by Matt Musson
Damnkrauts.
The groundskeeper, Bill ‘Big Bubba' Smith was blacker than the inside of a crow but, he was the hardest working fellow I ever did know in my whole life. He spent all day cutting, watering, digging, and smoothing until the field looked like something out of a picture book.
And, then Bubba grabbed a quick nap and worked all night as a doffer over to the Shuford Mills.
Bubba was once a catcher for the Asheville Blues in the Carolina Negro League. The Blues traveled all around Carolina playing exhibition games against white teams and usually beat them like a drum. Even Coach Bowles said the Blues could sweep our League everyday and twice on Sunday. Except they could not play in our league because they were colored.
Speaking of colored, the last member of our Clubhouse Gang was the gopher. In our case the gopher was a little colored shoeshine boy whose job was to clean and shine the player’s shoes before each game. Plus, the players always sent him up to the diner for lunch sandwiches and sweet tea.
‘Shine’ did not get paid for working in the clubhouse. (Heckfire, I didn't get paid either. I just got two baseballs a week for trade.) But, Shine did get tips for cleaning shoes and bringing lunch.
Shine was a sneaky snake and always talked some player into ordering a milkshake. He knew that the milkshake maker at the diner made too much milkshake to fit in a take away paper cup. So Shine drank the leftovers and always came back with lunch sporting a milkshake mustache.
Me and old Shine became regular pals, even if he did send me running up to Yount's Sporting Goods one afternoon cause, he said, “Coach Bowles needs a ‘bat stretcher.'”
Let me tell you what, I frogged Shine a good one that day.
I frogged him harder the next day, when sent me back for a bag of ‘knuckle balls.'
But we were friends. Old Shine and me would sit around in front of the dugout before the game, wiping down and cleaning all the bats, and I would always say, “What'd you have for breakfast today, Shine?”
Shine a would always tell me about the best most wonderful breakfasts with crisp bacon, home fries, sawmill gravy and flapjacks.
It's a wonder that boy did not swell up big as a hog.
Anyway, on April 23rd, 1951 the Granite Falls Graniteers opened their season at home against the Lenoir Red Sox.
The Lenoir Red Sox had been in the Western Carolina League for years and years and had a strong bull pen full of first rate pitchers. And, we were not even sure if we were going to have nine players on the field. But, in the end we fielded a team and even made a game of it.
The Red Sox jumped ahead 1 to nothing in the first, on a walk, a single, and a single. But, in the bottom of the second a wondrous thing occurred.
The Graniteers first batter in the inning, Wally Carpenter, came up and hit an heroic home run!
Wally caught that fastball and his bat cracked like the shot of a gun. And, that ball just kept rising. The Lenoir outfield just stood there and watched it sail overhead. That piece of horsehide flew out of the stadium, over the fence and into the darkness.
It was the longest ball anybody ever hit, ever, at the Granite Falls Baseball Stadium.
It was truly immortal.
It may have been the greatest moment of the entire season, right there on opening day.
Unfortunately, the Red Sox had a seven run third inning and wiped the floor up with us 13 to 3.
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Chapter Three – Slim Pickens
Grandma Tooley says that there are only four people in the whole wide world who know the secret recipe for Cokecola. And, that sure is amazing when I think about it. But, I guess that's the way things have to be these days with Russian spies running all over everywhere.
Lord knows what those Commies could do if they got hold of that secret recipe!
Anyway, Grandma Tooley also says that because only four people know the recipe, the one fellow that makes syrup for the eight ounce bottles has changed it without the other three even knowing.
Now I never was sure if he adds more coke or more cola. Anyhow that's why eight ounces of Cokecola out of a bottle always tastes better than soda fountain Coke from a glass.
I guess that's why as the bat boy for the Graniteers I had to lift and tote so many cases of eight ounce coke bottles. It seemed everybody on the team was always drinking cokes.
Well, after all, it was summer, it was hot, and we were in North Carolina.
But, Coach Bowles used to slug down three bottles before he even turned in his starting lineup.
Why he even started giving out a free bottle of Cokecola to every player that scored a run. (Everyone else had to pay a nickel.) But, since we were not a real productive offense at the start of the season, before long he was giving free Cokes to anyone who got on base.
And, that meant that Shine and me were carrying case after case of eight ounce Coke bottles in the heaviest red wooden boxes that you ever did see. We stacked them up and iced them down right before every game and, at the end of the game we ran around gathering up the empties.
One day, like a bolt out of the blue, Coach Bowels just starts yelling madder than a wet hen!
He's yelling that the dugout is a pigpen with empty Coke bottles everywhere and how he is not standing for it. So, after that, Shine and I started policing up the empties between every inning and the Coach seemed to settle back down, and we got back to playing baseball.
It was not until after the game that Chopper Gaines told me why Coach Bowels went on that wild tear. It seems that our catcher, Spud Winkle had a big old chaw of tobacco in his mouth and nowhere to spit. So, he picked up one of those empty coke bottles and kind of refilled it, if you know what I mean.
Anyway, Coach Bowels was watching one of our players trying to beat the throw to first. And, when the Umpire calls him out, the Coach was so disgusted he did not know what to do. So, he reached down, grabbed that Coke bottle, and took a big ole swig.
After that, Coach Bowels did not stand for empty coke bottles lying around the dugout no more.
Cokecola aside, we continued the start of the season losing every game and really missing our genuine Cuban baseball player.
Our second game was against Lenoir at Lenoir. They pounded us 16 – 0, scoring four runs in the first inning and twelve in the second.
The third game of the season we were back at home against the Rutherford Owls and we jumped out to a 7-0 lead. But, Rutherford came back to make it 7-6. By the eighth inning, we were still squeaking by 10-7 when our pitcher Tim Holt started losing his stuff.
That's when Coach Bowels shocked us all and put himself in to pitch. But, even Coach Bowels could not slow down those pesky Owls. So, finally the Coach switched places with Wally Carpenter the first baseman!
Poor Wally had to finish pitching the whole game.
Unfortunately, Wally walked seven batters in the Ninth, and Granite Falls lost 14-12.
Then we played at Shelby - and lost 7-1.
Then we played at Newton - and lost 5 -1.
Then we play at Newton again two days later - and lost 6-1.
Finally, we came back home to face the Marion Marauders - and lost 4-1.
So, there we were, we had lost seven games in a row to start the season. We were tired of losing and tired of being called ‘losers’.
Every day we went out on that field and gave it our very best shot. And, every day the bottom fell out, and we lost.
It was damn sure time for our luck to change. Lucky for us, our business manager, Mr. Killian had a surefire plan to uncross our stars!
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Chapter Four – Black Cats and Bats
Now I've said it before that Mountain Folk are a superstitious lot. But, let me tell you what. They don't hold a candle to ball players.
Throughout that whole entire season, I never saw a single Graniteer ever step on the foul line walking on or off the field. Plus, no one ever lent a bat to a fellow player
since all the hits would leak out. You always had to spit in your hands before you got up to the plate just to get the luck flowing.
Why, I believe every single one of those baseball players had a good luck charm or a luck bringing ritual they practiced before each game.
Cherry bomb Smith, our switch hitting center fielder, always wore a wad of chewing gum on the bill of his cap. Corey Bumpstead always tapped the Umpire's shin guard with his Louisville Slugger. And, Sal ‘the barber' Tranconi never shaved on the days he was scheduled to pitch.
But, when Bryan ‘the Beast’ Henderson decided to quit showering during his nine game hitting streak in the middle of July, I wondered if some of the guys weren't taking things a pinch too far. (Especially when I was sitting down wind.)
We all realized that losing the first seven ball games in a row meant we were under a powerful bad hex, and for our luck to change it was going to take a mighty potent jinx cleanser. I don't know if any of us was ready when Mr. Killian unveiled his ultimate solution: Black Cat Night at Granite Falls Stadium.
As sure as I'm sitting here, Mr. Killian decided that any fan that came to our home game against Marion could get in free if he brought along a black cat.
His theory was that our luck could not get any worse, and a couple hundred black cats might just jam things up and rewire our circuits.
“If we don't win the game,” Mr. Killian told a reporter from the Daily Record, “we will certainly have a meowing good time!”
At game time our fans showed up in force with dozens of cats in every possible shade of black. Kittens, Moms and Toms came pouring into Granite Falls Stadium. The pinnacle of the feline assembly was reached when Jimmy Speer and Joey Layer showed up with huge black Chow Chow claiming it was the biggest black cat in the entire Catawba Valley.
Well, as Momma always says “It's only funny until somebody gets hurt!”
That Chow got those black cats hissin' and fussin' and scratching everything in sight. The more the fans tried to hold on to their kitties, they wilder and sassier they got and the more scratchings they gave out.
Luckily, Miss Fremont, the school nurse had an inkling that things might get out of hand. She set up a card table by the snack bar, where she dispensed band aids, mercurochrome (we called it Monkey Blood) and bismuth violet to wounded spectators.
Yessiree Bob, that Black Cat night was a real whoopty doo! But, roll me in cornmeal and call me a hush puppy, if Mr. Killian's black cats did not bring us all kinds of good luck!
I think every player on the team got a hit that night. Buck Rogers, Jack Clark, and Pete Fox got three a piece, while felines caterwauled and spat from the stands. We ended up trouncing on those Marauders 14-4.
The next day the Daily Record quoted Mr. Killian saying he was happier than, “a dead pig in the sunshine!”
Our faithful fans brought some more of those good luck felines two nights later and with some good strong pitching, we whipped up on Lincolnton 4-1
So, the curse was broken and Graniteers were 2–7. And, you couldn't walk down the street without someone shaking your hand or slapping you on the back. The Rocks were hotter than a three dollar pistol.
Thankfully, there was no sudden outbreak or plague of cat scratch fever.
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Chapter Five – Joking, Laughing, and Carrying On
When the ballplayers weren't calling luck or breaking jinxes, you could sure bet they were joking, laughing, and carrying on. It made me think that professional baseball was played by big tall boys instead of full grown men.
I already mentioned how they liked to send the new fellow out for a bat stretcher or some knuckle balls. I’d also been sent to fetch a pail of steam, a left hander monkey wrench, and 30 feet of second base line.
But, don't think they picked on me special. Anyone in the club was fair game. Our club house was pretty near ‘hotfoot central.' If you got caught even resting your eyes you ended up with roasted little piggies!
Cherry Bomb Smith picked up that nickname ‘cause he liked to wait around after the game, and when the guys were showering he'd toss in a few lit cherry bombs. He would always be sure and have some female fans lined up outside to greet his teammates as they dashed naked out the backdoor.
‘Cup Check’ Charlie Alford, a short stop from Pennsylvania, earned himself an infamous label that season. He would sit on the wall outside the dugout and wait for some poor unsuspecting teammate to come walking by. Then, Charlie would launch a fast ball straight at the fellow's privates and yell “Cup Check!”
One day John Hollar was caught without protection, and he went down hard! I thought we were going to have to carry the boy over to the hospital in Lenoir. But in the end, an ice pack and some smelling salts brought John back to life. Though, for some reason after that the team called him ‘Squeaky' John Hollar.
But, the biggest pair of practical jokers I saw all season had to be Stretch Johnson and Lefty Levine.
One day in June, Stretch came early to practice and filled Lefty's baseball glove all the way up with sand. We yucked it up something fierce watching that stubborn Lefty trying to force his fingers inside his sand filled leather Rawlings.
But, Lefty did have the last laugh. The next day Stretch showed up and found his mitt packed solid with fresh manure. And, I can vouch for the fact that old Stretch discovered that horse dung the hard way!
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Chapter Six – Cuba Libre
According to my fifth grade history teacher, Mr. Norvin McKenny, once upon a time President Teddy Roosevelt took a bunch of cowboys over to Cuba to free the Cubanese from Spain. There was a giant ruckus at a place called San Juan Hill. And, Teddy Roosevelt picked up this big stick and he and the Rough Riders just charged right up and punched those Spanish bullies right in the nose.
Before you know it those Spaniards were high tailing it down the other side of San Juan Hill, faster than a flock of sheep on dip day.
From that day forward, the Cubanese people did not have to worry about those hateful Spaniard bullies no more. And, to celebrate, all the men in the entire country started playing baseball. And, all the women started sewing those little furry bears they called ‘Teddy Bears', as a tribute to Colonel Roosevelt.
With the Spaniards gone, the people of Cuba were now free to play baseball, whenever they wanted. They must have played all the time, because that little island raised some of the finest young baseball players in the whole wide world.
So, thanks to Teddy Roosevelt and his Rough Riders, the Graniteers were able to sign their very own Cuban ballplayer named: Rogerio Morales.
Now I expected old Rogerio to look kind of like Desi Arnaz and maybe carry around one those wooden bongo drums. But, he did not look like Desi Arnaz, or Fernando Llamas or even Caesar Romero for that matter. And, I am certain the female baseball fans of Granite Falls were mighty disappointed.
Rogerio was a wiry little dark haired shortstop that jumped on ground balls like a duck on a June bug. And, he could turn and whip that ball into first base or make the quick pitch to second, for the old ‘Tinker to Evers to Chance' double play.
He was quick as a whip and fast as the dickens! After hitching a ride on a banana boat to Miami and taking the train to Carolina, Rogerio Morales was finally here to play for the Graniteers.
Of course, none of us could pronounce his name, so we just kind of Americanized it. We called him Roger. At least we did until we found out that Roger loved American cereal and started out every morning with ‘the Breakfast of Champions.' From then on we called Rogerio ‘Wheaties.’
It was a good thing Wheaties got here when he did, because after our big two game winning streak, we sort of hit the skids again. We lost four games in a row and the number of fans coming out to the ballpark started to slide a bit. Even those fans that brought soap boxes and quilts and sat for free on the other side of the outfield fence were tailing off. But with Wheaties in the lineup, the Gr
aniteers seemed to find their footing once again.
Wheaties could run like the wind and he could steal second base while the pitcher was thinking on what to throw next. With Wheaties in the game, the whole team just seemed to perk right up and play ‘Good Baseball.’
We clobbered Lenoir 11-5 and then put a whooping on Rutherford 13-9.
The Graniteers were 4-11 and only four games out of first place! Fortune was finally smiling on Granite Falls.
I just knew that we were going to make a run for the pennant. But, then we came back to earth with a thud.
The Rutherford Owls tarred and feathered us 23-3. And, in Mid-May Granite Falls was 4-15.
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Chapter Seven – War and Baseball
If Ulysses S. Grant was alive today, he would say:
“War is Hell - on Baseball”.
We had just finished World War II, when for four long years big league ball players were yanked from their teams and sent off to fight in Europe and Japan. Those Damnkrauts and Damnjaps did not give a hoot who needed pitching, who was batting .350, or even who was three games out of first and making a late season charge.
For half my life now the American people had been called upon to make sacrifices. We collected old tin cans and tire irons to make tanks. We saved our bacon drippings to make TNT. We even quit eating meat on Tuesday, so they could grind it up into SPAM and send it over to the boys.
Americans were called to make an even greater sacrifice ‘upon the alter of freedom'. They had to give up the best players on their favorite baseball teams so those boys could go off and win the war.
Of course, it makes sense in a painful way when you think about it. I mean if a fellow has a 90 mile an hour fastball, no telling what he could do on the battlefield with a bag full of hand grenades!
