4th of July Weekend
Posted: Wed Jun 15, 2011 7:09 am
My Dad loved camping.
My Mom loved camping.
My older brother loved camping.
I hated camping.
My older brother, Tom, was the apple of my Dad's eye. His first word was 'Dad'. Everything my Dad had an interest in was the same thing Tom would have an interest in.
They would talk for hours about hunting, fishing, camping, and gold panning. Common interests they shared.
I shared none of these interests. My first word was 'ball'. While my Dad and brother hunted or fished, I would pick up a stick or branch and bat rocks.
My conversations with my Dad were usually like this:
Dad: How'd the Giants do?
Me: They won.
Dad: Good.
or:
Dad: How'd the Giants do?
Me: They lost.
Dad: Oh.
This may sound sad, but it really wasn't. It was just the way things were. I was happy, so were my brother, and my Mom and Dad.
Most of my childhood was devoted to playing baseball, listening to baseball, playing APBA, Stratomatic, anything that was attached to the sport.
This is all a preface for the weekend of the 4th of July in 1966.
My Dad had a long weekend off.
Excited, he would ready everything all week for our camping trip. Before leaving, he broke the bad news to me. We were going to a more remote camping location and there were no guarantees that I would get reception for the Giants games.
THREE DAYS WITHOUT BASEBALL?
I did what any red blooded kid would do who had something cherished pulled away from them.
I cried.
My Dad laughed.
He didn't laugh AT me.
Rather, it was a shaking of the head laugh, more in annoyance of the love that I had for baseball over the interests shared by the rest of my family.
We left that Saturday. I brought my transistor radio on the scant chance that I could get reception.
As we parked high in the sierra's to camp, my heart was racing. On our drive, the Giants game had started on the car radio. I quietly cursed every time we drove under power lines. The radio would go from clear reception to a Rice Krispies in milk sound, only louder.
But when my Dad parked the car, we still got reception!
Looking at my face, my Dad smiled, "Don't get too excited, we still have awhile to hike to get to our camp spot, the reception could be blocked".
I begged to listen to the rest of the game in the car.
The Giants lost. The Braves always seemed tough on the Giants. I always wondered how they didn't do better in the standings. Felipe Alou, Aaron, Matthews, Carty, Mack Jones, Torre, they just had a great lineup.
In no hurry to hike to our camping spot, I started batting rocks with a nearby tree branch. After that, I pulled out the APBA cards and dice and played for a time. I liked playing the old timers vs. current players. The old-timers usually won, so I would root for the 'modern all-stars'.
I was jolted back to reality by my brother opening the car door.
"Do you know what time it is? It's almost eight o'clock!. Dad is mad. You missed dinner, you missed the big fish he caught and we ate, you missed everything!
I said, "Great, and the Giants lost too."
When we got to the campsite, my Dad let me have it.
Missing dinner was a big thing in our household. We were disjointed, but EVERYBODY comes to dinner.
I was banished to the tent.
In the tent I learned of something more distressing to me than missing dinner. My radio had no reception to ANY radio channels.
I had to get back to the car by 12:40 the next afternon to listen to the Giants.
My brother and Dad woke up early the next morning excited about what they would bring home from the wild. I didn't bring up the lack of reception to my Dad, fearing repercussions from missing dinner the night before.
So, I waited.
After they left I ran errands and helped my Mom out around the campsite. I wanted to get on her good side before asking if I can hike back up to the car to listen to the radio.
It worked.
And, in my own childlike way, I got to hear history.
The game started off horribly. The Giants starter got shelled. Joe Torre hit a three run homer off of him. Then later, the pitcher, Tony Cloninger hit a grand slam. It was 7-0 Braves and the Giants hadn't even come to bat!
But, I was a captive audience and really didn't want to go back to camp.
I thought about the three Alou's and how they had all played for the Giants in the same outfield. Now, Felipe led off for the Braves, Jesus for the Giants.
I thought about how Rico Carty was one of the most underrated players in baseball and how I wished he played for the Giants.
The game got worse. The Giants were down 8-0 and the game was only in the fourth inning. The Braves kept on getting hits and the Giants had their long reliever in, Ray Sadecki. I hated Sadecki. He was the guy the Giants traded for in the Orlando Cepeda deal. Sadecki was a nerd in my mind. He even kept his glasses on for the picture on his baseball card. He never had a chance to be a 'real Giant'.
The Braves loaded the bases and Cloninger came to the plate again. Russ Hodges, the Giants announcer told us that Cloninger had been a hot hitting pitcher. Three home runs during the last couple of weeks and no sooner had I heard the words when Hodges informed us that we could tell another ball, "Good bye".
Man, two grand slams by a pitcher!
No pitcher had ever done that!
Even though it was the 'other team', I was 'there', part of history.
Cloninger would add an rbi single later. The Braves won 17-3. Cloninger had nine rbi. No pitcher has had more before or since.
Excited, I ran down to tell the members of the family. My brother and Dad had just gotten back from the woods without any luck. I told them about the baseball history that I had listened to. Dead tired, they could only muster a "'That's nice".
The next day was the fourth of July, a Monday, and the travel back home. The Giants had a doubleheader starting at noon with Marichal and Gaylord Perry throwing.
We packed everything from the campsite and hiked down the trail to our car.
Seated, it was if we all exhaled over what seemed to be a long weekend.
My Dad turned the key, but there was no sound. The battery was dead.
Six eyes were staring holes through me.
I'm writing this story, so you already know I was not killed that day.
As you folks plan your 4th of July weekend with the 4th falling on a Monday this year, have fun.
It shouldn't be too hard to top our fourth of July weekend 45 years ago.
.
My Mom loved camping.
My older brother loved camping.
I hated camping.
My older brother, Tom, was the apple of my Dad's eye. His first word was 'Dad'. Everything my Dad had an interest in was the same thing Tom would have an interest in.
They would talk for hours about hunting, fishing, camping, and gold panning. Common interests they shared.
I shared none of these interests. My first word was 'ball'. While my Dad and brother hunted or fished, I would pick up a stick or branch and bat rocks.
My conversations with my Dad were usually like this:
Dad: How'd the Giants do?
Me: They won.
Dad: Good.
or:
Dad: How'd the Giants do?
Me: They lost.
Dad: Oh.
This may sound sad, but it really wasn't. It was just the way things were. I was happy, so were my brother, and my Mom and Dad.
Most of my childhood was devoted to playing baseball, listening to baseball, playing APBA, Stratomatic, anything that was attached to the sport.
This is all a preface for the weekend of the 4th of July in 1966.
My Dad had a long weekend off.
Excited, he would ready everything all week for our camping trip. Before leaving, he broke the bad news to me. We were going to a more remote camping location and there were no guarantees that I would get reception for the Giants games.
THREE DAYS WITHOUT BASEBALL?
I did what any red blooded kid would do who had something cherished pulled away from them.
I cried.
My Dad laughed.
He didn't laugh AT me.
Rather, it was a shaking of the head laugh, more in annoyance of the love that I had for baseball over the interests shared by the rest of my family.
We left that Saturday. I brought my transistor radio on the scant chance that I could get reception.
As we parked high in the sierra's to camp, my heart was racing. On our drive, the Giants game had started on the car radio. I quietly cursed every time we drove under power lines. The radio would go from clear reception to a Rice Krispies in milk sound, only louder.
But when my Dad parked the car, we still got reception!
Looking at my face, my Dad smiled, "Don't get too excited, we still have awhile to hike to get to our camp spot, the reception could be blocked".
I begged to listen to the rest of the game in the car.
The Giants lost. The Braves always seemed tough on the Giants. I always wondered how they didn't do better in the standings. Felipe Alou, Aaron, Matthews, Carty, Mack Jones, Torre, they just had a great lineup.
In no hurry to hike to our camping spot, I started batting rocks with a nearby tree branch. After that, I pulled out the APBA cards and dice and played for a time. I liked playing the old timers vs. current players. The old-timers usually won, so I would root for the 'modern all-stars'.
I was jolted back to reality by my brother opening the car door.
"Do you know what time it is? It's almost eight o'clock!. Dad is mad. You missed dinner, you missed the big fish he caught and we ate, you missed everything!
I said, "Great, and the Giants lost too."
When we got to the campsite, my Dad let me have it.
Missing dinner was a big thing in our household. We were disjointed, but EVERYBODY comes to dinner.
I was banished to the tent.
In the tent I learned of something more distressing to me than missing dinner. My radio had no reception to ANY radio channels.
I had to get back to the car by 12:40 the next afternon to listen to the Giants.
My brother and Dad woke up early the next morning excited about what they would bring home from the wild. I didn't bring up the lack of reception to my Dad, fearing repercussions from missing dinner the night before.
So, I waited.
After they left I ran errands and helped my Mom out around the campsite. I wanted to get on her good side before asking if I can hike back up to the car to listen to the radio.
It worked.
And, in my own childlike way, I got to hear history.
The game started off horribly. The Giants starter got shelled. Joe Torre hit a three run homer off of him. Then later, the pitcher, Tony Cloninger hit a grand slam. It was 7-0 Braves and the Giants hadn't even come to bat!
But, I was a captive audience and really didn't want to go back to camp.
I thought about the three Alou's and how they had all played for the Giants in the same outfield. Now, Felipe led off for the Braves, Jesus for the Giants.
I thought about how Rico Carty was one of the most underrated players in baseball and how I wished he played for the Giants.
The game got worse. The Giants were down 8-0 and the game was only in the fourth inning. The Braves kept on getting hits and the Giants had their long reliever in, Ray Sadecki. I hated Sadecki. He was the guy the Giants traded for in the Orlando Cepeda deal. Sadecki was a nerd in my mind. He even kept his glasses on for the picture on his baseball card. He never had a chance to be a 'real Giant'.
The Braves loaded the bases and Cloninger came to the plate again. Russ Hodges, the Giants announcer told us that Cloninger had been a hot hitting pitcher. Three home runs during the last couple of weeks and no sooner had I heard the words when Hodges informed us that we could tell another ball, "Good bye".
Man, two grand slams by a pitcher!
No pitcher had ever done that!
Even though it was the 'other team', I was 'there', part of history.
Cloninger would add an rbi single later. The Braves won 17-3. Cloninger had nine rbi. No pitcher has had more before or since.
Excited, I ran down to tell the members of the family. My brother and Dad had just gotten back from the woods without any luck. I told them about the baseball history that I had listened to. Dead tired, they could only muster a "'That's nice".
The next day was the fourth of July, a Monday, and the travel back home. The Giants had a doubleheader starting at noon with Marichal and Gaylord Perry throwing.
We packed everything from the campsite and hiked down the trail to our car.
Seated, it was if we all exhaled over what seemed to be a long weekend.
My Dad turned the key, but there was no sound. The battery was dead.
Six eyes were staring holes through me.
I'm writing this story, so you already know I was not killed that day.
As you folks plan your 4th of July weekend with the 4th falling on a Monday this year, have fun.
It shouldn't be too hard to top our fourth of July weekend 45 years ago.
.