THE BIG GAME

“Peanuts, get your boiled peanuts,” were the first ringing words I heard upon excitedly entering the
brand new ball park to see the New York Giants play a Southern League team managed by our town's renowned baseball hero. It was a beautiful blue sky spring day. The year was 1936 and who would've believed that De Funiak Springs, Florida, population 2,000, would be hosting the world baseball champion New York Giants. For weeks anticipation of this event had created high spirits.

The De Funiak Herald with its byline, "Liked by many, cussed by some, and read by everybody," described the coming event in glowing terms. "The new Harbeson Field will be the Mecca for thousands of West Florida lovers of baseball on Thursday, March 19. This will be an opportunity to see the baseball stars of the New York Giants led by Manager Bill Terry in person and the Nashville Volunteer with our own Lance Richbourg in command. The committee in charge of arrangements has spared no energy in having everything in first class shape for the biggest sports event in the history of West Florida and De Funiak Springs."

Sure enough the ball park looked perfect. The contrast in the red clay diamond and the green, green grass of the outfield was like a picture postcard. The grandstand too was green, but painted a darker shade. We could hear the lively music of marches played by the City Band under the direction of Wavey Wadsworth, as we walked towards the grandstand.

There were also bleachers over near first base. Half of the bleacher seats had been reserved for “colored people,” as segregated African Americans were called then. Those seats were already filled. It's a sad fact but black people were not allowed seats in the grandstand in 1936.  Jackie Robinson had not yet broken the “color barrier” in national league baseball nor had segregation been outlawed anywhere in the nation. Sull, I recall that the good number of black people who were present made the most of this opportunity and gave the appearance, at least, of having a good time.

Even though I would soon turn thirteen, and some of my friends were attending this event unaccompanied by adults, it had been decided that I should go with my aunt and uncle. It was always a pleasure to be with Aunt Bern and Uncle Stuart, but just as we were getting into the spirit of the day, a wave of sadness came over me. Like a dark cloud descending, the feeling arrived. Then, it vanished as if some brilliant ray of sunshine pushed it away.

My father had died the previous year and as we began to meld into the baseball crowd, I thought of how he would have loved being at this game. Daddy had some interest in baseball, but being a part of this special occasion among people he knew so well would have been the main attraction.

As my friend Evelyn put it one day on our way to school, "It seems as if people in De Funiak Springs have known one another fo ver." She was right. Everyone knew everyone or something about them. People were the most interesting of all conversational topics.

After Aunt Bern, Uncle Stuart and I were seated, like everyone else, we looked for our hometown baseball hero, but the figure dominating our view was Ox Clark, the high school athletic director, aptly named for his huge size. He seemed to be everywhere. We also tried to locate the Northern sports writers, who were supposed to be present. The local paper had reported that "special Western Union wires would be installed to carry the story direct from the field."

The stands were buzzing with rumors and the clatter of people gaily greeting one another.

“Hello, Judge Gillis," Mr. Bailey, the affable high school principal, who always wore black-rimmed glasses, greeted my uncle. “I thought you were a Brooklyn Dodger fan.”  

 “Well, I am, Tom, but I wouldn't miss seeing all this talent right here in De Funiak. You know I've followed baseball a long time.”

“Didn't I hear you'd attended the first World Series game?” asked Mr. Bailey as he knelt in the aisle to be at eye level with Uncle Stuart.

"That's right--in 1903 in Boston. By the way, Tom, do we have you to thank for the privilege of having two fine teams in town? You're doing so much for sports and the school's athletic program."

“Oh, a lot of people were involved, Judge," Mr. Bailey replied.

“But I guess a little personal pull from Miss Saunders helped. You know Lance Richbourg was once a star pupil of hers. I think he feels quite loyal to our town.”

I'd leaned forward to catch their words, because I'd been hearing bits and pieces inferring that Miss Maude and Lance Richbourg, a major league ballplayer, had once been sweethearts. I wondered if it were true, but didn't have the nerve to ask. Meanwhile, Uncle Stuart and Mr. Bailey were continuing their baseball talk.

Before that conversation could continue, Mr. Lathinghouse, a baseball fan and fellow golfer, walked up, tipping his cap in greeting us. With eyes twinkling, he said, “With the Legislature in session, I thought you'd be out on the links in Tallahassee, Judge."

"I would, Ross, except for the chance to see Bill Terry, Carl Hubbell and Lance Richbourg. This is quite an occasion for our town."

"Yes, indeed. Bill Terry's a remarkable player, probably one of the greatest hitters of all time. As you probably know, one year his average was over .400. Not many ball players can match that. And Carl Hubbell Promises to be one of baseball's best ever left-handed pitchers.”

Aunt Bern spoke up. “Ross, do you think the Giants will win the Pennant for the national league this year?"

“Can't say, Mrs. Gillis, but when some of us went over to their Training camp in Pensacola a few weeks ago to see them work out, they looked awfully good.”

“Hey, Melville, glad to see you," said Uncle Stuart, extending his hand to another good friend who'd come over to speak. "Tell me, Melville, is it true that some of the energetic young businessmen were hoping to persuade the Giants to come to De Funiak for spring training next year?”

"Well, yes, I think there was some talk of that," Melville responded. “But the word now is that they're headed for Havana next spring. Next thing you know we'll have Spanish-speaking ball players

“I wouldn't mind if they can play ball,” replied Uncle Stuart. “Matter of fact, I'd like to see some of the good players I've heard about on the Negro League—like Satchel Paige. He must be some ball player.’

While Uncle Stuart talked with each person who came by, Aunt Bern gave a steady commentary about the people we observed coming into the grandstand.

"Look," she said as she gave a big smile and a wave to her daughter Kay's friend. “There's Frances with Graham Campbell. You know how much I love Frances. I like Graham, too. Like hima lot. ut, mercy, I wish he and Gerald McKinnon wouldn't drive so recklessly. The way they speed around the lake, something's bound to happen."

“Aunt Bern, who's that lady coming up the stairs? Is she a movie star?"

We watched as a well-dressed woman, who looked like the pictures I'd seen in movie magazines, walked into the grandstand. She wore tailored slacks and a beautiful multi-colored blouse and her hair was cut short in a bob.

"Why, I don't know. Do you suppose that's Jacqueline Cochran? | heard she was in town visiting her relatives. Someone said she'd learned to fly an airplane in Pensacola. I guess she's copying that other woman flier, Amelia Earhart. But, imagine, wearing pants out in public."

I didn't give my opinion, but I thought she looked stylish. Like the photographs I'd seen of Katherine Hepburn wearing slacks.

Just then Uncle Stuart rose to greet friends, Ben and Leota Morris.

"Ben, about to give you up. Good afternoon, Miss Leota I guess you and ce want to sit together."

“You know I wouldn't miss this, Stuart,” Mr Morris said. “We gto park a mile away. With all the stores closed today, I think everybody is here. Never saw so many cars. Leota doesn’t know a thing about baseball, but perhaps Bernice can coach her. Hello, Marjorie. My, youre growing up fast.“ 

I didn't know much about baseball either. It was the animation of the crowd, the music and the enticing aroma of peanuts that captivated my attention.

Said Aunt Bern, “Leota, you know we should take off our hats when the game begins. I hope all the ladies will, so everyone can see dearly.” Then she added to me, “Honey, would you like to get us cold drinks from the refreshment stand?"

"Yes, ma'am,” I replied as I took the fifty cents Aunt Bern handed me. | was eager to mix with some of my friends and also to try the boiled peanuts, which until today I'd never heard announced as if they were any good.

“Aunt Bern, I have 10¢. Do you think I could try the boiled peanuts?"

Aunt Bern, turning to her friend, asked, "What do you think, Leota? Would these boiled peanuts be safe to eat?"

“Well, Bernice, I'm sure Mr. Bailey and Maude Saunders would not let the high school be associated with selling anything that was not n ht."

What a puzzle. What was wrong with boiled peanuts? They were
somehow considered improper by my family. I didn't ask questions. It did not seem right to probe, but I was yearning to try the boiled peanuts. 

“All right, my dear, you may get the boiled peanuts. And maybe of the young men at the stand will help you carry up the cokes.” 

When I walked up to the refreshment stand, Max, a popular high student whom I'd heard was a big flirt, said to me in a teasing voice, stringing out the words as if I were somebody new, “Hello, Miss, Morrison.” Then, leaning over the counter, he looked at me with an impish grin and said in a confidential tone, "Where'd you get those big brown eyes?"

Until that moment I'd begun to feel more grown-up since I Woulg soon graduate from the 8th grade, but Max's attentions overwhelmeg I wished my father were there to help me out of this. A tap on my shoulder startled me. I turned and gratefully saw two boys my own age,

“Hey, Marjy, what're you getting?” they asked boisterously.

Feeling more secure with my peers, I asked if they'd help me Carry five cokes into the grandstand.

“We saw where you were sitting. We're just behind you. Sure we'd be glad to give you a hand," said Cecil Evans.

“Five cokes coming up,” Max repeated, and then added, "You can bet these ol’ boys will be more than happy to give you a hand.”

In my unnerved state, I forgot all about the boiled peanuts until we turned to leave, and I certainly wasn't going back.

When we returned to our seats, the city band had begun to play "Take Me Out To The Ball Game" and "East Side, West Side,” to which people joined in singing. Their voices rose in crescendo at the happiness of this unison experience. I turned to look for other friends in the crowd and spotted Mary Carolyn Wealden and then Cleo Harvell with a bunch of our classmates. Caught up in this excitement, we waved i one another with enough vigor to qualify for throwing baseballs. Oh, it was fun, even without the boiled peanuts.

Suddenly, out to the center of the field walked Mr. Albert A. Hill, who was the impeccably articulate master of ceremonies at all special civic events. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have the great honor to present to you..." and then came the introductions of the mayor, all political leaders who were present, the man who gave the property to the city for this fine field, and the merchants who had contributed to its development. Mr. Hill thanked the New York Giants for playing this special exhibition game in our town, concluding by introducing Mr. Bill Terry, one of the greatest ball players of all times and De Funiak’s distinguished Lance Richbourg. With that introduction, everyone stood, cheered, clapped and shouted their admiration as members of the teams came running out onto the field. When the crowd quieted a bit, the umpire shouted, "Play ball." and the game was on.

I don't recall the score, nor did it matter much. We'd had the thnil viewing & major league baseball team, famous baseball heroes and our wn had made the national news, Everyone laughed and joked as they filed out of the stands, exchanging ws on plays and players. Some of the younger children were waiting around the exit door or near the players’ buses, hoping to get autographs. Someone said Carl Hubbell was the nicest in signing autographs. I wondered if Bill Terry or Lance Richbourg got to eat any of the boiled peanuts.