Today’s guest post was written by Garland Davis.
I grew up in Western North Carolina in the fifties. As far as the boys in my circle were concerned, there were only two baseball teams, The New York Yankees, and the Brooklyn Dodgers. In those days there were no Southern Teams and I don’t believe there were any teams West of St Louis. I am not sure of Kansas City.
From the beginning of Spring Training until the Dodgers and Yankees met in the World Series, and they did often during the fifties, we boys lived and breathed baseball. We slaved for the tobacco farmers to earn a few coins with which to purchase a Big Orange, a Moon Pie, and as many penny packs of bubble gum containing baseball cards as possible.
We also played as often as possible. We would play with six or seven-person teams. Sometimes we would even let the Rising girls play if we were short of players. Since we lived in a farming community, most level fields were plowed and weren’t feasible as a proper place to play baseball.
One of the farmers in our area had a big pasture with a flat area large enough to make a decent baseball diamond. We asked him if we could play in the pasture. He gave us permission if we didn’t bother his cows. He had fifteen or twenty milk cows. We promised. His last words to us were, “Watch out for the bull!”
There was a large pond, almost two acres in the middle of the pasture. We went one afternoon to play. The bull was on the other side of the pond with the cows. We had tow sacks with sand for the bases and a wooden Homeplate. We didn’t have an umpire, but we did have a person as “bull watch” to warn us if the bull was coming. On this afternoon, the youngest of the four Rising girls was given the task of warning us if the bull came near.
During the course of the game, the herd of cows worked around the pond. The bull came along to make sure his harem was protected. The girl on bull watch had become distracted by a bunch of dandelion puffs that she was blowing and the rest of us intent on the game weren’t paying attention to the bull until he took up the shortstop’s position. Everyone ran for the fence and scrambled under the lower wire. I was in centerfield, the bull between me and the fence. Irritated that I was now near the herd of cows, he charged. The only place to go was into the pond.
I stayed in that pond for over an hour. Every time I tried to get out, he would charge. I swam across the pond and he came around and was waiting for me.
Everyone knows that cows head for the barn at milking time. For a while, as the cows moved toward the barn, it seemed that the bull was torn between accompanying them or waiting for me to make a break. He finally lumbered off following his girlfriends and I was able to escape.
Baseball was an exciting game the way we played it.
I hope you enjoyed Garland’s story as much as I did!
Last night’s video: Appalachians Pronounce Words Wrong.
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I & my entire family say okrie here in North Mississippi. Some folks here say things listed below:
– Add a’s in front of words like a’fixing
– Add er to the end of words like feller for fella, waller for wallow, Linder for Linda etc.
– dropping g’s on the end of words like goin’, meetin, gettin’.
– ruint for ruined
– Ketch for catch
– Hep for help
– my Mom & her family would say”each” for “itch.” Does your mosquito bite each?
-Pneumonie for pneumonia – Old folks here still say this one
I am very proud of my Southern accent !!
Tipper, so sorry you received the negative comment about saying okrie. We need to pray for folks who are intolerant of different people & accents because some day another group of people may be intolerant of them.
Tipper, Thank you for all you do for keeping the beauty & richness of Appalachia alive.
Thank you, Tipper, for sharing Garland’s story – and you Garland for writing it.
The Yankees and the Dodgers in the ’50s. Now THAT was baseball. Although I played a lot and watched a lot of games, the single best game I ever saw was game 5 of the 1956 World Series. This was the game that Don Larsen of the Yankees pitched a perfect game, the only one ever pitched in a World Series and one of only a couple of dozen ever in baseball. Being a Yankees fan and idolizing Mickey Mantle, Yogi Berra, Billy Martin and the whole Pin Stripe gang, I was elated. The game started during our school lunch period. About every boy in school – and a lot of girls – sat in the auditorium watching the game on TV which was a novel thing in those days. For the first and only time I can remember, we were allowed to stay and watch the game even after our lunch period was over. You can read about the game here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Don_Larsen%27s_perfect_game
Reading that description took me back more than 60 years. The school building has since been torn down and all those Yankees are now gone, but that game epitomizes the game of baseball for me. There can never be one to equal it.
My mother talked about a baseball team that played at Needmore. Needmore is No More as John Parris would say but when Mommy was a child it was a thriving little community. Just above the swinging bridge that crossed the Little Tennessee River is a big island. It is big enough for a full sized baseball. It is flat as a pancake and covered in sandy soil. The field had two minor problems, you might have to wade to get to the there and foul balls often went into the river. I don’t know if the team had a name but I understand that it did travel and had other teams that came and played on its field.
That should say a full sized baseball field
That “thar” bull that became shortstop is a “good ‘un!” As boys, my buddies and I played “jump out of the barn loft.” It was about noon, or dinner time (“lunch,” as Northerners call it). Mom had vittles for us. I was the last to jump. My buddies had already headed to the house. I smacked the top of the loft, before I jumped. We hadn’t seen the hornets nest. The hornets came after me, as I landed on the barn floor. The bull greeted me. I took off running. The hornets stung me a few times. The bull chased me. I slid under the barbed wire fence, just in time. That saved me from the bull. The hornets were still after me. I ran to the house, jumping over a gate along the way. I got in through the screen door to the kitchen. That stopped the hornets. Hornets bounced against that screen door a while but left finally. Mom treated my hornet stings. I finally ate my dinner. My buddies and I didn’t didn’t play “jump out of the barn loft” for a while. I’ve been writing several serious articles, on my website. This article may inspire me to write a funny article! I’m about tired of writing serious articles.
Charles Johnson bought the Philadelphia Athletics in 1954and moved them to Kansas City. Charles O. Finley bought them in 1960 but they never were a contender and were sold to Oakland. The Kansas City Royals were put together in 1969 by Ewing Kaufman as a MLB team and are the current Kansas City Team. They are named after the American Royal Livestock show held in KC every November
It all sounds like a bunch of bull to me!
That was a great memory from Garland about his experience playing childhood baseball and the bull. I could just imagine his story so clearly in my mind. What a day he had wading in that pond waiting for the bull to leave. I figure they all went back the next day to play baseball again, but probably got a different bull watcher…lol….what a great story! Thank you for sharing Garlands story with us. It was fun!
Another bull story, another friend was fishing when he was a teenager at a pond in a cow pasture. He did not know that the bull had walked up behind him and when he went to cast out his line, he hooked the bull in the nose. He said the bull let out a bellow and took off running across the pasture dragging his reel with him. The line broke and he got his reel back but didn’t fish anymore that day. I don’t know what became of the bull, he said he was too busy getting out of the pasture to check on him. Here wading in a pond wouldn’t work the cows get in the ponds too on the hot days.
Great story, which actually caused me to laugh out loud when the Bull took over the short stop position with Garland having to take to the pond for survival. I was not athletic growing up, but my husband was and played Baseball, Football, Basketball and ran Track. He coached Baseball too when his sons were growing up and loved watching the games on television. Me not so much, but I did enjoy going to a big city baseball game.
Tipper, I say Okrie, and remember my Grandmother pronouncing words like you do. She did the warsh by bolling the water in a big ole black iron pot and another one for raching. One of my dear teenage friend’s name was Donna but my Grandmother always called her Di ner. I love your dialect as it brings back so many wonderful precious memories of conversations with my Grandparents, Parents, Aunts, Uncles, and Cousins from down south. Some Aunts and Uncles that grew up together yet moved away and the unique dialect they developed going from still amazes me. I had two Aunts that stayed in the south and had the most beautiful sound to their voices when they spoke. I don’t know if it came from east TN, NE MS or if they were just born with what I guess would be a melodious tone to their voice. All I know is I loved to hear them talk. I remember stopping at a yard sale down south and my husband was talking to the owner at this one table and the man said to my husband, “your not from around here are you?” I smiled, as I had heard that question before when I was in different areas of the country.
I’m thankful for you Tipper, loving your people, and being real. God bless!
Thank you so much, Garland Davis, for that interesting story. It brings back so many memories. We were able to listen to a game between the Dodgers and Yankees on our loudspeaker at school. Our very stern, but nice, Principal must have thought it was important, because it does not seem in keeping with the strictness of the day.
I have memories of close calls also growing up. A bunch of horses once scattered a bunch of us children out from under the fence. By far the worst for me was I was in the fenced in apple orchard, and our old cow came chasing after me. I had never been afraid of her before, but she kept me treed for quite a while. Dad thought that was really funny, but I never did.
The coalfields had many baseball teams, and that was a weekend pastime for young men who might otherwise have been bored. There were many big flat areas referred to as the “baseball field.” I know where most are, but now they are grown over. I tried to play a few times, but quit after I got the “wind” knocked out of me a couple of times. Those old ball fields are grown over now, but there was no problem among the youth with illegal drugs then. Kids had a purpose then that money could not buy. Just a thought, but I wonder if we could bring back the old community baseball games, then maybe our youth would stay out of trouble.
I am a child of the late 50’s and 60’s. My best friend and me played baseball with one another year round , just playing catch or taking turns hitting balls to each other. At the country school we attended the boys played played baseball year round at recess. Like Garland said, we thought there was only two teams, either the NY Yankees or the Dodgers. All of us wanted to play for one of those teams. We would sometimes play in a cow pasture, but never had to worry about a bull only fresh cow patties. For us it was a Pepsi and a Baby Ruth candy bar. At the country store you might have to pick through the candy bars to be able to get one that didn’t have worms in it. The store would be hot in the summertime, no fans or ac back then. I still have a shoebox full of baseball cards of players from that time. Unfortunately they are dog eared and may have been marked on. My friends daddy own a barber shop that had a refrigerator in it. His daddy would gives us one drink a piece when I was at his house. We would put them up top where the ice trays would go and let them freeze enough to get mushy ice in them. They sure hit the spot on those hot summer days.
What a great story!! I have a similar cow/baseball story. My grandparents had cows and us grandkids would play out in the pasture. One day, we decided it would be a good idea to use dried up cow patties for the bases. My brother was at bat and hit a good one and was able to run past first and second base. It was a close call on whether he would make it to third without being out so he decided to slide into third base. Unfortunately for him, the cow pattie was not as dry as we thought and he wound up with it all up his pants leg. We marched back to the house after that so he could clean up. When grandmother saw him she asked what happened and my brother said, “I slid into third base”. That’s been a running joke in our family ever since. Love the story and lover your blog, Tipper!!!
Country boys and girls just have different things to worry about than city kids. I’ve never had to run from a bull, thankfully. I do wonder if the youngest Rising girl kept the bull watching job.
No, they traded her to the Durham Bulls!
Terrific story! When I was a child, we played baseball on a vacant lot in Clovis, New Mexico. No bulls, but we loved it and were “baseball crazy” too. The Clovis Pioneers, our team in the West Texas New Mexico League were our heroes!
I thoroughly enjoyed Mr. Garland’s story, he definitely grew up in a time when a child had a REAL childhood, so did we! I was picturing him swimming back and forth across that pond and the ole Bull patrolling the perimeter!
I guess he’s thankful that the Bull was a real Bull and the desire to be with his girlfriends out weighed his desire to keep after him! Lol
We loved baseball growing up to and played it A LOT just like he described Country Boy style but thankfully we never had an experience like he did with A BULL.
Thanks for sharing his story Miss Tipper.
Garland’s story started my morning off with a big smile! A blessed Friday to all!
What a great memory, we played baseball in the field scross from my house. I caught the ball once with the end of my finger and it has been crooked ever since.
Baseball is such a fun sport, true skill and patience comes thru. Unlike football it does seem to take more skill than brawn. Thanks for those memories.
That’s a wonderful childhood memory. I think those boys needed to be afraid of the bull, he was protecting his girls!
Thanks for the story, Garland, you brightened my morning!
Baseball is the best game ever! No BULL!
P.S. to my first comment here – I said how I loved going to the Padre games at Qualcomm Stadium in San Diego. Sadly, Jack Murphy/Qualcomm Stadium no longer exists. But Petco Park Stadium is a fun place to be, too! They could have planned the parking much better, however. San Diego County is known by several divisions – North County, East County, South Bay, etc – El Cajon, where I grew up, is in the east part of the county, just before going over the Cuyamaca Mountains down to the desert floor on the other side. Taking the trolley from East County to the stadium is fun when you are with a group of friends and don’t mind it taking forever to get there. But I prefer driving myself and being there in 20 minutes. I don’t mind all the pre and post game traffic either. It’s just part of the “going to the game” adventure!
Donna. : )
I really enjoyed Mr. Garland Davis’ post. I love baseball! Growing up, my Dad and brothers only watched football. I was never athletic as a kid – but I was a cheerleader in school, and that is what I still do best. My favorite sports to watch are baseball first (I am always sad when the World Series is over), tennis second, and then golf. But it wasn’t always that way. Growing up I liked to watch tennis and golf only. Hearing a football game being played on tv is a comforting sound to me, but I never actually watched it. Shortly after moving out of my parent’s when I was 18, a friend introduced me to going to pro baseball games at the Qualcomm Stadium in San Diego, and I have been a die-hard Padre fan ever since. I know, I know. I have lived in North Carolina for 6 years now. I should be a Braves fan. But — of all the withdrawals from San Diego I have had to go through – not being able to go to my Padres games has been the toughest. As much as I like watching baseball on tv because you can focus on the actual game – there is just something about being in a stadium full of cheering fans – it’s the whole ambiance of the song “Take Me Out to the Ballgame”. Fun thing is – I love being at all baseball games. Whether it’s t-ball, little league, school teams, church teams, a bunch of people playing a game at the park for fun – I simply love watching baseball. My Dad and my brothers don’t have a clue what they are missing by just being football fans.
Donna. : )