Baseball is America’s national pastime. Still, before any child gets his hands on a baseball he learns to play softball. The same holds true for girls. Unfortunately, during my years at Grantosa Drive girls did not participate in the noon softball games, and their adult counterpart, the women on the faculty, did not participate in the annual faculty-all star softball game. Mr. Magna started this game the year the school opened. In its first six years the champion of the noon softball league had often come close but had yet to manage a victory over the combined faculty-all star team. All four years when Mr. Magna selected the all stars and the following two years when he was promoted and became principal at another school leaving the selection and slugging duties to Mr. Nelson their teams defeated the noon champion. My intention was to make the seventh year different. After all, we were the first class that made it all the way through from kindergarten to sixth grade at this school. Becoming the first team to defeat the all stars and the male faculty and staff seemed to me a noteworthy way to end our tenure. The male faculty and staff consisted of the janitor, whose name escapes me, Mr. Nelson and Mr. Doyle. Now, even though Mr. Doyle wasn’t the homerun hitter the janitor and Mr. Nelson were, he drew a bigger crowd than his predecessor, the younger and quite handsome Mr. Magna. Fifth and sixth grade girls, who generally looked at this time as a chance to stay on the playground with their friends rather than return to the classroom after lunch, actually paid attention to the game. They knew Mr. Doyle would help them to learn and appreciate the game, not treat them like second-class citizens, and refuse to let the boys laugh at them. Changing the outcome of the game began by putting together a talented and cohesive team. As luck would have it when we selected members of our respective noon hour teams I won the honor of the first pick. It was a foregone conclusion it would be Tom. Yes, the same Tom who crushed me into a pile of snow a couple years earlier when he was known as Tommy. He could be counted on for making numerous kids chase his ball to the far end of the playground. But, to win the championship and beat the faculty-all star team required a solid lineup from top to bottom. Even Glen, our last pick proved valuable as he learned to put the perfect arch on his underhand pitch. While hitting was important I knew the key to consistent winning was solid defense. Tex was that key. He could scoop up the many hits down the third base line and rocket his throw to big Tom at first. Everything was going as planned until Tex announced one day in May that he was moving back to Texas. It’s not clear to me how we managed to win those final noon hour games, but I figured the all-stars would pick us apart by hitting singles down to third and then be driven home by the janitor or Mr. Nelson. To this day I am not sure of the whole story. Theoretically, schools in Wisconsin may have started their summer vacations later, or their was a need to come back to get some things, or they decided to pay a visit to some friends, or whatever. All I knew was it was the day of the game and there he was. Tex was back. Some of the girls started singing, “Tex is back, the all-stars are in trouble,” to the tune of “My Boy Friend’s Back” by the Chiffons. And, indeed he was back and his arm made the difference. We won. I never saw Tex again. So, if you’re out there in cyberland reading this Tex your comments to support my story would be appreciated. After all, not everyone believes you when your facts are stranger than fiction.
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