Always More Stories

 My class on the Literature of Baseball is more fun that I hoped it would be.  There are twenty two on our team, three women.  The other two gals are just as steeped in the stats as the guys.  I’m just a bench warmer but feel totally welcome just the same.

We’re discussing now one of the game’s greatest moments:  Babe Ruth pointing to the stands and delivering the ball to that very spot.  You’ve heard about it, I know you have. No surprise, the story has twists and turns.  FDR threw out the first pitch. (Yes! FDR.) Charlie Root, the all-time winningest pitcher for the Cubs, and Ruth’s opponent on the mound, disputes the hand gesture.  “If I had thought he was pointing, I would have plunked him with the next pitch.”

That’s what we talk about back and forth. There’s always more to the story.  And there are always more stories.

Labor Day

A few times my life has touched, however tangentially, that of a hero.  For Labor day, I’ll repeat this little story. Walter Reuther’s first heroic act was when he helped organize the takeover of the Ford Motor Plant and thus fought for the creation of the UAW.

He went on to be a scandal-free leader of the auto workers.  Many look back at this time as the birth of the American middle class.

Years later, and after he had been shot, Walter Reuther moved across the street from us.  I wouldn’t have noticed as I was a teenager doing teenager things.  Except for the guards that patrolled his place around the clock.

Whenever I pulled up in front of my house with a date or a girlfriend lucky enough to drive, a man would wander over.  “Okay, move along.  We can’t have you parked here.”

Looking back, still a hero.