by Matthew Nuth
“Son, now the only thing that would make that better would be a little scotch to go with it.” Dad smiled. “You should have been here earlier. Bob and I got to talk a little bit about my friends that are waiting for me. I suspect I might be seeing them full time pretty soon.
“I talked with Cal, he is so strong and still playing ball. He says hi and that he misses you. He wanted me to tell you he is sorry for leaving you so alone.” Dad started to drift back into his staring look.
Bob touched my arm “Randall let’s lower the bed again. I think your Dad is done for a little while. Let’s stay here though. Maybe he’ll come back again.”
I got the message; perhaps Dad would not come back again. Perhaps he was starting his journey to be with his friends of the past.
I sat down, kicked my legs up on the edge of the bed and pulled out a stack of pictures and folders from the middle of the box. I flipped through the stack until I got to a picture of my brother Cal. Cal was a full decade older than me. He was more of a second father than a brother. He took me under his wing. When I was little, I remember him always holding out his hand for me to grab and walking slowly so that I might keep up. He didn’t even mind me wanting to hang with him when he was in high school; even going so far as to talk his high school baseball coach into letting me be the team’s batboy for their home games. My heart soared when I was with Cal. That same feeling was coming back as I looked at his picture now.
I flipped the picture over to see in Mom’s neat writing
Cal Simmons, Fort Collins High, 1970
The picture was one I was very familiar with. It had graced our fireplace mantel for years. It was a color photo that showed my brother in his Fort Collins High School Lambkins purple and gold uniform. He was casually holding a bat low with both hands, the bat barrel just leaning against his right shoulder, almost touching his ear. On his face, he had a slight smile that only hinted at the love he had for the game. I had also been a Lambkin, and I still get ribbed when I mention our team’s name to friends, back home. The lamb just did not throw fear into one’s mind when our team took the field, but my brother’s bat sure did.
* * *
“Come on Randall, hop up here, you can ride with me.” Cal grabbed his little brother’s hands to pull him up to the high first step getting on the bus. This was going to be Randall’s first bus ride and making it even more exciting, it was to take a long trip to his big brother’s championship game.
As he walked down the aisle to the rear of the bus, Cal’s friends all took their turns mussing his hair. Cal had told him this was for good luck, since he had two roles for the team: first their batboy and secondly, he was their good luck charm. They had won every game in which Randall had performed his duties as batboy; their only loss all season being an away game against a team in Denver prior to the start of their league season. It had been their first game of the season. Randall had not been at that game.
Today’s game would be rematch with the same school; for the AAA State Championship. Making the game even more exciting, the game was going to be played in Mile High Stadium, a huge complex that served as the home for both the state’s pro football team and a minor-league baseball team. The stadium could hold everybody in Fort Collins and still have a lot of room left over. Cal had promised Randall he could run in the outfield prior to the game.
Originally, Randall’s parents were to bring him down in a separate car, but Cal had pestered his coach and begged his parents for permission to have Randall ride with the team. His justification was it was the Lambkins first visit to the championship game and it was only right to have the whole team experience it; and Randall was part of the team. The team had all promised to be polite and take care of the seven-year-old. It also did not hurt that the team’s star player was the primary instigator.
Cal had had a great year as the Lambkin’s starting catcher. Not only had he thrown out the vast majority of runners trying to steal on him, he had rewritten the record books for almost every category of offence. His 18 home runs, his .565 batting average, and 45 runs batted in this season along with his career mark of 43 home runs were all records. He was being billed as the most feared hitter in the state. For this game the Denver Post had placed his picture on the front page of their sports section. The coach certainly wanted to keep Cal happy. He represented their best shot at upsetting the number one ranked team in the state.
Today they would face a team that had three stars that were being billed as future pro ball players. The first player was a center fielder that ran like the wind, Marvin Brown. He had led their respective league in stolen bases, doubles, and triples, plus he could pretty much run down any fly ball in the center part of the outfield. The word was that if you wanted to get a hit to center, you better hit the ball on the ground through the infield or smack the ball over the fence. Marvin had a gun for an arm, too.
The other two stars were bookend, twin-brother pitchers, one lefty, one righty. They were known as the M&M brothers; Micky and Mark Madsen. They both were rumored to throw the ball over 90 miles an hour. Micky, the left hander also had a great curve ball; Mark brought a hard slider. Between the two of them, they had rewritten the record books for strikeouts and earned run average. Both pitchers averaged more than two strikeouts per inning. The only good thing for the Lambkins was that only one of the Madsen brothers could play at a time, but it was likely they would get to see both of them pitch before the day was done.
Cal had only faced Micky in their first game and he had to admit, Micky was impressive. Cal had struck out, popped up, and finally had struck a well hit liner to the alley between right and center for a double. He had only gotten to bat three times. Micky had seen to that by striking out 16 batters over seven innings. Cal and the rest of the Lambkins were looking forward to improving on their performance. Given that it looked like half the town was coming to watch, they wanted to prove they were the better team; they were taking no prisoners today.
The bus ride was long and quiet. Even at his young age, little Randall could tell the team was anxious and nervous. To him, it was scary for his brother to be stepping into the batter’s box to face the M&M brothers. Randall was always amazed at how Cal could seem to hit any ball the pitchers threw at him, but now his brother had told him the guys that they would face today threw so hard it would make the other pitchers look slow. That was real scary for Randall. Randall’s eyes could not even follow the pitch in their normal games. He could not imagine how fast the Madsen brothers must throw. He hoped his brother would not get hit. He did not want Cal to get hurt.
Chapter 23
Today the crowd was huge, at least by high school baseball standards. Still, in spite of being the largest number of people Cal had ever played in front of, the stadium still had plenty of empty seats. The feeling of first walking out onto the field was disconcerting; shocking the senses with vibrant colors, concentrated aromas, and never-ending echoes. The aromas were penetrating; the overwhelming smell of chlorophyll intensified by the green of the sod; the acrid musky odor of dirt accentuated by the red of the infield. More shocking to the senses was the quiet down on the playing field. It was as if the stadium sucked up all the sound of the fans and had just left the crack of the bat and the staccato pops of the baseball hitting mitts. The pops reminded Cal of a rifle shots. It was funny how the crowd was muffled, but the game sounds seemed amplified. It made Mark Madsen’s fastball even more intimidating as he warmed up to throw the first pitch. Cal would bat second for the Lambkins and he was intent on making the Madsen brothers; and more importantly, the uppity fans from the larger Denver school, know that the Lambkins were gentle in name only.
Directly behind home plate sat a number of pro scouts. They were obvious by the notebooks they held in their laps, the stopwatches that hung from their necks and the radar guns that sat on the wall in front them. They were here mainly to get another good look at the Madsen brothers. It was rumor
ed that they would both be drafted in the amateur draft in a few weeks. This would be as good an opportunity as Cal would ever get to show that he had what it took to make it in the big leagues.
Mark Madsen made short work of the Lambkins first batter. His first pitch was hard and inside and had the batter bailing out of the batter’s box even though the ball was only a few inches inside. Madsen had accomplished what he wanted. The batter was unnerved; more accurately, he was afraid. The next three pitches were grooved down the middle of the plate, but the batter only managed one weak swing on strike three. The batter walked back to the dugout to take a seat.
As he passed Cal he only said “Man he is fast.”
Cal took his place in the box. Mark had not pitched in their first game of the season, but Cal was prepared for what he knew Mark would be bringing.
Wanting to impress the scouts, Mark Madsen had no intentions of letting the upstart catcher from a small town stuck in the middle of corn fields get a hit. He started him out with a hard slider on the outside part of the plate. Cal was late on his swing; just catching a part of the ball and fouling it off into the ground. The second pitch came in hard, inside, high. It was the Madsen’s way of telling the hitter who was boss. Cal did not move; letting the pitch pass just below his elbows and barely missing his chest. This was Cal’s way of telling the pitcher he would not be intimated. The third pitch was another fastball, low and over the inside corner of the plate. Cal turned on the pitch lacing a hard liner down the left field line and just short-hopping the left outfield wall. Cal cruised into second base with a standup double. Cal one, Madsen zero. The scouts all put down their radar guns and began to scribble notes in their scorebooks.
By the time Cal had come to bat a second time, the Lambkins were trailing 2-0. They had failed to get Cal home in the first inning, and as Cal dug his cleats into the batter’s box to lead off the 4th inning, the team was already beginning to feel defeated. Mark started off Cal the same way he had in the first, with a hard slider. This time, Cal was ready and made solid contact sending the pitch into the seats behind center field, leaving the Denver team’s star center fielder, Marvin Brown, at the wall standing to watch the ball sail over his head. Cal two, Madsen zero.
It was a mammoth shot and obviously shook Mark Madsen. He proceeded to walk the next two Lambkins and when a wild pitch allowed the runners to advance to second and third bases, the coach for the Denver team called time out to bring in the other Madsen brother. It was not how Mark Madsen wanted to finish his last high school game.
Micky Madsen started out well with a strikeout, but a weak grounder from the next hitter allowed the runner from third to score, knotting up the game at two runs apiece. After the weak grounder, Micky strung together five straight strike outs before facing Cal to lead off the 6th inning. Micky wanted to make it six straight strikeouts and started Cal out with his best pitch, a curve ball intending to get Cal guessing so that he could put him away with fastballs. Cal recognized the pitch right out of Micky’s hand and launched it deep into the seats behind left field. Cal three, Madsen zero and the Lambkins took the lead in the game, 3-2.
The Denver team pulled ahead to win with two runs in the 7th inning, but Cal had shown off his talent. Not only had he gone three for three against two of the best pitchers in the state, he had also shown off his arm; throwing out the speedy Marvin Brown twice. The first came in the 1st inning as Marvin had taken a large lead off first. Cal had picked him off without even giving the runner a chance to try to steal second. The next time came as Marvin attempted to steal second in the 3rd inning. Respecting Cal’s quick release, Marvin had taken a smaller lead this time. The smaller lead tipped the advantage to Cal as he fired a bullet to second, snuffing out the attempted theft of second by a full step. Cal had proven himself. After the throw to second he turned to the backstop to see the scouts smiling and shaking their heads in amazement. Cal could almost see himself now in the major leagues. He smiled and pulled the catcher’s mask back over his face. Who needs straight A’s in school?
* * *
The June amateur baseball draft did not disappoint. He had been picked in sixth round by a team from San Diego; drafted higher than any of the star ball players he had faced a just a few short weeks earlier. Not only was it surprising to be drafted so highly, it also meant that Cal might be able to negotiate a small signing bonus. These early rounds were typically reserved for talented players coming out of power house programs in southern California, Texas, or Florida; places where baseball was played year-round. In the southern states, baseball was a way of life. In Colorado, baseball season was short; limited to spring and summer. Even spring was questionable since winter would often reassert itself as late as early June with snow flurries. This year, Cal had confounded the system and he would start in the pro instructional league as soon as he signed his contract.
He had yet to discuss his decision to sign with the pro team and forego college for the time being. He was not looking forward to the discussion. Although he knew Dad would privately beam with pride at his accomplishment, it would not be as much as he would have had the news been that he had been accepted into college. In Dad’s opinion, a college education was critical now more than ever. The world had advanced and to be educated was to be successful. Baseball was nothing more than a game that was meant to be left behind as his son moved from adolescence into adulthood. A career in baseball was nothing more than a child’s dream; and one that could fizzle away in a blink of the eye, just long enough time for a collision at home plate to steal away the physical talent God had given.
Dad did not get it. This was Cal’s big chance to make it big, to play on TV, to be famous. It was his destiny and he planned on realizing it no matter what his Dad said. It was hard to take Dad’s insistence on college seriously, considering that he had never bothered going back to school himself. It certainly had not hurt him and his career. PW Simmons was doing great. Besides, Cal could tell his Dad was actually excited about the prospects of him becoming a pro ball player in spite of his protestations. Hell, he had even sent Arlin down to San Diego, his future baseball home, to look at land just north of the city for a potential housing development sight.
The land included what Dad thought would be almost 2,000 acres of prime real estate positioned to grow rapidly in value over the next decade. Today the area was largely undeveloped and yet bordered wonderful beaches to the west and orange groves to the east. It would be PW Simmons’s largest investment to-date and one that would stress their finances and management capabilities, but in Dad’s opinion, it was a paradise and a huge opportunity; even though he had never visited the site. Dad had justified the acquisition by saying they could not just build in Fort Collins forever; they needed to expand.
Cal could not remember his Dad talking of expansion before this summer. Amazingly, since the draft, not only had expansion become the prime focus, but San Diego had become the chosen place for the expansion. The idea that PW Simmons would consider buying development land more than twelve hundred miles away from their current operations was validation of his Dad’s excitement. His mouth said no, but his wallet was yelling go, go, go.
Yes, even though Dad was going to fight him for passing on college, he knew it was the right thing to do. His Dad would make the same choice if he had had the opportunity to play pro baseball.
Chapter 24
I flipped over a couple more pictures, looking for one that I had cherished forever. It was just an old color snapshot from Mom’s little Kodak Instamatic. In it she had captured Cal and me walking to the bus for the return ride to Fort Collins after the state championship game, a day more than three decades ago. I guess the picture would not look like much to anyone else; just a faded color print of an older boy in a dirty baseball uniform looking down at the little brother’s hand he was holding. I had been dressed in a miniature version of Cal’s uniform, even down to same number 5, as we walked into to the sunset. W
hen Mom had gotten the pictures back from the developer she had almost thrown this picture into the trash can, saying that the sun’s glare had ruined it. True, the sun had ruined the contrast and color; and its brilliance had resulted in a harsh white flare that surrounded Cal’s head. For me the picture was perfect. Cal was holding my hand and his face shown like a God. Not finding the picture, I decided to make a note to remind myself to ask Mom about it. I had hoped to take it home with me as a reminder of my brother.
I gathered up the pictures and folders from my lap and placed them on the floor next to the box, pulling Dad’s blue book from my pocket.
Dearest, Cal, I pushed, you pushed back. Maybe I needed to pull a little. I am so sorry I let you down.
Love, Dad
* * *
This was bullshit, Cal thought to himself. Drafted in June to his life’s dream; to be drafted again two months later was a nightmare. Winning the lottery was supposed to be a good thing; that is, unless it was the U. S. Selective Service that ran the lottery. Cal had won the lottery and lost big time. He would need to hang up his cleats for the time being and hope that some team would still remember him in a couple of years. He had kicked himself knowing that had he gone to college he would have been able to get a postponement and with the growing public outrage over the war, he suspected he might have been able to avoid donning the green fatigues altogether. Deferment was not an option now. The list for potential deferments was long, but being a pro-ball player was not among them.
He had left directly from the instructional league to report without ever returning home. He had no desire to hear dear old Dad and his “I told you so” voice drive home how important college was. He now wished he had taken those extra couple days out of his baseball schedule to spend them with his family. In fact, he was now convinced that had he solicited his father’s help perhaps he might have avoided Vietnam. He might have been able to serve out his 23 months of service state-side, or even better, Germany.
