“Speaking of eating,” I said. “Did I ever tell you my Grandmother is French?”
“No…” Shine replied, looking a bit confused.
“Well she is,” I stated firmly. “And she was telling me this morning that over in France, French people have a coffee break every morning where they have milk and sandwiches.”
“They have milk for their coffee breaks?” Shine asked.
“That's right,” I said. “And, sandwiches. In fact, the French have a name for their coffee break. She said they call it: Hygomia.”
“Hygomia?” Shine repeated a little skeptically.
“Well they don't speak American in France, Shine. You wouldn't expect them to have an American name for it now would you? ”
"I guess that makes sense,” Shine agreed.
“Anyway… Grandma filled up my Roy Roger lunchbox this morning with sandwiches and milk. I think she's hoping that I will start picking up some of her French ways.”
I lifted up my lunchbox and showed it to him.
“What do you think? You want to have Hygomia with me this morning, Shine?”
“That sounds good to me,” Shine replied. “As long as it's not snails. Someone once told me that French people eat snails.”
“No. It's not snails,” I assured him. “It's ham and cheese sandwiches and milk.”
“Well, in that case,” said Shine, “I would be happy to share Hygomia with you, especially if it would make your Grandmother happy.”
So, together we brushed off a spot at the end of the dugout, and we sat down on the bench and opened up the lunchbox.
Shine took one wax paper wrapped sandwich and I took the other. Then I poured him some milk in the detachable cup and I drank straight from the thermos.
“Save the wax paper,” I suggested. “Later we can take it to the playground behind the school and wax down the slide.”
“Great idea,” Shine agreed. “When we're through, that slide will be slicker than greased lightning.”
In the meantime we sat down and ate our ham and cheese sandwiches and drank our ice cold milk. And together, we began our daily tradition of Hygomia.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter Eleven – Coming and Going from Bad to Worse
By early July, the pillars of our team had been sold, drafted, injured or just plain quit coming to the games. We were having trouble just getting enough players together to field a team.
We recruited any professional or college player we could find. We called anybody cut from any other team in the league. Just about anybody who came to town and said they could play ball was given a shot. We even had prospects that got off the bus, walked over to the Stadium and started in that night's game.
Coach Wally Carpenter said it was as if we had “one team coming, one team going, and one team playing.”
Whenever a player left town, like as not he took his shirt and ball cap with him. By mid-season none of the players had a uniform that matched and we did not have any more to give out. They would just show up in an old high school shirt or maybe dressed for the Mill Leagues and that is what they would play in.
On Saturday, July 7, the Directors of the Western Carolina League met in a hotel in Hickory and voted on the league all-stars. Wally Carpenter was the only player on the Rocks to make the roster.
The all-stars were supposed to play an exhibition game against league leading Morganton on July 16th. But, by the time the all-star game rolled around, Wally was gone as well.
As manager of the Rocks, everyday Wally would get calls from teams all over Carolina looking for players. It was a lot like that old card game Go Fish. People would call Wally and ask “Got any Short Stops?” or “Got any First Basemen?”
Finally, one day Statesville called Wally and asked, “Got any Catchers?”
Wally, who was catching for the Rocks as well as managing, said “Sure!”
And Wally Carpenter, who hit that immortal home run on the opening day of the season, proceeded to sell himself to the Statesville Owls. He negotiated a $600 signing bonus and tripled his salary, so I can't say as I blame him. But, it was painful to watch that immortal Graniteer up and leave town.
Wally's record as skipper for the Rocks was 4-32.
******************
On Friday the 13th of July, Robert Pugh was tapped to be the fifth manager for the 1951 season. And, to tell the truth, I wondered why anyone would even take the job. To make matters worse, attendance was so bad that Mr. German arranged with the League for the Rocks to start playing our home games on the road!
That's right. From July 23rd through August 8th, we played our home games at the other guy's stadium. That is because the gate receipts from the away games were much bigger than the receipts we brought in at home, where no one showed up.
But, we still felt like orphans.
Each day we would show up at the Granite Falls clubhouse and board the old yellow bus Mr. German rented from the High School. Day after day we would make our way along the windy blacktops of rural North Carolina hoping for a miracle.
We did play some good stretches during that period. We turned six double plays in one game against Morganton, but we still lost 3-2.
Our usual routine was to stay close for about five innings and then fade in the stretch.
Losing on the road all the time, sure made it hard to keep players.
Wheaties finally asked to be let out his contract. Since he was the highest paid player left on the team, management gladly gave him his walking papers and said, ‘Adios' to our genuine Cuban baseball player. Wheaties moved on to Statesville where he joined Wally Carpenter.
On July 21st we lost 11-2 to the Shelby Farmers. Of course we were tied 2-2 right up to the fifth inning, but then we fell apart.
The Daily Record reported that we had thirteen players in uniform that night. And, I think the only reason we had thirteen was because the reporter counted me in the mix!
By late July we set a new record. We had lost 26 games in a row when we rolled in to Marion on July 26th to take on Marauders at home.
Coach Pugh decided to put himself in as starting pitcher with ‘Squeaky' John Hollar behind the plate.
Things started just like every losing game we played lately. Marion put up two in the first. Then the Rocks came back to tie it up in the top of the third. The Marauders came back with two more in the bottom of the third, and we were looking at the wrong side of 4-2 clear through to the seventh inning.
In the top of the seventh, Bill Cross leads off and gets a walk. Dick Patton came up second and made the sacrifice bunt. But, the pitcher and the third baseman collided and Dick got on safely while Bill Cross moved up a base. We had runners at first and second and Pete Fox was the go ahead run at the plate.
Pete got hold of a slider and smacked it clear over the fence. The bat cracked like lightning but the ball flew just the wrong side of the foul pole in right field.
Hells Bells and little fishes!
But, Pete followed it up with a single to right and Bill Cross almost passed the slower Dick Patton as they both ran home and scored. And, we had a tie game!
Next up, John Hollar hit into a double play. Then Wayne Davis flew out to end the side but we had put up two more.
Marion finished out the seventh with three up and three down, and we were locked together at 4-4.
I'll never forget when Bob Pugh called us all into a huddle before we went up to bat in that eighth inning.
“Boys,” Coach said. “It's time to paint our butts white and run with the antelope.”
And, that's exactly what we did.
We played small ball as if we invented it. A walk, a single and single brought in Max Deal, who recently signed on to play but was the longtime facility manager of the Granite Falls Junior High. (He was Bubba and Choppers boss.)
Suddenly, we were winning 5 - 4.
We finished our turn at bat with two strike outs and a fly out to
center, and we took the field just six outs away from a miracle.
That's when Bob Pugh, who had pitched the entire game, just started overpowering the Marion batters. Bob struck out two and a third fouled out to the Catcher to finish out the eighth inning.
I was shaking like a leaf as we went into the ninth. I was nervous as pig on pork chop Sunday, just praying we could add a pair of runs for insurance.
Bobby Thorp led off with a pop fly to center. Doug Williams grounded out, and Gil August was tagged out on the way to first.
So, it was bottom of the ninth, we were up by one and push had finally come to shove.
I had my fingers and my toes crossed and I would have crossed my eyes except Momma says they'll get stuck that way.
Speaking of stuck, the Rocks had been stuck on 13 wins for the last 26 games. But, three more outs would put us over the top. I would have held my breath until I passed out if I thought it would do any good!
Bob Pugh took the mound and shook his rosin bag as if he was rolling dice.
Then Bob threw three strikes right down the center and overwhelmed that first Marion batter. And, it was one away.
The next batter blooped one over the short stop's head and got on base safely. Then a wild pitch drove the runner on to second.
The following batter hit a sacrifice fly to Right Field, and the runner moved to third.
With two away and the tying run on third base, the big Marion First Baseman walked up to the plate. He was one for four that evening, but he must of lost count because right there in front of God and everybody, that first baseman points his bat out to the right field fence like he was Babe Ruth or something.
Why I was ready to walk out there and kick that egg sucking mule right in the shins! But, I would have had to uncross my legs to do it.
Anyway, Bob Pugh fires one across the plate and Mule boy swings with all his might, and he misses it by a mile! He over swings so hard that I thought he was going to drive himself into the ground like a wood screw.
On the second pitch, Bob throws him one low and outside. But old mule boy just stands and watches it go by for a ball.
Bob comes back with a sinker. Mule boy takes another mighty chop but the ball drops underneath him. The count goes to 1 ball and 2 strikes.
From the dugout I could see Bob Pugh shake off Johnny Hollar twice before he settled in. I was pretty certain that Bob was coming with the heat. It was do or die time.
Bob winds up and tosses that ball with everything he has left. Suddenly, I see the batter adjusting his stance and realize old Mule boy is going to bunt!
I had covered my eyes with my hands ‘cause I could not bear to watch. Except, I did peak through my fingers.
The bunted ball goes rolling out towards third base as the runner takes off like a shot. Bob Pugh comes charging off the mound and intercepts the bunt just as the runner passes him going home. Bob grabs up the ball in his free right hand and makes a diving throw from outside the baseline towards big Johnny Hollar who is protecting that plate like the walls of Jericho.
Johnny Hollar reaches up to pull in the ball just as the runner hits him going flat out. Johnny gets knocked straight back over home plate in a cloud of dust.
When the dust cleared, Johnny is laying flat on his back holding up the baseball with one hand. He made the catch, tagged the runner, and held on during the collision.
Johnny was a former linebacker for the Washington Redskins, and he could sure “take a lickin' and keep on tickin’”.
That was out number three. And, Granite Falls rocked Marion 5-4 for our 14th win of the season!
You never saw a happier bunch of ball players in your whole entire life.
****************
The city of Marion is the county seat of McDowell County, North Carolina, and in 1951, McDowell was a dry county. So, there weren't any liquor stores or bars open after the game. Since we were on the road, the players sure did not know of any local bootleggers they could call up for some celebration beverages but, that did not stop the fellas from tying one on to celebrate the end of the ‘13 Jinx'!
After the game, we loaded up into our school bus. But, before we left town Bob Pugh pulls up in front of the brand new Piggly Wiggly and calls Deacon Thorp up to drive.
About half the team goes inside, and five minutes later they return to the bus with two of cases of lemon extract and a big box of Dixie Cups.
Deacon Thorp, our tea totaling second baseman, piloted us home to Granite Falls that night. If it had not been for Deacon, I don't know if we would have got home that night at all. Because every time we passed one of those cold and clean flowing mountain streams, the boys would holler till Deacon stopped the bus. Then the guys would file out with a Dixie Cup in one hand and bottle of Lemon extract in the other.
The fellas would all pop the cap off a little brown extract bottle. Then, holding the bottle in one hand, they dipped the Dixie Cup into the stream with the other. On the count of three, they would down that two ounce bottle of lemon extract and chase it with a Dixie cup full of water. Then they would choke and splash and carry on as if they had no sense at all.
It turns out that lemon extract is 83% alcohol. I found out on that bus ride home, in drinking terms that is 166 proof. It did not take many little bottles of that lemon firewater to start having an impact.
As far as I know, we did not leave anybody on the road that night, but we sure could have. When we got back to Granite Falls, we had Rocks drunk sick and passed out all over the seats and in the aisles. Old Deacon and me were the only upright bodies on the team.
Since Deacon was in charge as the lone adult standing, he decided we should leave our teammates to spend the night passed out on the old school bus. He said it would encourage them to “consider a more temperate life of reflection and sobriety.”
Deacon and I left the rest of the boys to sleep it off amid the puddles of lemon puke.
The next day Mr. German called the team to a rare morning meeting. When our hung over teammates came stumbling in looking like something the dogs kept under the porch, they found out they were not there to practice baseball. Instead, they were called upon to spend the morning washing down the seats and floor boards of that old school bus.
Grandma Tooley always says, “There's nothing cheaper than soap and water.”
After applying a generous amount of both and a whole big bunch of elbow grease, that bus no longer smelt like the men's room floor of a cut rate road house. Although from that day forward if the bus sat out in the hot sun we were forced to leave the windows open. Else, when we boarded up after the game, we were assaulted by pungent aroma of citrus vomit.
For the rest of the year, Deacon Thorp carried a pocket full of lemon drops he was always offering to his teammates but except for Shine and me he never got any takers.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter Twelve – Rain Out
After our big win over Marion, the Rocks fell back into the losing pit, and we just could not seem to climb out. Not only were we struggling on the field, off the field we were fighting just to finish the season.
Throughout the country, minor league teams were dropping like flies. Entire leagues were going under. In 1950 there were 58 leagues in the USA. By 1952, eight of those leagues folded completely. A half dozen teams in North and South Carolina had shut the doors so far this season, including Gastonia and Tarboro.
Mr. German said in the paper several times that for the Rocks to be successful we needed 1000 fans a game. The problem was that there were only about 1000 people in Granite Falls. In post war America, people had better things to do than go to the ball park two or three times a week.
Even the fans in the free seats, the ones on the other side of the outfield fence, were thinning out. As a matter of fact, one night when Big Bubba was raking down the infield after the game, an upset freeloader called him over.
“You tell Bob Pugh, if he doesn't star
t winning, we are going to quit coming to the games,” said the sponger.
“You are going to quit coming for free?” Bubba asked in disbelief.
“That's right. You tell Bob that the Rocks are going to have to be more competitive if he expects us to keep supporting the team.”
In addition to our constant losing, it was also the hottest summer that anyone could remember. The old blacktop roads shimmered with heat as we rode our school bus from ballpark to ballpark. Walking across the road in the middle of the day would melt the soles of your shoes or coat them across the bottom with a fresh layer of black tar. And, forget about trying to cross barefoot. You would end up with seared feet and dancing like a Red Indian.
The entire county was suffering. Every day was more of the same: hot and dusty. We hadn't seen a drop of rain since May.
It was so scorching hot that Chopper Gaines even told me and Shine that he saw a Carolina Stick Lizard migrating up to the mountains from the hotter flat lands down South.
A stick lizard is a little brown reptile that inhabits the hot dry lowland of the Carolinas. What sets him apart from other lizards is that he carries a small stick on his back. When things get too hot for the little guy, he drives the stick into the ground then climbs it and blows on his poor overheated feet.
Now I had heard of stick lizards all my life but they are so rare up here in the cooler mountains that I have never actually seen one. So, Shine and I asked Chopper exactly where he spotted the creature and together we made a trip over to see him for ourselves. We must have got the directions wrong, because we did not spot any lizards carrying or standing on sticks.
Anyway, playing baseball in the heat and dust was an ordeal.
Choking hot and filthy, we lost to Lincolnton 14-1 on July 28th.
On July 30th we lost to Morganton 30-0 on a day that was unbearable. I thought we were going to drown in our own sweat.
We struggled through a double header the next day at Morganton where we lost 7-3 and 8-4. That was seven straight hours in a dugout that was more like an oven. Before the second game, the boys had me squirt them down with a garden hose.