Play Ball revisited
Albert Einstein
I am writing today about one pitch in one baseball game from the 1920s. But, before retelling what I remember of the story, I am going to share my memories of the catcher in this game. As you have obviously observed, this game took place 20-30 years before I was born. The only record was the memory of the catcher who died 30 years ago and the pitcher who verified the story for me a few years ago. The pitcher, John Crowell and his wife Lois have passed on as well in recent years. A side note - Lois made a Green Grape Cobbler from wild mustang grapes that was even more legendary than this baseball play. They were two of the very strongest supporters and hardest workers for saving the Paluxy River. That the river still flows free is in large part the result of the determination and work of John and Lois.
The catcher was my great uncle Bill Hadley. He was married to Aunt Bess. Together, they had a monopoly on commerce in Paluxy, Texas when I was growing up, as they owned the only businesses of any type in our tiny town. Although I strongly suspect, no one had any desire to compete with their enterprises.
Uncle Bill owned a truck he used to haul cattle, animal feed, and hay; sometimes all three within one 24-hour period. One of my best friends and I used to work for him in the summers hauling hay. Back then, there were only the small square bales of about 55-70 pounds each. On a really good day, we could haul 800-1000 bales from field to barn. The hours were really long. I remember Uncle Bill telling us on several occasions “We don’t have to start too early tomorrow, boys; 6 A.M. will be OK” On quite a few of those days, we were still working at and beyond 6 P.M. The work was hard enough to make me appreciate the ease of everything else in life (to this day).
After hauling cows to market in Fort Worth Stockyards at night, Uncle Bill would frequently spend the night in his truck, be first in line at one of the big feed mills in the morning and return home with a load of cow, pig or horse feed. He would unload the feed, take the side frames off the truck, haul hay all day and then put the side frames back on in the evening, pick up a load of cows and do it all again.
In addition to trucking, he ran a feed store and owned the local phone company. The whole Bill Hadley Phone Company (this is my imaginary name) probably consisted of less than 50 subscribers, who had wall mounted phones with hand crank ringers. He ran the phone service until the early 60s. To say the phone company was run on a shoestring budget would be a gross overstatement. The old phone lines were nailed or propped so precariously through the countryside, you would have wondered any call ever made it through.
Uncle Bill never had a tooth in his head the whole time I can remember him. And always he was chewing on a cigar. Inside his 56 Chevy flatbed, the paint was all gone in a 12-inch streak on the dash used for striking wooden kitchen matches for his cigars. He would light every cigar 2-3 times, but never take more than 2-3 puffs each time before they went out again. Mostly he chewed on the cigars, finishing each one down to the last inch or so, continually spitting little bits of tobacco all over the dash and the inside of the windshield. It seemed that the entire interior was speckled with bits of tobacco, but strangely enough, it didn’t seem particularly gross or messy, it just seemed like Uncle Bill's truck.
Aunt Bess worked about as many hours as Uncle Bill. Not only was she the Post Mistress and the only employee of the Paluxy Post Office; she was also the only telephone operator for the phone company. I suspect Aunt Bess knew more of the goings on in the community than most would have liked, but probably that is another whole story.
Back to baseball. Uncle Bill told me this story the first time as he finished helping me load the pig feed I had just bought from him into our old GMC pick-up truck when I was about 14 or 15. After, we finished loading the feed; Uncle Bill sat on one of the sacks and told me about the most memorable baseball play in the history of baseball at Paluxy, Texas.
John Crowell was pitching and Bill Hadley was catching. I would like to say this was the deciding pitch, of an important game, but unfortunately, I don’t recall either being part of the story.
John threw his fastball and the batter swung mightily. There was a crack and the ball popped up lazily toward John. John caught the ball and the umpire called the out. The hitter immediately became outraged, swearing that even though he swung his bat he never touched the ball. Nobody but Bill really knew what happened and he wasn’t saying until sometime after the game, probably days later.
The pitch was thrown all right and the batter swung, but Uncle Bill missed the catch. The crack was the ball hitting one of his knees hard enough to pop back up toward the pitcher. It must have really hurt but he never let on. And it made it made a great story.
There's one word that describes baseball -- 'You never know.'
--Joquin Andujar
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