Fancy Fielder
by Bryce Martin
1949
He is mine
She said, my dream in a tux
Eddie Waitkus, ballplayer deluxe
He moved well around first
Too well, perhaps
For a dame with a thirst
A desire for certain chaps
Those in uniform
Of Lithuanian descent
With smooth athletic form
No words spoken, not a hint
Until one night a note appeared
Asking him to indulge a whim
A bullet split his boutonni�re
She was so happy for her and him
...
Tell them how the weather was... -- Ernest Hemingway bryce_martin_1@Lycos.com
Friday, July 25, 2003
Monday, July 21, 2003
LIFE LESSONS FROM RECORD LABELS
by Bryce Martin
Among a multitude of others, I remember a 45-rpm record called �Forget Me Not,� by the Kalin Twins. It was a neat little recording. I recognized the song title as somewhat of a pun. Okay, it was a pun. I guess one either is or is not. I would not have thought of the song as a pun if not for my grandmother. She liked to plant and grow flowers. She liked forget-me-nots. I noticed many of the song titles were a play on words. �Don�t Gild the Lily, Lily,� was a weak one from Del Shannon. Of course, it was the B-side to �Hats Off to Larry,� the A-side. The side with the strongest chance of becoming a hit has an A, and the other side, called the �flip side,� is printed with a B. I do not think any of my friends have ever figured that out. Some times both sides are a hit, or both sides are a flop. I know for sure none of my friends knew what the name, or names, under the song title indicated, the one that is always in parenthesis. For example: (Leiber-Stroller). It is the name of the songwriter(s). I do not even think any adults � any that I knew anyway � were aware of that little fact. Should I have said "that little bit of esoterica" instead? Can some thing so obvious to one such as myself fall under the category of esoteric to someone else? Sure, why not? Some people are just naturally dull and unobservant. On a Ritchie Valens recording, I noticed the name in parenthesis was "R. Valenzuela." Based on that, I could see that he shortened Valenzuela to Valens, for show biz purposes. I was able to tell all that just by looking at the record. They seemed to be just records to everyone else. I noticed the same thing looking at �Robbin� the Cradle.� The singer, Tony Bellus, was apparently Italian. I say that because a Tony (Anthony, actually) with a much longer Italian-sounding last name, but one that would shorten nicely to Bellus, was the songwriter, the name inside the parenthetical signs (Anthony J. Bellusci). I was not certain, though, about Renato Carasone. He had a hit song called "Torero," which I knew was Spanish for bullfighter. The only other word in the foreign-language song I could decode was "sombrero." But was it really a Spanish song when the singer had what sounded like an Italian name? The B-side did not offer much of a clue. It was called "Che La La." Spanish or Italian? After listening to it a few times, I only knew it had no chance of becoming an A-side hit in America.
Don�t gild the lily, Lily
Don�t overplay your hand
Indeed.
�
by Bryce Martin
Among a multitude of others, I remember a 45-rpm record called �Forget Me Not,� by the Kalin Twins. It was a neat little recording. I recognized the song title as somewhat of a pun. Okay, it was a pun. I guess one either is or is not. I would not have thought of the song as a pun if not for my grandmother. She liked to plant and grow flowers. She liked forget-me-nots. I noticed many of the song titles were a play on words. �Don�t Gild the Lily, Lily,� was a weak one from Del Shannon. Of course, it was the B-side to �Hats Off to Larry,� the A-side. The side with the strongest chance of becoming a hit has an A, and the other side, called the �flip side,� is printed with a B. I do not think any of my friends have ever figured that out. Some times both sides are a hit, or both sides are a flop. I know for sure none of my friends knew what the name, or names, under the song title indicated, the one that is always in parenthesis. For example: (Leiber-Stroller). It is the name of the songwriter(s). I do not even think any adults � any that I knew anyway � were aware of that little fact. Should I have said "that little bit of esoterica" instead? Can some thing so obvious to one such as myself fall under the category of esoteric to someone else? Sure, why not? Some people are just naturally dull and unobservant. On a Ritchie Valens recording, I noticed the name in parenthesis was "R. Valenzuela." Based on that, I could see that he shortened Valenzuela to Valens, for show biz purposes. I was able to tell all that just by looking at the record. They seemed to be just records to everyone else. I noticed the same thing looking at �Robbin� the Cradle.� The singer, Tony Bellus, was apparently Italian. I say that because a Tony (Anthony, actually) with a much longer Italian-sounding last name, but one that would shorten nicely to Bellus, was the songwriter, the name inside the parenthetical signs (Anthony J. Bellusci). I was not certain, though, about Renato Carasone. He had a hit song called "Torero," which I knew was Spanish for bullfighter. The only other word in the foreign-language song I could decode was "sombrero." But was it really a Spanish song when the singer had what sounded like an Italian name? The B-side did not offer much of a clue. It was called "Che La La." Spanish or Italian? After listening to it a few times, I only knew it had no chance of becoming an A-side hit in America.
Don�t gild the lily, Lily
Don�t overplay your hand
Indeed.
�
Saturday, July 19, 2003
OLD SUNDAYS
You never knew who might show up on a Sunday. That is the way I remember it. Sunday was God's day, and on God's day all was forgiven. Especially sins such as being away for too long and not keeping in touch. Sooner or later, though, all those lost sheep came home, clothesline clean in their Sunday-best britches, dresses, halters and whatnot. Pies and cobblers were always at the ready, some tea and coffee too. The men would finally settle outside, gathered around a raised car hood, rolling their own. The woman would be inside, gathered in a circle, talking quilt patterns and praising grandchildren. I tried to write a song about it, a song mind you, not a poem. I wrote the music for it but I don't know how to show it. Here's the lyrics:
They All Came Over on Sundays
by Bryce Martin
I remember when I was just a kid
Church on Sunday you always did
Then when you would go on home
You never knew just who might show
You never knew who might come by
Oh, how the week just seemed to fly
Another rat race and another maze
Time to re-unite again on Sunday
No matter how long it might have been
Here came cousin Carla and Uncle Ben
Just when you thought they had parted ways
They all came over for a spell on Sundays
They would all came by to stay a bit
Sooner or later you could bet on it
No matter how long they had been away
They were bound to show up some Sunday
I remember it all just like yesterday
That one day was special so many ways
Never seen Barbara look so great
Diane was getting big for eight
The Dooley�s had a brand new Chevy
We always had food aplenty
They all came by if just to say hi
Out in the yard we waved good-bye
Next time don�t stay away so long
Have a good trip getting on home
...
You never knew who might show up on a Sunday. That is the way I remember it. Sunday was God's day, and on God's day all was forgiven. Especially sins such as being away for too long and not keeping in touch. Sooner or later, though, all those lost sheep came home, clothesline clean in their Sunday-best britches, dresses, halters and whatnot. Pies and cobblers were always at the ready, some tea and coffee too. The men would finally settle outside, gathered around a raised car hood, rolling their own. The woman would be inside, gathered in a circle, talking quilt patterns and praising grandchildren. I tried to write a song about it, a song mind you, not a poem. I wrote the music for it but I don't know how to show it. Here's the lyrics:
They All Came Over on Sundays
by Bryce Martin
I remember when I was just a kid
Church on Sunday you always did
Then when you would go on home
You never knew just who might show
You never knew who might come by
Oh, how the week just seemed to fly
Another rat race and another maze
Time to re-unite again on Sunday
No matter how long it might have been
Here came cousin Carla and Uncle Ben
Just when you thought they had parted ways
They all came over for a spell on Sundays
They would all came by to stay a bit
Sooner or later you could bet on it
No matter how long they had been away
They were bound to show up some Sunday
I remember it all just like yesterday
That one day was special so many ways
Never seen Barbara look so great
Diane was getting big for eight
The Dooley�s had a brand new Chevy
We always had food aplenty
They all came by if just to say hi
Out in the yard we waved good-bye
Next time don�t stay away so long
Have a good trip getting on home
...
Tuesday, July 15, 2003
OUR FIRST IDIOT BOX
by Bryce Martin
We had a Hallicrafter black-and-white picture television.
We now had our first television station to try out the Hallicrafter and the t.v. light sitting on its top to protect our eyes from harmful glare we weren't used to.
KOAM-TV began broadcasting on December 13, 1953. Affiliated with CBS and on channel 7locally, the fledgling Pittsburg, Kan., station opened with a test pattern, one similar to the drawing of the Indian depicted on school kids' Big Chief writing tablets, and shut down programming by midnight in its early days. The 1,200-foot broadcasting tower became a familiar feature to viewers. Station engineer Dwayne Hudspeth was a regular in front of the camera while making an almost daily trek upward to install the tower's first lights. Hudspeth looked at the camera, kept to his climbing and provided an oral report of his progress and what lie ahead, no less a pioneer than Peary climbing the Pole.
...
by Bryce Martin
We had a Hallicrafter black-and-white picture television.
We now had our first television station to try out the Hallicrafter and the t.v. light sitting on its top to protect our eyes from harmful glare we weren't used to.
KOAM-TV began broadcasting on December 13, 1953. Affiliated with CBS and on channel 7locally, the fledgling Pittsburg, Kan., station opened with a test pattern, one similar to the drawing of the Indian depicted on school kids' Big Chief writing tablets, and shut down programming by midnight in its early days. The 1,200-foot broadcasting tower became a familiar feature to viewers. Station engineer Dwayne Hudspeth was a regular in front of the camera while making an almost daily trek upward to install the tower's first lights. Hudspeth looked at the camera, kept to his climbing and provided an oral report of his progress and what lie ahead, no less a pioneer than Peary climbing the Pole.
...
Saturday, July 12, 2003
DAYS OF CARDS
by Bryce Martin
I remember each, any and all,
Remember the faces, colors bright, some
Only in black and white.
All those days of cards.
No, Mom did not toss them
Away like blank pizza plate cardboard
Carelessly hidden under my bed.
I sold them, needed the cash.
It did not matter, leaving as they did,
As I said, I knew them all by memory,
All those days of cards.
All those baseball cards of my youth, my
Life and theirs combined, Gone now,
Who knows where?
Sold through the mail,
Frank Leja, Maury McDermott, Bowman
Topps, Forties, Fifties, some older,
Some cut from Wheaties boxes, others
by the score.
All those days of cards.
As true as any friends
Ever I could count,
In memory cast, full and given names,
Birthdates, places of birth, heights,
Weights, ERAs, ABs and the like,
Their numbers in life.
Faces, shaded and bright, as easy to
Recall as a summer sky.
I remember each, any and all
All those days of cards
...
by Bryce Martin
I remember each, any and all,
Remember the faces, colors bright, some
Only in black and white.
All those days of cards.
No, Mom did not toss them
Away like blank pizza plate cardboard
Carelessly hidden under my bed.
I sold them, needed the cash.
It did not matter, leaving as they did,
As I said, I knew them all by memory,
All those days of cards.
All those baseball cards of my youth, my
Life and theirs combined, Gone now,
Who knows where?
Sold through the mail,
Frank Leja, Maury McDermott, Bowman
Topps, Forties, Fifties, some older,
Some cut from Wheaties boxes, others
by the score.
All those days of cards.
As true as any friends
Ever I could count,
In memory cast, full and given names,
Birthdates, places of birth, heights,
Weights, ERAs, ABs and the like,
Their numbers in life.
Faces, shaded and bright, as easy to
Recall as a summer sky.
I remember each, any and all
All those days of cards
...
Wednesday, July 09, 2003
WHAT PART OF NO...
by Bryce Martin
What part of no do I not understand? I am glad you asked.
No Pepper.
No Haiku.
No Masse.
The above are three areas of masterful art I grew up with that are no longer welcome in this world. In addition, and more importantly, all three have the word �no� in front of their action to drive home the point in no uncertain manner. The �no� is quite definite. (And, purely offered as an aside, �No Haiku� is the only one of the three that is a sentence and not a fragment.)
I can see reasons to eliminate haiku and masse, which I will discuss later, but I never imagined the game of pepper in baseball would be outlawed and declared taboo and fall by the wayside. (I am being redundant to show emphasis.)
Yet, pepper, the baseball variety, for all practical purposes is gone, or is, at least, being shown the door. I can explain pepper to you if you are not familiar with the exercise, but your best bet would be to buy, rent or borrow the series of videos titled Baseball: A Film, by Ken Burns. It is a boxed set of nine (Nine, get it?) There are snippets of old time ballplayers playing pepper, tossing the ball behind their backs and generally having a grand old time with it. It is the baseball version of the Harlem Globetrotters tossing the ball around in warm-ups at the free throw circle to the strains of �Sweet Georgia Brown.�
I remember Willie Stargell of the Pittsburgh Pirates using a 40-ounce bat and holding it with one hand to conduct pepper sessions. He and his teammates did it the same way we sandlotters did it. A few players would form a semicircle and toss the ball to a batter at close range. The batter peppered the ball back off the bat, where it was handled as best one can handle a short-range missile and it was quickly tossed back to the batter, who peppered another shot, and so on, fastly. It was supposed to be a good warm-up, one to improve hand and eye coordination. It was usually done around the backstop area.
Major League baseball parks today boast �No Pepper� signs around the home plate region. Some say the little game tears up the turf. Others say a ball might fly into the stands and injure a paying customer. I do not know the real reason. I do not see how there could be a real reason.
If you ever tried to submit poetry for publication or to enter in a contest, you would usually see the two-word sentence that served as a warning: No haiku. Haiku is a 17-syllable poem made up of 5-7-5 lines, and is considered by many to be so lowbrow as to not deserve merit or attention, much like the split infinitive I just tossed out. I did not disagree. I mean who would not aspire to higher poetry.
Masse is just a fancy French word that means �Don�t rip a tear in my expensive pool table cover.� The technique of masse involves a method of striking a cue ball off center where it will curve around one ball to hit another. The problem with this is that you have to elevate the butt of the cue stick until it is almost perpendicular with the table and, while the other hand forms a bridge not supported by the table, you strike down on the cue ball. As you might be able to picture, there is a good chance that the tip of the cue stick will keep going and damage the green cover.
As a kid growing up, I never quite understood every single no spouted by all the grownup sorts. I still do not.
TODAY'S FOLKSY EXPRESSION OVERHEARD: "As ragged as the last rose of summer."
...
by Bryce Martin
What part of no do I not understand? I am glad you asked.
No Pepper.
No Haiku.
No Masse.
The above are three areas of masterful art I grew up with that are no longer welcome in this world. In addition, and more importantly, all three have the word �no� in front of their action to drive home the point in no uncertain manner. The �no� is quite definite. (And, purely offered as an aside, �No Haiku� is the only one of the three that is a sentence and not a fragment.)
I can see reasons to eliminate haiku and masse, which I will discuss later, but I never imagined the game of pepper in baseball would be outlawed and declared taboo and fall by the wayside. (I am being redundant to show emphasis.)
Yet, pepper, the baseball variety, for all practical purposes is gone, or is, at least, being shown the door. I can explain pepper to you if you are not familiar with the exercise, but your best bet would be to buy, rent or borrow the series of videos titled Baseball: A Film, by Ken Burns. It is a boxed set of nine (Nine, get it?) There are snippets of old time ballplayers playing pepper, tossing the ball behind their backs and generally having a grand old time with it. It is the baseball version of the Harlem Globetrotters tossing the ball around in warm-ups at the free throw circle to the strains of �Sweet Georgia Brown.�
I remember Willie Stargell of the Pittsburgh Pirates using a 40-ounce bat and holding it with one hand to conduct pepper sessions. He and his teammates did it the same way we sandlotters did it. A few players would form a semicircle and toss the ball to a batter at close range. The batter peppered the ball back off the bat, where it was handled as best one can handle a short-range missile and it was quickly tossed back to the batter, who peppered another shot, and so on, fastly. It was supposed to be a good warm-up, one to improve hand and eye coordination. It was usually done around the backstop area.
Major League baseball parks today boast �No Pepper� signs around the home plate region. Some say the little game tears up the turf. Others say a ball might fly into the stands and injure a paying customer. I do not know the real reason. I do not see how there could be a real reason.
If you ever tried to submit poetry for publication or to enter in a contest, you would usually see the two-word sentence that served as a warning: No haiku. Haiku is a 17-syllable poem made up of 5-7-5 lines, and is considered by many to be so lowbrow as to not deserve merit or attention, much like the split infinitive I just tossed out. I did not disagree. I mean who would not aspire to higher poetry.
Masse is just a fancy French word that means �Don�t rip a tear in my expensive pool table cover.� The technique of masse involves a method of striking a cue ball off center where it will curve around one ball to hit another. The problem with this is that you have to elevate the butt of the cue stick until it is almost perpendicular with the table and, while the other hand forms a bridge not supported by the table, you strike down on the cue ball. As you might be able to picture, there is a good chance that the tip of the cue stick will keep going and damage the green cover.
As a kid growing up, I never quite understood every single no spouted by all the grownup sorts. I still do not.
TODAY'S FOLKSY EXPRESSION OVERHEARD: "As ragged as the last rose of summer."
...
Sunday, July 06, 2003
Mickey, the Patriot
by Bryce Martin
Mantle hits one
Mantle hits one and it goes
Mantle hits one and it goes high and far
Mantle hits one and it goes high and far up in the distance
Mantle hits one and it goes high and far up in the distance out of sight
Completely gone
You should see the fireworks
...
by Bryce Martin
Mantle hits one
Mantle hits one and it goes
Mantle hits one and it goes high and far
Mantle hits one and it goes high and far up in the distance
Mantle hits one and it goes high and far up in the distance out of sight
Completely gone
You should see the fireworks
...