The mention of Rod Carew brought to mind the early twins, particularly Mudcat Grand, apparently no relation to Bud, and of course, Harmon Killebrew. And my deeply mixed emotions when they faced Sandy Koufax and the Dodgers, my other favorite team.
In the summer of 1969 I was 12, visiting Minneapolis with my parents. Suddenly got very sick in a downtown department store, was hospitalized. The staff got the Twins to send over an 8 x 10 signed glossy of Rod’s teammate Bobby Allison. I’d rather have had Rod but I was thrilled, nonetheless.
As for the great game of baseball, Doubleday made the bases 90' apart, a perfect distance for a thrown ball from the base paths greater than one....and a batter who hit the ball there, could somehow have made the ball thrown arrives at first nigh the same time at first base!!!!
How did Abner make the meeting of the ball in air, runner nigh at first and a call only TV reruns make known. All I've got to say is, "Wow!"
It is interesting that in so many situations, some folks find silence to be somehow uncomfortable (or, at least, undesirable). I am on team Pleasant Silence, and we tend to be as happy with a tie as with a win 'over' team Banish All Silence.
Well, for those of us who are casual fans the game is way more interesting with a clock, bigger bags, etc. Baseball should have made the changes long ago. The fan base has been shrinking for many years.
Nice piece. As a kid in Minnetonka, I was a big Twins fan. I'll never forget June 9, 1966, when five Twins in a row hit homers against the Kansas City A's and Catfish Hunter, one after another: Rich Rollins, Zoilo Versalles, Tony Oliva, Don Mincher, and finally, the big bopper himself, Harmon Killebrew. My dad and I, watching on our new color TV, went ape. What a day! Wish I was in Bloomington at Metropolitan Stadium for that one.
Here’s the thing. Garrison’s columns are so good, and they always trigger memories of my own, so sometimes I write about mine in response.
I was reading through some of them yesterday, and realized that my comments were often longer than his column. Like a literary bull in the proverbial china shop. It’s good to speak (or write) less and say more.
Being succinct is a good thing. So.
1) The only water in the sanctuary at my church is the baptismal pool which is a very cool set up. I got baptized there with my daughter.
2) I’ve been to Fenway Park twice. The first time to watch Johnny Damon, the notorious base thief, play before he went over to the dark side with the Yankees, who made him cut his beautiful black locks. The second time was to see the epic Paul McCartney concert, where everyone sang “Hey Jude” exuberantly in unison and you couldn’t tell a Republican from a Democrat.
So that’s what’s up here in Boston, where some of us need to let Garrison speak and sometimes just nod in approval.
Bless you for your comments on the service at St. Mike's. Kate's sermon was indeed wonderful and the music soul stirring. What a great church. Too bad you didn't stay for the barbecue.
And bless you for still loving baseball. All the best, Barry O'Neal
I notice there’s a mention of a Shaker hymn. I was interested in their lifestyle for a while. There were colonies in New England, and even some close to the Ohio River before the new millennium. Sabbathday Lake Shaker Village in Maine has at least 3 active members today. It wouldn’t be the same, though, as visiting them when their membership was more numerous. Back then, visiting their communities could be almost as if you were going back in time a century or two! I wouldn’t be surprised if their focus on keeping men and women apart might have had a lot to do with their gradual disappearance.
Sometimes folks will say “OH, MEN!” or “OH, WOMEN!” I think we’re doing folks a disservice if we automatically form prejudices about them on the basis of a quick “Gender Confirmation” process! I wonder, if the Shakers could come back in this new millennium, and cast aside their limited stereotypes, if they might have been able to continue to sing their Praises to God, even now?
I just reread the first lines, and it brought me up short! For an old fundamentalist brought up to believe that rhythmic movement of any sort is wickedness incarnate, was rather exciting. I can “semi-relate!’ My paternal grandmother had been a Methodist missionary to a girl’s school in Poona, India. As a “wedding present,” she sent my parents a dirty white, floral table cloth. The message, they felt, was clear. Since Dad had always been (ad always would be!) a Methodist, she felt he was “dirtying the family table” by marrying, “Heaven Forbid!” a CONGREGATIONALIST! Never mind that my mother was born and raised in Connecticut, and that Roger Williams and the pilgrims had brought their brand of Protestantism with them to New England!
We kept that tablecloth in the upstairs hall closet. It’s still there. Whenever I accidentally come across it, it makes me laugh, once again, at how seriously some people take their particular subset of religious belief. When I went to Cornell as a Freshman, and went to the student chapel, I was amazed to find that they had a three-way altar. It could be rotated from the Jewish background to the Christian background (with a Cross), to some sort of upholstery cloth for the “Others.” I was there for an “Other” service one day, conducted by the Reverend Ernest Werner, of the Ithaca First Unitarian Church. His message was that there are many paths to God, and each one can be valid in it’s own right. It made such a powerful impression on me, that the next Sunday I walked the mile down the hill to check out the Unitarian/Universalist take on faith. And SOLD!
To tell the truth, I think that old, dirty tablecloth had a hand in helping me to find my “Religious Home” in Unitarianism. I could see my straight-laced Methodist Missionary grandmother telling all those Hindu or Buddhist or Brahman Indian young women that they were “WRONG, WRONG, WRONG!” And I almost wanted to go back there and find them and apologize to them for my Grandmother’s short-sightedness! Their culture is important and valuable to them, too!
Well, your Fundamentalist reaction to the teaching that rhythmic dancing was wickedness reminded me, pointedly, that we, as offspring or “grand-offspring” of those in “tight-minded- faiths, come to a point at which we realize that we have to choose our own religious paths for ourselves! I think it’s important that we do this. It means that we invest a personal “ownership” in our beliefs. It becomes not just a “dirty white tablecloth in the closet,” something handed down, with love, or perhaps with spite! And, I think that the messages in APHC mean more to me, because I can identify with Our Fine Host’s fundamentalist background, and with the cultural and familial aspects that go along with it!
The mention of Rod Carew brought to mind the early twins, particularly Mudcat Grand, apparently no relation to Bud, and of course, Harmon Killebrew. And my deeply mixed emotions when they faced Sandy Koufax and the Dodgers, my other favorite team.
In the summer of 1969 I was 12, visiting Minneapolis with my parents. Suddenly got very sick in a downtown department store, was hospitalized. The staff got the Twins to send over an 8 x 10 signed glossy of Rod’s teammate Bobby Allison. I’d rather have had Rod but I was thrilled, nonetheless.
As for the great game of baseball, Doubleday made the bases 90' apart, a perfect distance for a thrown ball from the base paths greater than one....and a batter who hit the ball there, could somehow have made the ball thrown arrives at first nigh the same time at first base!!!!
How did Abner make the meeting of the ball in air, runner nigh at first and a call only TV reruns make known. All I've got to say is, "Wow!"
Name a sport better....You can't!
Good morning, Garrison
Thank you. Any day that starts with a Shaker tune is a good day.
Here’s one more, a favorite of mine “Voice Of The Angel Of Mercy”:
https://youtu.be/tofyGQKoubo?si=cl2fzpIN5Cuy-JsP
(One tiny quibble, though --although I suspect that you likely know this--
almost all Shaker tunes were dance tunes, rather than “hymns” per se.
Even the popular “Simple Gifts” was intended as a dance tune. It was typically performed
at a rather brisk tempo, and the lyric/melody --as is common with dance tunes--
was in an AABB form.
That is,” Tis a gift to be...”/“Tis a gift to be...”/“When true simplicity...”/“When true simplicity...”
Although, to be fair, since they were used as worship, it’s probably
not unreasonable to label them “hymns”.)
Anyway, once again, thanks.
I find the blaring music during a ball game so off-putting I won’t go again...
It is interesting that in so many situations, some folks find silence to be somehow uncomfortable (or, at least, undesirable). I am on team Pleasant Silence, and we tend to be as happy with a tie as with a win 'over' team Banish All Silence.
Didn’t mind the organist, back in the day...
Well, for those of us who are casual fans the game is way more interesting with a clock, bigger bags, etc. Baseball should have made the changes long ago. The fan base has been shrinking for many years.
Nice piece. As a kid in Minnetonka, I was a big Twins fan. I'll never forget June 9, 1966, when five Twins in a row hit homers against the Kansas City A's and Catfish Hunter, one after another: Rich Rollins, Zoilo Versalles, Tony Oliva, Don Mincher, and finally, the big bopper himself, Harmon Killebrew. My dad and I, watching on our new color TV, went ape. What a day! Wish I was in Bloomington at Metropolitan Stadium for that one.
Here’s the thing. Garrison’s columns are so good, and they always trigger memories of my own, so sometimes I write about mine in response.
I was reading through some of them yesterday, and realized that my comments were often longer than his column. Like a literary bull in the proverbial china shop. It’s good to speak (or write) less and say more.
Being succinct is a good thing. So.
1) The only water in the sanctuary at my church is the baptismal pool which is a very cool set up. I got baptized there with my daughter.
2) I’ve been to Fenway Park twice. The first time to watch Johnny Damon, the notorious base thief, play before he went over to the dark side with the Yankees, who made him cut his beautiful black locks. The second time was to see the epic Paul McCartney concert, where everyone sang “Hey Jude” exuberantly in unison and you couldn’t tell a Republican from a Democrat.
So that’s what’s up here in Boston, where some of us need to let Garrison speak and sometimes just nod in approval.
Bless you for your comments on the service at St. Mike's. Kate's sermon was indeed wonderful and the music soul stirring. What a great church. Too bad you didn't stay for the barbecue.
And bless you for still loving baseball. All the best, Barry O'Neal
I notice there’s a mention of a Shaker hymn. I was interested in their lifestyle for a while. There were colonies in New England, and even some close to the Ohio River before the new millennium. Sabbathday Lake Shaker Village in Maine has at least 3 active members today. It wouldn’t be the same, though, as visiting them when their membership was more numerous. Back then, visiting their communities could be almost as if you were going back in time a century or two! I wouldn’t be surprised if their focus on keeping men and women apart might have had a lot to do with their gradual disappearance.
Sometimes folks will say “OH, MEN!” or “OH, WOMEN!” I think we’re doing folks a disservice if we automatically form prejudices about them on the basis of a quick “Gender Confirmation” process! I wonder, if the Shakers could come back in this new millennium, and cast aside their limited stereotypes, if they might have been able to continue to sing their Praises to God, even now?
Just love you, Garrison, and all your posts. They bring me great happiness about the life I have lived. Thank you.
Good memories!
I just reread the first lines, and it brought me up short! For an old fundamentalist brought up to believe that rhythmic movement of any sort is wickedness incarnate, was rather exciting. I can “semi-relate!’ My paternal grandmother had been a Methodist missionary to a girl’s school in Poona, India. As a “wedding present,” she sent my parents a dirty white, floral table cloth. The message, they felt, was clear. Since Dad had always been (ad always would be!) a Methodist, she felt he was “dirtying the family table” by marrying, “Heaven Forbid!” a CONGREGATIONALIST! Never mind that my mother was born and raised in Connecticut, and that Roger Williams and the pilgrims had brought their brand of Protestantism with them to New England!
We kept that tablecloth in the upstairs hall closet. It’s still there. Whenever I accidentally come across it, it makes me laugh, once again, at how seriously some people take their particular subset of religious belief. When I went to Cornell as a Freshman, and went to the student chapel, I was amazed to find that they had a three-way altar. It could be rotated from the Jewish background to the Christian background (with a Cross), to some sort of upholstery cloth for the “Others.” I was there for an “Other” service one day, conducted by the Reverend Ernest Werner, of the Ithaca First Unitarian Church. His message was that there are many paths to God, and each one can be valid in it’s own right. It made such a powerful impression on me, that the next Sunday I walked the mile down the hill to check out the Unitarian/Universalist take on faith. And SOLD!
To tell the truth, I think that old, dirty tablecloth had a hand in helping me to find my “Religious Home” in Unitarianism. I could see my straight-laced Methodist Missionary grandmother telling all those Hindu or Buddhist or Brahman Indian young women that they were “WRONG, WRONG, WRONG!” And I almost wanted to go back there and find them and apologize to them for my Grandmother’s short-sightedness! Their culture is important and valuable to them, too!
Well, your Fundamentalist reaction to the teaching that rhythmic dancing was wickedness reminded me, pointedly, that we, as offspring or “grand-offspring” of those in “tight-minded- faiths, come to a point at which we realize that we have to choose our own religious paths for ourselves! I think it’s important that we do this. It means that we invest a personal “ownership” in our beliefs. It becomes not just a “dirty white tablecloth in the closet,” something handed down, with love, or perhaps with spite! And, I think that the messages in APHC mean more to me, because I can identify with Our Fine Host’s fundamentalist background, and with the cultural and familial aspects that go along with it!