Childhood Memories

Kenwood Park

Kenwood Park is located down the street from my childhood home at 500 N. Edgeworth.  The park opened in the fall of 1956.  I had to walk about a half a block to get there.  Starting when I was about ten, and running through my teens, I made that walk three times each summer day.  It was our neighborhood Briggs Stadium.  All the guys in the neighborhood got up, did our “chores”, and then headed to the park to play baseball.   We went home at noon for lunch, went back for a second game after lunch, came home for dinner and completed our triple header with another game after that.

The core group was always the same: Bill, Mitch, Chuck P, Tom, David, Bobby, Bruce, Mark, Paul, Marion, Rocky, Chuck B., Lorreto and me.  When Ricky and Jim got older, they joined us.  Several others joined in from time to time.

We picked new teams each day, and depending upon the number of players we had, the rules changed from game to game.  Sometimes “pitcher’s hands”  was out for first and sometimes “pitcher’s mound” was the target.  If we were short of players anything to right field (for right-handed batters)  or left field (for left-handed batters) was “foul”.  Two such fouls during one at bat resulted in an out. Many times the batting team had to provide the catcher.

If we only had three guys on a team we could have “invisible runners”.  “Invisible runners” became necessary when the bases were full.   “Invisible runners”  were always the lead runner and could only advance as far as the runner immediately to the rear.  “Invisible runners” could never make an out.  The defense in a three man team game included  a pitcher, infielder and an outfielder.  Simple and effective.

We improvised  as we saw fit.   We set the rules prior to the game, and if others came to join us, we modified them as the game progressed.  The important part was the opportunity to play.  There were no umpires, no uniforms, just bats, gloves, worn baseballs, paper plate bases, a bunch of happy guys and dirt.  We were short on grass but there was a lot of dirt.  Much of it came home with us in our shoes, socks (We picked it out from between our toes each night because we didn’t want the clog the bathtub drain.) and the cuffs of “too long” blue jeans.

The City of Royal Oak owns and maintains the park.  The city hired college students to work at the park during the summer months.   They were around when we were home from school for summer vacation.  Each park had a team composed of one male and one female college student.  I don’t remember any of their names but these recreation leaders taught me how to play four-square, tether ball, and make crafts.   I became a wizard at making pot holders on a small loom.   My go to color combination was yellow and navy blue.   (I think that was the beginning of “Michigan” becoming my favorite college team.  I’d liked their colors and rooting for the underdog during the Duffy vs. Bump age.)

There was a small grove of trees and a couple of picnic tables in the middle of the park where the college kids set up camp.   They had a large metal box anchored near the trees  with all of their equipment secured with a padlock. One non-baseball evening, after the college kids were gone,  I saw a couple of my friends sitting under the trees near the metal treasure chest.  I headed their way.  I found Bill, Mark and Paul.   Mark and Paul were brothers who had swiped a few cigarettes from their parents and recruited Bill to join them in learning how to smoke.  Bill and I were about twelve and the Conti brothers were a bit younger.  They invited me to join them.  I turned them down.   That’s the first time that I remember encountering what became to be known as “peer pressure”.  I held my ground firmly, and in fact, never smoked.  I think saying “no” the first time made the next time easier.

After I went to college, I returned home during the summer to “summer jobs”.  The summer prior to my senior year I was hired by the City of Royal Oak to be one of the park supervisors.   I wasn’t  assigned to Kenwood but I worked for the city for two summers.   My wizardry in pot holder making came back quickly and my 4-square ability was unsurpassed.   None of the elementary school kids who frequented the park ever beat me.

The summer of 1985 was the last summer that I played in Kenwood Park.  I stopped in a few times with my own three children over the years, but 1985 was the last time I played baseball at the park with my friends.   It was the summer of my twentieth class union and the last reunion I attended.   Most of the neighborhood guys from my class were there.

My key memories include:  Lorreto had changed his Italian name to Larry.   Marion changed his to Mike.   Tom Greenwood and I debated who was going to play shortstop.  Tom won the debate so I played second base.  Mitch was still a great player.  Bill remained the only lefty and he still stuck his tongue out when he needed to make a great pitch.  (Bill and Michael Jordan)  It was the last time that anyone saw Bruce because he died in his private plane shortly after the reunion.

The park is still there.  The guys have moved on.  We’re all seventy or knocking on seventy’s door.   Some still live in the area and a couple have been reading my blog.  I hope that they remember me as fondly as I remember them.