Over time, I will be posting a nostalgic series of vignettes exploring my youthful days in the Osceola Park neighborhood of Pittsfield, Massachusetts during the 1950s and early 1960s. Such tales will describe my adventures when I was seven to twelve years old.
In the 1950s and early 1960s, our baseball heroes were players such as Mickey Mantle, Ted Williams, Hank Aaron, and Willie Mays.
Local guys like Bill Grasslic, Marty Green, Bob Pinault, and Freddy Loggia were the next best thing. They were teenagers who played baseball every summer day at Osceola Park. They could knock the ball out of the park and play in the hot sun all day with the greatest of ease. They were certainly our idols.
One day, they approached us 8- to 12-year-olds and announced some exciting news. It seemed they were in contact with professional baseball scouts who had learned of our ballfield talents and were hoping to see us play at Osceola Park soon.
However, the above-listed “elder mentors” saw a weakness in our attributes — we weren’t physically ready for the “Big Time.” Marty said we only had one chance to impress these baseball scouts. We understood what a fortuitous opportunity this was to show how capable we were, and were vexed and frustrated about how to strengthen ourselves — we didn’t have enough preparation time!
Not to worry, though, because Marty Green told us he had a special fast-track method to get us ready for the scouts. Our idol would not let us down and would show us the way. What a relief!
Marty said that, for the next seven consecutive days, regardless of the weather, we must follow a difficult, but portentous regimen.
Beginning at 12 p.m., and without pausing to rest, we were to run around the bases on the hot, exposed ballfield 10 times, then do 20 jumping jacks, followed by 10 push-ups and sit-ups, and then swing a heavy Louisville Slugger baseball bat 20 times. Not one of us complained, because we were all highly motivated — this was our time to convince the scouts that they were about to see future big-leaguers in action.
One would think that there was a dust storm at the park, since we raised so much of it while running the bases single file. We all performed quite well and “to a man” thought we had “made the grade.”
Our “coaches” would watch and encourage us while sitting under a shady elm tree drinking A&W root beers. They applauded us and noted how none of us failed to complete the whirlwind workload.
Marty confidently gathered our phone numbers so that the scouts could call us afterwards to discuss contract terms (once we finished school). We were told there would be a day set up soon for their visit.
Well, as it turned out, Marty either forgot to even schedule this visit, perhaps gave the scouts a wrong address, or maybe couldn’t negotiate enough of a finder’s fee, because sadly, these scouts never did come to Osceola Park.
We were broken-hearted to say the least and we hung our heads low. We were at the peak of our physical prowess with no one to impress. Our passion for baseball, our “field of dreams,” was in full display, but came to naught. How could this be?
With great comfort to us, Marty said that, in his eyes, we were all “pros” and should be proud of how far we had come. We raised our heads in pride and smiled. So it was.
