When National Pastimes Collide

Ollander, Joel

WHEN NATIONAL PASTIMES COLLIDE A Jewish communal worker remembers the good old days of sandlot baseball and anti-Semitism JOEL OLLANDER My mouth was dry with fear and the dirt beneath my...

...Not occasionally, not often, but every time...
...Errant throw, my foot...
...The shortstop would lob an easy fly ball to Dumb Tony in shallow center field...
...And, to seal his claim to his title, Tony had a totally misplaced, partially toothless grin...
...Dumb Tony trotted in from his centerfield position...
...Ax and I accepted the rough tactics and the epithets as part of the game we loved so much...
...Needless to say, with Dumb Tony's fabulous arm, no one made it home safely in tag-up practice...
...My legs would scrape along the ground, ripping my pants and gashing my knees...
...Now I was just a few strides from unavoidable doom...
...No honor was lost and yet no harm to person or team occurred because the expected collision was nullified by Dumb Tony's poor throw...
...Frank was intent on ensuring that I would never successfully complete my journey...
...I had done my thing—run right at Frank...
...My knees trembled despite my urgent mental efforts to deny the wretching violence to self about to be inflicted in the soon-to-be consummated murderous assault upon the wall...
...Sporting his stupid, toothless grin, he yelled out to me in earshot of all, "Let's win that double-header on Sunday, Joe—OK...
...He, as all the other players before him, would stand on third base...
...As he ran past Ax and me, towards his other teammates and friends, he did yet another remarkable thing: He spoke a full sentence...
...Frank frequently flung the pejorative "Yids" in our faces, laughed openly when a fastball hummed perilously close to our heads, and oft proclaimed as his hero the infamous Adolph Hitler...
...This dumb Italian with the Furillo-like cannon had inexplicably thrown the ball way off line...
...An open, pluralistic and democratic American society is our best insurance against anti-Semitism...
...He had done his thing—field the off line throw...
...I walked to third base, Stonewall set up just in front of home plate, the shortstop prepared to throw a short fly as Dumb Tony readied himself to catch the ball and fire it quickly and accurately into Stonewall's glove...
...Toward the end of that long, memorable Thursday practice session, in the rapidly gathering dusk of evening...
...Axelweiss, my young, untalented protege and friend, came loping home from third base at half-speed, the ball already in the catcher's glove, and all of us expected a routine tag by Stonewall...
...I had induced my friend and neighbor Sammy—who we called "Ax"— to try out for the team although he was two years younger than most of the players and a bit short on talent...
...Not only would my body and face be crushed, but so too would be my hopes for continuing to lead the league in hitting and for playing in the All-Star game...
...Although Brooklyn in the 1950s abounded with Blacks, Poles, Puerto Ricans, WASPS, Slavs, Jews and assorted others, few but Italians could be found on any Post roster...
...As best I could determine...
...I stumbled across the plate, safe and untouched...
...Tony would propel the agate to the catcher, who in turn would tag the runner before he could reach home plate...
...But he made it, as a second-string utility infielder...
...Just at the point of initial and maximum impact...../ felt nothing...
...Carl (The Reading, PA, Rifle) Furillo, the right fielder for the Brooklyn Dodgers at the time, had the best arm in the majors...
...For the sake of the team...
...The day had been placid and uneventful, the late spring weather ideal...
...Although his given name was Frank, he was known to all Joel Ollander is executive director of the Conference of Jewish Communal Service...
...As all the players crowded around home plate, the manager and coaches quickly left the scene, eschewing responsibility for the impending mayhem...
...Our team was in a close race for first place in the Brooklyn Division—with a shot at a National Championship...
...The warm early night air hung heavy with anticipation...
...Some reflect physical stature—Shortie, Slim, Stonewall...
...Ax was practicing tagging up...
...But it was too late to reverse the course of events...
...Eyes opened now, I looked for Stonewall, but he was not in the vicinity of the plate...
...WHEN NATIONAL PASTIMES COLLIDE A Jewish communal worker remembers the good old days of sandlot baseball and anti-Semitism JOEL OLLANDER My mouth was dry with fear and the dirt beneath my feet felt like concrete as each racing step sent Shockwaves of pain upward from my aching legs through my entire body...
...In another instant the inevitable meeting of moving object and immovable barrier— with all the resultant injuries attendant thereto—would take place...
...It was a most remarkable happening...
...My heart leaped with relief...
...Then, in an instant, I knew...
...Into that immovable and well-shielded object I would hurl my totally unguarded self...
...Believe me, Dumb Tony was second only to the great Reading Rifle...
...as "Stonewall...
...Where's your beard, Jew Boy...
...Our team's collective dream of winning the league championship could also fall victim to the incident...
...An added goal—indeed, truth be known, his first and foremost objective—was to inflict immeasurable physical harm upon my person in the process of delivering the baseball to my body—the tag—as I approached the final base...
...230 pounds), clothed in the "tools of ignorance," the armor plating of the baseball catcher...
...But what the hell had happened...
...it helps if our positions are presented not as special pleadings but in a manner designed to appeal to the enlightened self-interest of all Americans...
...And whatever Dumb Tony may have lacked, the young man was blessed with a tine athletic body and a sensational Arm...
...But Frank—Stonewall, our catcher and team captain—was a different story...
...For the most part, however, we were treated fairly enough by our own teammates—although that special, intimate, man-to-man camaraderie of fellow gladiators was missing...
...No Jew kike scores off me," Frank roared, as Sammy fell, stunned and bleeding from the nose and left ear...
...Dumb Tony avoided the potentially damaging showdown by intentionally misdirecting his frozen rope...
...It asks only for remarkable reflexes, carefully acquired physical skills and total dedication to the task at hand...
...Awaiting my imminent arrival at home plate—the object of my madcap dash—was a burly, mean-spirited player of enormous proportions (6'2...
...Just as Tony caught the ball, the runner would streak for home...
...some mental capacity, or, in the case of our centerfielder, "Dumb Tony," lack thereof...
...The challenge—long in coming but here at last—was offered, and accepted...
...my face, the object of his swinging tag with hard ball in hand, would be pummelled...
...Stonewall was not directly in my pre-ordained path because he had to rush seven or eight feet to the right, up the first base line, to catch Dumb Tony's errant throw...
...Ax and I were the only Jews on the New Lots Post team—and two of a handful of non-Italians in the entire league...
...I could not fathom why the peg was so inaccurate...
...Occasionally pitchers would hurl that rock-like sphere at our heads instead of over the plate, and baserunners would go out of their way to drive their spiked shoes into our legs as they slid toward the base we were defending...
...He and I would practice with the team every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, playing regular league double-headers on Sundays...
...With the ball firmly ensconced in the tough leather oversized mitt, the huge bigot hauled off and smacked Ax right in the face...
...some style, or ancestry—Duke, Hot Shot, Greek...
...Stonewall would be standing with the ball in his glove, shin pads protecting his legs, chest protector guarding his body, mask of steel hiding his face and sheltering it from harm...
...Tony's peg was— as never before—far off the target...
...my shoulders—the first part to reach him—would buckle on impact, perhaps even separate...
...He grunted occasionally, but was never known to utter a complete sentence— at least not in public...
...Tony Giadello was 16 years old, yet locked in a seemingly never-ending embrace with the ninth grade...
...For some reason, American Legion baseball teams attracted primarily Italian players—coaches, managers, umpires and fans, too...
...I was hurtling full tilt towards a stone wall that blocked the path to my goal—a precious 17'/2-inch pentagonal-shaped slab lying on the ground...
...Nicknames come quickly and early to most boys, especially on the sandlot ball field...
...OK you oversized bastard, let's try that play again, this time with me coming home from third base," I heard myself yell to Frank as I ministered to my fallen buddy...
...Sure you Jew fag, let's go...
...Now, in fact, almost all of are born with an arm—indeed, usually two arms—but in the parlance of baseball, an Arm is a very special thing...
...The other team members, already aroused by the unusual circumstances and sensing a confrontation, froze in their tracks, straining to see and hear what would happen next...
...When Tony fired the horsehide from deep centerfield, the ball travelled on a straight line like a frozen rope from his fingertips to the catcher's mitt—320 feet—in a flash...
...Here we go," I said to myself as I saw Stonewall preparing to catch Dumb Tony's throw...
...I closed my eyes and lowered my left shoulder...
...Fortunately for Tony, baseball ability does not require an intimate knowledge of Shakespeare, an appreciation of Mozart or the ability to measure the circumference of a circle...
...A fellow who throws the ball fast, far and accurately, is said to have an Arm, that much prized possession of ball players...
...At regular league games we were often baited by the opposition: "Go back where you belong, kikes...
...I prayed for escape from the futile exercise...
...Finishing my last high school class of the day, I rushed to a distant sandlot with my buddy and teammate, Sammy Axelweiss, for our Thursday afternoon practice session with the New Lots Post baseball team of the American Legion...
...I was leading the division in hitting (.421) and had already been selected as the starting third baseman for the upcoming All-Star game...
...As with boys, arms too have nicknames—on a graduating scale from very good to unbelievable: wing, flipper, slingshot, shot gun, rifle...

Vol. 8 • May 1983 • No. 5


 
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