giants manager called timeout and came out onto the
field to talk to the umpire with the league rulebook in hand. Moments
later, the umpire approached our dugout and a heated argument ensued.
I knew what was being discussed. I had not played yet. I tried to
make myself small and invisible and I wondered if my folks were trying
to do the same. The next thing I knew, I was standing at home plate
facing the Don Drysdale of our league. Don may have had 58 scoreless
innings, but Butch was going for 60.
As I stood at the plate, I recalled all those hours my brother spent
pitching balls to me. I would smack one ball after another into the
outfield grass. I heard my brother's words of encouragement in my
head, and then I heard them for real. He was standing behind the
backstop, providing all the support he could. I kept hearing him tell
me to "Swing the bat". Striking out swinging beat striking out
standing every time.
Butch launched the first pitch down the middle. I closed my eyes and
swung the bat. Nobody was more shocked then me when I made contact
with the ball. I opened my eyes and saw that I had put the ball into
play and then turned around to face my brother with a smile on my
face. I hit the ball! Now he was saying something else, but I could
hardly hear him over the noise of the crowd, and then it hit me. I
needed to run to first base. Oral Chubbs must have had the same
reaction of shock as I did because, as I turned back to the field, I
could see his jaw had dropped, and he too had neglected to run from
third base to home plate. I had no idea where the ball was, but Butch
Lane knew. After the ball came off my bat, it rolled gingerly to the
pitcher's mound, and he calmly picked it up and threw it to the first
baseman for the final out. My time in the Arcade Minor League was
over. I would not play Little League again.
Four years later, with renewed confidence, I signed up to play Senior
League ball and could hit almost any pitch thrown with the exception
of the curveball. I was assigned to the Pirates and on the first day
of practice I was both shocked and relieved to see Butch Lane show up
wearing a Pirates hat. This time, he was on my team. Although we
were four years older, he did not seem to be quite as imposing as he
did before although; he could still throw bullets from the mound. He
was also throwing a mean curveball. Our team record was 6 and 4 at
the end of the season, which did not earn us a berth in the playoffs,
but we all had fun that season. Butch and I became friends, but I
lost touch with him when we entered high school. I later heard that
he went on to play organized ball at a much higher level, but a Google
search under his name came up empty.
See attached picture of a young Arcade Senator doing his best
impression of a Butch Lane windup.
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