Bert Shepard

True baseball fans will know this story. I hope my post will do justice to all who face adversity with the inner strength this fellow did. I first ran across him in a book several years aago.

While flying a P-38 over Germany during the war, Bert was shot down. As a result he was taken prisoner, lost his leg and was later traded in a POW exchange with Germany in early 1945. I know, you’re saying “So what? A lot of guys were wounded, maimed and came home when the war was over.” And you’re right about that. But there’s something special about Bert’s story.

On August 4, 1945; only 7 months after being exchanged as a POW; Bert was home and working. He had mastered the art of walking on an artificial leg while a POW in Germany. So, when he came home he was quick to return to work. Actually, it was kind of an extension of his old job.

The night of August 4, 1945 saw the Washington Senators baseball team being soundly whipped by the Red Sox. In the 4th inning the score was already 14-2. Bert was watching the game anxiously; he really loved the Senators and wanted the team to win. But things weren’t looking too good on that score. (Forgive the pun.)

While Bert probably wasn’t that surprised at the manager’s decision to put in a relief pitcher, he was surprised at the choice of the man who would be pitching. It would be Bert.

You see Bert was a pitcher before the war; and afterwards; in only 7 months’ time, he had become the Pitching Coach for the Washington Senator’s. And on the night of August 4, 1945, he made history; when he took the pitcher’s mound and became the first man with an artificial leg to pitch in a Major League Baseball game. You may know him as Bert Shepard.

"Bummy Davis vs. Murder, Inc." by Ron Ross (2003)

If any book is a gift in and of itself, and a good book a treasure; then it follows that a good book given as a gift is an even greater treasure. And, so it is with this book; which I received as a Chanukah gift from Glen Slater, a friend who lives in my old neighborhood off Kings Highway in Brooklyn. He also happens to be related to Albert “Bummy” Davis, the subject of this colorful biography.

Albert Davidoff was born in Brownsville in 1920. He arrived at the dawn of Prohibition, and he would live and die at odds with the world of that misguided public policy which spawned the era of Organized Crime, which still stands as a testament to the wisdom of social engineering by the government.

But this story is more than just about politics and gangsters. It is the story of a soulful man living in a world devoid of a soul of its own, and how he came to deal with the hand that life had dealt him. In his case that hand took the form of a devastating left hook.

Author Ron Ross brings life to the character of the man who bore the name “Bummy”. Born as Albert Davidoff to a Jewish family in the East New York section of Brooklyn known as Brownsville, he was a typical kid for the times in which he lived. Surrounded by colorful characters and friends he grows up in a world where making a living was of paramount importance. His father worked at running his candy store, selling newspapers and sodas for 12 hours a day. Each member of the family had their own tasks to perform which brought in the money to feed them all.

Al was a bit different than his brothers; especially Willie, who hung out with the faster crowd and sported pin stripe suits. He also had a reputation for strong arming the local pushcart peddlers and store owners for protection money. In a time and place inhabited by the likes of Lucky Luciano and Abe Reles, this was actually considered a living.

As Al grows up he realizes that he has a talent for fighting and begins to fight in the amateur bouts at the AAU. But he soon comes to realize that in Brownsville everything is up for grabs. Even some of the fights are “fixed” so that the “smart” bettors; the ones who are connected; will always win the big money. Fighters could be marginalized so that they would never fulfill their full potential, while making big money for the “handlers.”

“Bummy’s” big break came in 1939 when he defeated former lightweight champion Tony Canzoneri in 3 rounds. He was finally on his way to the big time. By the close of 1939 he would go on to defeat Tippy Larkin, dispatching him with a mighty left hook in the fifth round. That left hook was his trademark, and enabled him to amass the impressive record of 66 wins and 47 knockouts, with only 10 losses and 4 draws. He is still considered one of the greatest punchers of all time for his weight and class.

His career was marred by his utter distaste for the corruption that went along with the sport of boxing, as well as his own quick temper. His penchant for anger caused him to lose a bout with Lightweight Champion Lou Ambers in 1940. Also that year, he fought Fritzie Zivic, who knocked “Bummy” down in the first round, and continued to harass him in the 2nd round, gouging his eye with a thumb. 

Al went slightly ballistic in response, peppering his opponent with no fewer than 10 “foul” blows, causing him to be disqualified in New York for life. (This suspension was later lifted.)

Along with a terrific account of Al Davis’ life and the fight game, Mr. Ross has also given us a history of “Murder, Inc.”-  the place where the mob went when they needed to have someone “rubbed out.” Abe Reles and the Half Moon Hotel were like local legends to me growing up just about 1 mile or so from Coney Island. The savagery with which they went about their work dwarfs even some of today’s more lurid crimes.

This book reads like a film noir classic; and also boasts a complete record of Al Davidoff’s fights as well as a pretty cool Yiddish glossary to help those who may not be from Brooklyn navigate the dialougue more easily.

In the end Al “Bummy” Davis goes down most unexpectedly. While I was expecting the hail of bullets which ended his life, I expected them to come from a different source. If it’s of any consolation, I think Al Davis was equally surprised.

"Casey at the Bat" by Ernest Lawrence Thayer

It was 127 years ago that Ernest Lawrence Thayer published his immortal poem "Casey at the Bat" in the San Francisco Daily Examiner. Baseball had been around since the days of Cooperstown, New York but had recently been catching on like wildfire all across the country. By the 1890's it was recognized as our National Sport. So in the interest of anyone who has not read this poem, or for those of you with kids who have never heard it before, I thought I'd reprint it here. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did when I was about 8 years old and heard it for the first time. There is also some fun history associated with the poem.

Thayer was a rich kid, went to Harvard, joined the Hasty Pudding Club and edited the Harvard Lampoon. He also became interested in baseball along with his best freinds, Sam Winslow and William Randolph Hearst. After college he was presented with a choice, work in the family mill business back East, or take a job managing the San Francisco Daily Examiner for William Hearst's father. He packed his bags and headed West.

He soon began writing columns and some verse for the paper and on June 3rd, 1888"Casey at the Bat" made it's appearance to little fanfare. A writer named Archibald Gunter clipped it from the paper and placed it in his wallet. There it would remain until August 14th, 1888. A strange confluence of events occured that day. Gunter was in New York to visit two friends, William DeWolf Hopper and Digby Bell, who were both actors and baseball fans. They convinced their boss, a Colonel McCaull to accompany them to the Polo Grounds for a game between the New York Giants and the Chicago White Stockings. They hoped to do a little advertising at the game for their show and invited the players to attend it that night.

The game was won by the visiting Chicago White Stockings with a score of 4-2. When the game ended Mr. Gunter pulled out the tattered poem from his wallet and DeWolf Hopper strode out onto the field and read the poem in his deep, thundering voice. The crowd went wild. DeWolf Hopper made the poem famous and the poem made him a star. It was also Ernest Lawrence Thayer's 25th birthday.

"Casey at the Bat"

It looked extremely rocky for the Mudville nine
that day,
The score stood four to six with but an inning left
to play.
And so, when Cooney died at first, and Burrows
did the same,
A pallor wreathed the features of the patrons of the
game.

A straggling few got up to go, leaving there the
rest,
With that hope which springs eternal within the
human breast.
For they thought if only Casey could get a whack
at that,
They’d put up even money with Casey at the bat.

But Flynn preceded Casey, and likewise so did
Blake,
And the former was a pudding and the latter was a
fake;
So on that stricken multitude a death-like silence
sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey’s
getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a single to the wonderment of
all,
And the much despised Blakey tore the cover off
the ball,
And when the dust had lifted and they saw what
had occurred,
There was Blakey safe on second, and Flynn a
hugging third.

Then from the gladdened multitude went up a
joyous yell,
It bounded from the mountain top and rattled in the
dell,
It struck upon the hillside, and rebounded on the
flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the
bat.

There was ease in Casey’s manner as he stepped
into his place,
There was pride in Casey’s bearing and a smile on
Casey’s face,
And when responding to the cheers he lightly
doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt, ‘twas Casey
at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his
hands with dirt,
Five thousand tongues applauded as he wiped them
on his shirt;
And while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into
his hip —
Defiance gleamed from Casey’s eye — a sneer
curled Casey’s lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling
through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur
there;
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded
sped —
“That hain’t my style,” said Casey — “Strike one,”
the Umpire said.

From the bleachers black with people there rose a
sullen roar,
Like the beating of the storm waves on a stern and
distant shore,
“Kill him! kill the Umpire!” shouted some one
from the stand —
And it’s likely they’d have done it had not Casey
raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey’s
visage shone,
He stilled the rising tumult and he bade the game
go on;
He signalled to the pitcher and again the spheroid
flew,
But Casey still ignored it and the Umpire said
“Strike two.”

“Fraud!” yelled the maddened thousands, and the
echo answered “Fraud,”
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience
was awed;
They saw his face grow stern and cold; they saw
his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey would not let that ball
go by again.

The sneer is gone from Casey’s lip; his teeth are
clenched with hate,
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the
plate;
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he
lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of
Casey’s blow.

Oh! somewhere in this favored land the sun is
shining bright,
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere
hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere
children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville — mighty Casey has
“Struck Out.”

Baseball - and the Allure of Defeat

A few years ago, I posted the epic poem "Casey at the Bat", which is about the losing team in Muddville, and the struggle that Casey waged that day while trying to win the game. I have had many comments about that piece. It is an iconic piece of Americana. It speaks to our love of the underdog, which dates back to our nation's founding. We were the underdogs!

The following was received as noted, and it posed an interesting question, causing me to ponder on the subject of just why we love the underdog. Here is this well written and insightful e-mail, followed by my view on the subject.  I love when I get these types of e-mails, allowing me to interact with the reader. After all, that's what it's all about...

Flag this message [Rooftop Reviews]

New comment on "Casey at the Bat" by Ernest Lawrence Thayer.

Thursday, June 2, 2011 12:07 PM

From: This sender is DomainKeys verified"Fegan's Pocket"

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To: robertrswwilliams@yahoo.com

Fegan's Pocket has left a new comment on your post ""Casey at the Bat" by Ernest Lawrence Thayer":

“Living in Massachusetts near Boston I can relate to the downfall of the hero of this poem. The Red Sox had 48 years of "Mudville". It seems that everyone who knows and loves baseball knows "Casey..." Is there an epic poem about winning baseball? I can't think of one at the moment. Which begs the case; Why do we hold this poem so dear? Why do Red Sox and Cubs fans remain fans? Is it Aristotelian? Aristotle described the plot of Greek Tragedies as a hero with a minor flaw who is destroyed because of it. Are baseball fans fond of the pathos of defeat rather than the elation of triumph? This could explain why "Casey" and the Red Sox and the Cubs still have such devoted fans. “

Now, my own take on this subject is that baseball is the workingman's game. And the workingman is usually the underdog in the game of life. The image of the blue collar guy rooting for his favorite team is ingrained in our collective psyches. The Brooklyn Dodgers are a perfect example. Even when they won the pennant they were still lovingly referred to as "the Bums."

Life is just like baseball, the bases are always loaded and the count is often 3/2. The next pitch could change everything. Here's Jackie Robinson stealing base in the 1955 World Series;

Happy Boxing Day!

Today is Boxing Day in the United Kingdom and Canada. I’m not sure about Australia and New Zealand, though, so I’ll have to look that up real quick. Boxing Day is a confusing concept for most Americans to grasp. That’s why we make silly jokes about the holiday involving the sport of Boxing; as illustrated by the photo above. So, what are the roots of the Boxing Day holiday and how is it observed today? Let’s find out, if only so that next year I can post a more appropriate photo for the occasion.

Boxing Day is observed in Canada, the United Kingdom, Hong Kong, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa and quite a few other Commonwealth nations which were former colonies of the UK. Boxing Day also falls on the holiday of St. Stephens Day, which commemorates St. Stephen, the first Christian martyr.

The more modern roots of the holiday are really just an extension of the Victorian Age and the Edwardian Era, when servants had to work on Christmas Day. They got the following day off and were frequently presented with “boxed” gifts, some of which contained cash, while others held gifts. Often those gifts were used garments which the master had done with, and which the servant could never afford on their own.

There is some controversy about this explanation being overly simplistic, but it is the most reasonable of all the explanations I have come across. It was also verified to me by e-mail from a reader in Canada who is originally from England.

Today, of course, the tradition is merely that; a tradition. It is, however, held up by law in several countries. Portions of Canada, and other countries where the holiday is celebrated, have penalties for not observing the holiday. In all cases the law requires holiday pay for those who do have to work. It is also a bank holiday, with provisions made for when the day falls on a Saturday or Sunday, when the following Monday is set aside; again by law; as a bank holiday.

Call it what you will; in Ireland it is the Day of the Wren; in South Africa it is referred to as the Day of Goodwill (since 1994); the holiday has as much significance as Christmas does for citizens of America. And think how lucky you would be if you came to America from one of those countries, and then continued to celebrate Boxing Day. You could take full advantage of all those after Christmas specials.

So, when you think of Boxing Day remember that there is really no difference between it and Christmas. Here is a photo of shoppers in Canada as they prepare for the Boxing Day holiday. This photo could have been taken anywhere. John Lennon once wrote “I am he as you are me as you are we and we are all together.” I think he had something there. Happy Boxing Day everybody!

The World Almanac - 2012

This is the book; accept no substitutes. When the power goes out, and the computers don’t work, this handy book is the place to be. Great for settling disagreements on almost any topic imaginable, it also contains copies of the text of the U.S. Constitution, the Declaration of Independence, a full color World Atlas, biographies of every President since George Washington, a complete list of every nation in the world; with vital statistics on each one; population of the world by countries, population of the United States by cities and counties, a brief overview of the world’s major religions, records of every Presidential election in our history, a full color review of the highlights from 2012, playing card and dice odds, ancient measurements such as the cubit, conversion charts for temperature, wind chill, heat index, metric system, extensive alphabetical listing of noted personalities living, noted personalities of the past, Broadway show records, economics, music, a section on aerospace, astronomy, calendars of all types, computers and telecommunications information, distances between cities, air traffic routes, median prices of existing homes by location, Income Tax information, zip codes, area codes, Morse code, marital status by households, a history of the United States, a short history of the world, a list of colleges and universities, acronyms, eponyms, foreign words and phrases, origins of names, sign language, buildings, bridges and tunnels, and about 200 pages of sports records organized by sport, date, feat accomplished, and records broken; like this one for one of the longest sentences.

This book, which is not necessary to update each year, is a good solid addition to any personal library. I even keep an old one in the car for the rare times I am caught without something to read. The biographies of the Presidents never get old, and there is always something new to be learned; even from an old almanac.

"Man Made" by Joel Stein (2012)

From the moment that Joel Stein sees the small smudge on his wife’s sonogram, signaling that they are going to have a boy, he is thrown into a panic attack of epic proportions. In reaction to this, and much to his credit, the author sets out to find what it really means to be “a man.” He is not alone in his insecurities about his own manhood. Many men, myself included, have gone to great lengths to discover the true meaning of term, and come up with some surprising conclusions.

In a most entertaining style, Mr. Stein recounts his own insecurities, and then comes up with a novel idea. He will confront his self-doubts by becoming all of the things he thinks he is not.  So, accordingly, he begins his journey into perceived “manhood”, by joining the Boy Scouts for an overnight camping trip; doing a stint of duty as a firefighter; and training with Major League Baseball Star Shawn Green. In addition to these testosterone laden exploits, he manages to find the time to take on Ultimate Fighting Champion Randy Couture; joining a stock firm as a day trader; and also doing some time in Boot Camp for three days with the Army. These are only some of the exploits which the author undertakes in his misguided quest for “manhood.”

For the record, the Fire Captain tells him via e-mail, prior to his tour with the firefighters, “Not to dismiss your entire premise, but none of the activities or skills you plan on doing define becoming a man. A man is honest, kind, and courageous, protects women, is humble, bold, moral, seeks truth, loves children, and fights for what is right.”

While battling to convince himself that he is truly “a man”, he also recounts some humorous adventures with his feminist leaning wife, and explores the societal roots of what we have come to think of as “manhood.” All of this results in a highly readable and entertaining book, which in some ways mirror my own self-doubts as a young man. Indeed, one of the reasons I joined the Navy many years ago mirror the authors own perceptions of himself as being “less than a man.” Some of those doubts can be attributed to a lack of talent in sports, or the lack of a bond formed with one’s father. I can identify with those facets of Mr. Stein’s thoughts.

This book works on so many levels; humor, self-analysis, and introspection all combine in the author’s vibrant and creative style, to bring us face to face with just what it takes to be a man in today’s world. And when all is said and done, this is a very entertaining, and uplifting book.

"Casey at the Bat" by Ernest Lawrence Thayer (1888)

The 2012 Major League Baseball opens today with the Cardinals and Marlins facing off at the new stadium in Florida. The season runs through October 3rd and will, as usual, galvanize millions of Americans, as it always has. In 1888 Ernest Lawrence Thayer's classic American poem "Casey At the Bat" was published to much acclaim in the San Francisco Examiner.

There are actually 3 versions of the poem, each one only slightly different. I have used the standard version, which I have posted here before. It has stood the test of time, and has actually been sung by various artists throughout the years. Even James Earl Jones has done a musical version of the piece. But nothing, and I mean nothing, can ever replace the inner voice when reading this poem. The tension, anger and disappointment all come through in the words themselves. With its simplistic rhyme scheme and cadence, this is always a sure winner with younger children, and a great way to introduce them to the joys of winning, as well as the necessity of sometimes coming up short. Now; "Play Ball!"

"Casey At the Bat" by Ernest Lawrence Thayer

The Outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day:
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play.
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, if only Casey could get but a whack at that -
We'd put up even money, now, with Casey at the bat.

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despis-ed, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.

Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped-
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand;
And its likely they'd a-killed him had not Casey raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two."

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.

The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville - mighty Casey has struck out.

"We Were There" Edited by Robert Fox

This is a perfect book for summer reading. It is a diverse collection of some of the best, and most famous, of eyewitness accounts from the 20th Century. Comprised, as it is, of a variety of historical events, some related, some not, allows the reader to pick the book up, or put it down, at will. You can start anywhere you want to in this book and still not disrupt the flavor.

I dove in on the accounts of the famous Christmas Eve Truce during the First World War. And I got a surprise - there were two such Christmas Eves, one in 1914 and again in 1915. These are eyewitness accountings of the earliest days of the war, when many of the soldiers did not want to be there. Fraternization with the enemy was forbidden, but when the British saw the lights from the candles on the German Christmas trees, all rules went by the wayside. The result was that the two armies, who only hours before had been trying hard to kill one another, gathered in "no man's land" for an impromptu celebration of a common holiday. The Germans provided the beer, the English brought the football.

Equally of interest to me was the account of Harold Bride, the wireless operator aboard the HMS Titanic the night she hit an iceberg and sank, with the loss of over 1,700 lives. Though I have read it before, and even own a copy of it, has never diminished the awe which this piece inspires in me.

The world of science is also represented here, with accounts from the Wright Brothers first flight at Kitty Hawk, as well as Madame Curie and her discovery of radium, which would rock the field of medical science for decades to come.

Social Revolution was very much in the air in the years leading up to the First World War, and that subject is covered with accounts of the pre-war protests which shook England at the time. I was blissfully unaware of just how many people did not want to go to war for the "glory" of the empire. Whole families were involved in this endeavor, and many were jailed for their beliefs.

The birth of the Soviet Union, and the fall of Tsar Nicholas, which would come to color the entire 20th century, is a primer in the rise and fall of Communism. The effect that the Soviet Union had upon the world, for better or worse, cannot be discounted as it continues to color the events of today.

Women's Suffrage is given it's due, as women in the United Kingdom, as well as the United States, struggled to gain equality under the law. One woman, Emily Wilding Davison, actually died for the cause when she ran on to the track during the Epsom Derby in 1913. Hoping to disrupt the race just as the King's horse was due to fly by, she was struck and killed by the horse.

The book chronicles the 20th century from it's opening days until the dawn of the 21st century. A perfect example is Ernest Shackleton's ship Endurance and the gripping account of her misadventure in the early days of Artic exploration.

The high flying days of the 1920's, when prosperity seemed to be on a never ending upswing, is explored through the stories of the people who first rose, and then fell, on the roller coaster ride of economics. The parallels of this era with our own current financial woes, is a blueprint of history repeating itself in a never ending cycle.

The bombing of Dresden towards the end of the Second World War, and the affect it had on Kurt Vonnegut and his future writings, notably "Slaughterhouse 5", is gripping. It actually makes me want to re-read that book.

The world of entertainment is given some space here as well, as this was the century which ushered in mass communications such as radio and television. The power that entertainment, and entertainers, would come to hold over public opinion, and it's roots, are examined through the words of those who lived it.

Through the Depression and the resultant Second World War and beyond, this book is a pleasure to pick up and just jump right in. The "Sources and Acknowledgements" section is a treasure trove of things to be read in the future.

History is a living thing, and contains lessons to be learned. You just have to pay attention, lest we make the same mistakes over and over again.

The Allure of Defeat - "Casey at the Bat" Revisited

Some time back (last June) I posted the epic poem "Casey at the Bat", which is about the losing team in Muddville, and the struggle that Casey waged that day while trying to win the game. I have had many comments about that piece. It is an iconic piece of Americana. It speaks to our love of the underdog, which dates back to our nation's founding. We were the underdogs! The following was received as noted, and it posed an interesting question, causing me to ponder on the subject of just why we love the underdog. Here is this well written, and insightful e-mail, followed by my view on the subject. I love when I get these type of e-mails, allowing me to interact with the reader. After all, that's what it's all about...

Flag this message[Rooftop Reviews]
New comment on "Casey at the Bat" by Ernest Lawrence Thayer.

Thursday, June 2, 2011 12:07 PM

From: This sender is DomainKeys verified"Fegan's Pocket"

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To: robertrswwilliams@yahoo.com
Fegan's Pocket has left a new comment on your post ""Casey at the Bat" by Ernest Lawrence Thayer":

Living in Massachusetts near Boston I can relate to the downfall of the hero of this poem. The Red Sox had 48 years of "Mudville". It seems that everyone who knows and loves baseball knows "Casey..." Is there an epic poem about winning baseball? I can't think of one at the moment. Which begs the case; Why do we hold this poem so dear? Why do Red Sox and Cubs fans remain fans? Is it Aristotelian? Aristotle described the plot of Greek Tragedies as a hero with a minor flaw who is destroyed because of it. Are baseball fans fond of the pathos of defeat rather than the elation of triumph? This could explain why "Casey" and the Red Sox and the Cubs still have such devoted fans.

My own take on this subject is that baseball is the workingman's game. And the workingman is usually the underdog in the game of life. The image of the blue collar guy rooting for his favorite team is ingrained in our collective psyches. The Brooklyn Dodgers are a perfect example. Even when they won the pennant they were still lovingly referred to as "the Bums."

Life is just like baseball, the bases are always loaded and the count is often 3/2. The next pitch could change everything.

Here's Jackie Robinson stealing base in the 1955 World Series;

"Guys and Dolls" and Other Writings by Damon Runyon

Every now and again I return to the stories of O. Henry, Edgar Allan Poe and the wry, witty writings of Damon Runyon. This neat little paperback was re-issued about 3 years ago with an introduction by Pete Hamill. It contains the complete manuscript of "Guys and Dolls", and then, as promised in the title, a few more stories are thrown in to round things out.

New York City in the 1930's through the late 1950's was a colorful place with equally colorful people. And many of them hung out on Broadway. Long before the re-vitilization of Times Square took place, it was a place to go and see all kinds of various hustlers, tricksters, 3 Card Monte sharks, street salesmen with suitcases that had accordion legs for quick getaways, and all sorts of hookers, shysters and gamblers.

I was first introduced to the Times Square area at about age 5 when my Uncle Irving took me with him to get tickets for a show. My mother was horrified. There were peep shows in antiquated machines that worked with the turning of a handle that caused still picture cards to flip rapidly, making a moving picture. They cost 5 cents. You didn't see much, but those machines were, for me at least, a tangible link to an era which was quickly passing.

The antics of characters such as Sky Masterson, Jew Louie, Sam the Gonoph, Liverlips, Benny South Street and all of their minions are not just some abstract creation of the author. They are the real thing. These "Guys", and "Dolls", are the people like my Grandfather Pincus, who made it out of the Lower East Side and spent alot of time and money gambling on the ponies. They spoke from the corners of their mouths as they went about their business, collecting bets and exchanging tips. They effected a thin veneer of class with their mispronounced mangling of words that they had only seen in writing, but had never heard spoken. They were saavy in the ways of the street, in much the same way as they were lost in the world of art and literature. But they weren't dumb.

The importance of the characters created, or chronicled, by Damon Runyon can be boiled down to the fact their story is the story of New York City during those decades. Mr. Runyon paved the way for the likes of Jimmy Breslin, Norman Mailer and Pete Hamill. His was the template that became the "norm" for a whole new generation of writer's who would go on to chronicle New York City during the 1950's and 1960's. Even the McCourt brothers, with their extensive writings, are an extension of this style of story telling.

New York City will always be in the midst of change. Her sounds and smells will always be in a flux. But the individual stories of people trying to make it, trying to scheme, scam and sell a dream will always remain the same. That's what I love so much about Damon Runyon. He captured it all so well, so many years ago.

"Uncle John's Triumphant 20th Anniversary Bathroom Reader" by the Bathroom Reader's Institute

This book actually lives up to it's flamboyant cover and really delivers the goods on all sorts of things. Some are topics you have wondered about at one time or another, and some are about things you have never even imagined.

At about 600 pages long, this book will give you the entire history of Peanuts, along with the biographies of Charles Schultz and all of the characters in the Peanuts comic strip. From there it is only a turn of the page that takes you to another topic, equally dissected and examined.

True crimes, sports history, geography, the origins of common phrases (the phrase "bakers dozen" came about as the result of laws enacted to keep the weight of bread regulated- the penalties were so stiff that the baker threw in an extra roll as a precaution), space exploration, sports records, crazy stunts, all of it is crammed into this book.

One chapter, Strange Celebrity Lawsuits, is really interesting. Vanna White sued Samsung for creating a robot that could perform her job of turning the letters on Wheel of Fortune. Although the machine was not in any way a likeness of her, she sued and won $403,000.

The still pending lawsuit between country star Keith Urban and the New Jersey painter with the same name explores the world of web domains. The painter has keithurban.com, while the country star has keithurban.net. The painter has had his site for longer than the country star has been famous. What will happen? I don't know, but it makes for good reading. (This book has a copyright date of 2007, so the lawsuit may have been settled by now.)

Another fun section is the one that deals with famous expressions, such as "The Shot Heard 'Round the World." First coined by Ralph Waldo Emerson in 1837 for his poem "The Concord Hymn", written about the Battle of Lexington and Concord, the phrase has come to mean a variety of things. The Assassination of Archduke Ferdinand that began the First World War, is one example, while another would be when the New York Giants were playing the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1951. It was the last game of the season, 9th inning, when Bobby Thompson, of the Giants, belted out a home run to cinch the game.

If you're a TV buff this book has a very concise and informative section about the Dumont Network of the late 1940's and how it became an independent network, known as Metromedia after Mr. Dumont sold off his stations. Mr. Dumont was one of the early pioneers of the medium, and is credited with the first sitcom, "Mary Kay and Johnny." He also pioneered Soap Operas, Religous Broadcasting, and was the first station to broadcast sports events. Today's Fox Network was built upon the remains of the Metromedia Network by a very saavy Australian named Rupert Murdoch.

From Christmas being banned in Boston early in the 17th century, to the complete text of Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech, this book is packed with things we take for granted, and the stories behind them.

There are lots of books like these out there, but for my money this is the best I've seen yet. I have a belief that if you carry something to read you never have to wait. It's only when you have nothing at hand that you seem to find yourself stranded, sometimes for hours. Think of this book as sort of an insurance policy, and throw it in the back of the car. This is the perfect book to have on hand while waiting for the tow truck to arrive.