From almost a home run to an out at first: My Little League Career summed up in one play.
MY LITTLE LEAGUE CAREER
5TH IN A SERIES ABOUT BASEBALL AND LITTLE LEAGUE
When I was 10, a life changing event took place. Two brothers, Marvin and Norman Howard, who made a lot of money in the post war logging and milling industry, formed, along with several other businessmen, the Mossyrock Little League. The league was not affiliated with Little League International, like Chehalis and Centralia, so no Little League World Series was in our future. However, we were organized with other small town leagues and would have an all- star tournament. We also had a formal schedule, played on the Mossyrock field with actual fences, and, best of all, we wore real uniforms.
It is strange that I have such strong positive feelings about my little league career. I really was not very good. However, the comradery, the fun practices, riding to games in the back of Marvin’s pickup, swimming after practice and just being with my friends was such great fun.
I think part of the reason I enjoyed it so much was that I was now with kids my own age or actually younger than me. I had spent much of my life tormented by older Salkum kids. It was a strange kind of tormenting – mostly name calling and belittling – and I took it pretty well, which put me in good stead with them. However, if a Mossyrock or Riffe kid would try to do the same to me, those kids would feel the wrath of the Salkum boys as they protected their own much the same as a black bear would protect her, young, helpless cub. I guess I was the helpless cub.
Just the same, it was nice being with kids my own age and I thrived in my new situation. Did it make me a better ball player? No! But, I was part of the gang so to speak, for the first time in my life.
Our league was comprised of four teams: The Salkum Reds, Mossyrock Lions, Mossyrock Cougars and the Riffe Yankees. Salkum is about 10 miles west of Mossyrock and Riffe was (I write “was” because it is now covered by the lake formed by the Mossyrock Dam) about 7 miles east. Thinking back, the league founders must have had no sense of history or a good sense of humor, regarding the Riffe Yankees. Riffe’s population of 300 or so people was made up primarily of people who came from the Appalachian region. They came out west to get out of the coal mines and become loggers. My grandfather, Ed Haslett, had come from Pennsylvania to do the same thing. He landed in Centralia. For these people, with deeply southern roots, whose ancestors were quite likely former rebel soldiers, to have their kids playing on a baseball team called the Yankees had to be a little ironic and hard to take.
Kids who lived in between towns, on farms or cabins in the country, could choose which team on which to play. They were the first “free agents” in Lewis County. Of course, it helped to be good if you were a “tweener” because you were actually recruited by coaches and kids from the teams closest to where the player lived. The Mossyrock Lions, coached by Norman Howard, seemed to get a lot of good tweeners. I do Remember Rich Cook playing those years for Salkum, only to finish his last year as a Mossyrock Lion. Norman’s own son, Eddy, a pretty good pitcher and a very good first baseman, played for the Lions, although he was a Mayfield kid and could have played for the Cougars or Salkum, with his cousin Jim, Marvin’s son, who played for the Reds.
One of the things I remember best was our trips from Salkum to Mossyrock to practice. In the 2000’s kids are transported to games in huge 12 passenger mini vans, Yukons with televisions in the back seat or Jeep Cherokees with sunroofs and air conditioning. We had Marvin Howard’s 49 Chevy work truck. Marvin would spend all day working in the woods. He would then drive to his home outside of Mayfield, change clothes, grab a sandwich and, along with his son, Jim, drive to Salkum to pick up the team. We all gathered at Talbot’s Store to wait for Marvin to arrive. We would pile in the back, sitting among various pieces of logging equipment – power saws, cable, axes, chokers and various tools.
There was a pecking order of sorts for sitting in the pickup bed. The youngest and less brave, would sit on the floor with backs to the cab. Next were the kids who liked the wind. They sat on the floor against the tailgate. This was a comfortable, but dangerous place because kids up front liked to spit up high to see how the wind would carry the big glob. Sometimes the wet mess would only make it to the chest of a kids sitting against the tailgate. The kids who wanted to appear brave, but still required a little safety net, sat on the wheel well. Then there were the crazies who sat on the edge of the bed with their butts sticking out over the road. Those who sat on the traffic side were especially crazy as highway 12 was very narrow back then and logging trucks whizzing by in the other lane would be only a couple of feet from their exposed butts. Marvin was always yelling at those kids to quit sitting on the edge. They would go down for a minute or two then go back to having their butt hanging in dangerous space.
I started out as a floor sitter and graduated to a wheel well when I was 12. No way was I ever going to be an edge sitter.
We had a great time on our 10 mile trip to Mossyrock and back. Before being picked up we would grab a couple of apples and pick some cherries off of Sam De Gross’s trees and get some still green, early season, black berries off any of the hundreds of vines around town. We would throw apples, cherries and berries at mailboxes, telephone poles and the occasional cow that was too close to the road. As Marvin slowed to go through Silver Creek and Mayfield we would throw our ammo at any kid who happened to be outside, while politely yelling hi to any adult. The most exciting part of the journey was the crossing of the Mayfield Bridge. Marvin would always slow down and then yell at us to stay seated, which we rarely did. We would save our biggest apple for this crossing and throw them into the 150 foot chasm below, hoping to see one splash in the churning water below. However, I don’t think we ever did see on hit. Each year we had a first timer who had never ridden in the bed of a pickup over the very scary bridge. We would tell him he had to at least sit on the wheel well because Marvin would go slow and he had to throw an apple that would clear the railing even if we didn’t see it go down the canyon. I honestly don’t remember my first time, but I do know that each trip across that scary bridge was an adventure.
Below is photo of the Mayfield Bridge taken from the Salkum side and looking east toward Mayfield. Mayfield had a store, a couple of other businesses and a few homes. At the end of the bridge, turning left, we would go past the Gohsn Cannery where we sold our evergreens and blackberries. Mr. Gohsn sent tons of berries all over the country. Go another three or four miles and we turned slightly to the right and we were on the Mossyrock prairie, looking toward a hill with a huge moss covered rock on the top. The town of Mossyrock sat below.
By turning right, coming off the bridge, we would wind our way about four miles to Winston Creek, which was more a location than a town. The Howard families, Marvin and Norman, lived there along with a few other people. Howard’s Mill, which employed several people who had kids who went to the Mossyrock schools, was there as well.
Our games were played in Mossyrock because the elementary school had a little league field with real fences that lined up just in front of the old tennis courts, a nice backstop, a small set of wooden portable bleachers and benches behind a screen for the players. I really don’t remember too much about specific games, except we always wanted to beat the Mossyrock Lions and I think we did a couple of times when Jim Howard pitched a one or two hitter. The Lions were always the team to beat because they had good players who lived in Mossyrock and always seemed to have a couple of really good tweeners.
In the 1950’s, and on to present times, every small town had some kind of summer celebration. Mossyrock had Pioneer Days. It was a typical small town, small budget affair, with a parade, cheap carnival rides, various booths to play simple games and win prizes, lots of food and the local Grange ladies holding cooking, baking and sewing contests. A highlight of Pioneer Days was the Little League Tournament. All four teams played in a simple four game format. In my four years of playing for the Salkum Reds we never won the damn thing. However it was exciting. We marched in the parade and wore our uniforms all day for two straight days. In uniform we rode carnival rides for free and people in some booths would give us popcorn, pop or an ice cream cone.
We played on the high school field, which had been modified to Little League Standards. There were bleaches and, best of all, lights from the football field. The championship game was played on Saturday night and a pretty decent sized crowd of 150 or so would be watching. One hundred and fifty people is a gigantic crowd for a 12 year old used to playing in front of a dozen or so parents and friends. The fact that many in the crowd were logger and farmer dads who had spent the day drinking Lucky, Oly and Rainier beer in the local tavern, made the event even more lively. We played on Saturday night a couple of times, but, as stated, never could pull off a win.
I started out my Salkum Reds career in right field and remained there until my last year in Little League when I was moved to second, which is basically right field light. I was happy with the move as I always wanted to play in the infield and be able to throw “around the horn” as they called it when the infielders threw the ball around to each other after an out. My hitting had not improved since my three strikeouts in one inning performance a few years before. I think I was 0 for 1956 and 1957. My last year, 1958, I did get on base a few times on walks and errors and I may have actually had a hit or two.
My lasting memory was almost hitting a home run. I call it “the almost thrill of victory and the definite agony of defeat.” I was up against Eddy Howard, Norman’s son. He was what we called a crafty lefty. Seems lefties are always crafty, whatever that means. Eddy was a good friend, but we were rivals as we battled for the best grades (among the boys anyway) and in playground games at school.
Eddy came in with a fast ball and I swung late. I always swung late. But, I made good contact. Real good contact! I watched in surprise and kind of awe, as the ball sailed out toward the right field fence. I never hit a ball so hard. “So, this is what it feels liked,” I thought. The ball went over the right fielder’s head as he turned to give chase. But, he had no chance as it was heading toward the tennis court on the other side of the plywood right field fence a full 180 feet from home plate. “AWESOME,” I was thinking, as I watched the ball majestically fly. “What would I do for a home run trot? Should I toss the bat over my shoulder nonchalantly, as if I did this all the time, throw the bat down defiantly and stare down Eddy as I rounded the bases and stomped on home plate with both feet or toss the bat high and yell with joy as I jumped and skipped around the bases.” All these thoughts were in my mind when I heard the ump say, “You better run Gary.” It was then that I noticed I was still in the batter’s box as my home run ball was dropping pretty fast. Then, DAMN, the ball hit the fence! It did not go out! I started running as fast as I could, while the right fielder caught the ball as it careened off the fence and came back toward the infield. My late start, combined with speed that would rival the Grange lady selling cookies from her wheelchair, did me in. The right fielder turned and threw to second to prevent a double. The second baseman, realizing I was only halfway to first, quickly threw to first beating me by a foot, causing a rare 9 – 4 – 3 out.
As I headed back to our dugout (actually a bench behind the screen), I had to cross in front of Eddy, who was on the mound. He smiled and said, “Good hit.” I have no idea if he was gloating or feeling sorry. Either way, it was not a good feeling.
All that embarrassment would soon pass as I found out a few days later that I had made the All-Star team and would represent Mossyrock Little League in the Lewis County All Star Little league Tournament.
Read the next and last chapter about my baseball career titled:
“I AM AN ALL-STAR – OR BE CAREFULL WHAT YOU WISH FOR”