Final Out of the Game

My final year of Little League was when I was 12 years old. Most of the other 12 year olds had moved up to the Traveling Team, but there were 4 of us holdouts.  I was in no hurry to move up and take a chance at getting beaned by some older kid when I could stay back and play against 9 year olds.  I guess the coaches of the 4 Little League teams in town had a meeting where they divided up all the players.  The first thing they did was split up the four 12 year olds so that we were all on different teams (me, Wes, Tony and Rusty).  I may have been 12, but I was built, and played, like a 10 year old.  I feel sorry for the poor coach who got stuck with me instead of Tony or Wes.
 
So, best buddy Wes and I were on separate teams.  This story is about the worst day of his season.  His team was behind by one in the last inning.  2 on and 2 out, and Wes came to bat.  First base was open so the other team decided to intentionally walk him.  A smart move because there was about a 99% chance that he would have won the game.  After the first two balls, Wes's coach called him over to talk.  He told Wes that on the next pitch he should go ahead and lunge across the plate at the ball and try to make contact.  Sounded like a great plan to Wes.  He did it, and sure enough, he lined a shot past the 1st baseman to win the game.  Well, except that the ump called him out for stepping on the plate.  The coach argued, the other team celebrated, and Wes cried. He told me that the next day his coach came out to his house to apologize for making him look dumb.  If/when I ever see Wes again, I'm gonna remind him of that story.

I got slapped right across the face at my 8th grade dance.

First of all, in hindsight, I don't even know why I went to my stupid 8th grade dance.  I was probably the least likely person in my class of 11 to go.  I certainly didn't plan on asking anyone to dance, that's for sure.  After standing around all night staring at the disco ball, I was finally asked by a girl to dance.  It was obviously a pity move.  I slow danced like a dork through the long version of "You Light Up My Life" without embarrassing myself too much. 

Then, as it ended, one of the other guys said something like "Dave!  I can't believe you just did that!"  The girl I was dancing with stopped and said "What did he do?"  He told her that I had cupped my hand under her ass like I was gonna grab it.  Then she slapped me right across the face and pushed me away.  Everybody got a huge kick out of it.  The weird part of it is that she had to know that he was lying and that I didn't do it.  I wonder now if she was part of the setup.

The Infamous Vic Dodge

When I was a kid, the bully in Philo was named Vic Dodge.  I don't know if he was a bully for all of Philo, or just for the part north of the tracks where we lived.  And he was probably more than a bully.  I think he was a real criminal.  I was too young to have a good idea of how old he was, but I did know that he had long hair and that even my oldest brothers had strict instructions to steer clear of him.  He had 2 younger brothers (one of them was named David) and, as a group, they were just called "The Dodge Boys".  Mom always warned us "If you see the Dodge Boys coming, you turn your bike around and come home."

Or, if worse came to worse, and we had to get away from him fast, we could go to one of the houses in town that had a blue star taped to their front window.  I don't know what those stars meant, but I guess they were some kind of code for "This Is A Vic Dodge Free Zone" or something.

Anyway, back in 1981, Vic Dodge was found dead in Scott Park in Champaign.  I heard that his penis was cut off and stuck in his mouth too.  He probably deserved it.

When I was a kid, I had a pet mouse.

In fact, between my sister and brothers and I, we literally had hundreds of mice. Instead of a cages, we used old bookshelves with wire mesh across the front, and holes drilled in the shelves with ladders so that the mice could move from shelf to shelf. If was almost like a mouse village, with certain groups of mice ruling certain shelves. It looked kind of like this:

Because there were so many mice, they didn't all get a ton of attention, and, for that reason, some of them were really mean. Mean to us, and really mean to each other. I did have one favorite one though that was a mix of black and white. He was easy to pick out so I played with him a lot and he got to be very tame. I even taught him how to walk a tightrope. Kind of like this guy:

Sometimes when people would visit us, mom would say "get your mouse and show how he can walk the tightrope." Needless to say, I was very proud. One day, we were out practicing in the yard, and my mouse was taking a break walking around in the grass. I didn't keep an eye on him, and when I turned to look for him, I knelt right on top of him. When I picked him up, he was convulsing. And he actually died right in my hand.

I was so sad, but my sister and brothers thought it was funny. I hated them for weeks after that. To this day, they still tease me about killing my tightrope-walking mouse.

Little Dogs and Big Regrets

For most of my childhood, I had a paper route. If there was a contest for best paperboy in Philo, I probably would have won because I could stuff, fold and rubberband papers really fast. Then, I’d cram them into my bike with the dual baskets on the back and take off. I was pretty quick. The only thing that could slow me down was dogs. I was afraid of dogs as a kid, and it seemed like Philo had a lot of dogs running loose back in the 70s.  I would ride blocks out of my way to avoid a house that had a dog running loose.

To help with this fear, my mom bought me some stuff called “Mailman’s Best Friend."  If a dog ever got too close, I could just spray a little of this stuff in his general direction and he’d leave me alone. Everything would be fine; at least that’s what mom told me. The thing is, after she bought it for me, I never had to use it. Maybe just the sight of that red can bouncing around in my front bike basket kept the dogs away. Or maybe I was just really good at avoiding dogs.

I couldn’t leave well enough alone though. One early Saturday morning, I was delivering a paper to Old Mrs. Brazelton’s house when her dog decided to go nuts. The good news was that the dog was inside a fence that I didn’t even have to go inside of.  I just had to put the paper in a box along the top of the fence and move on. But the dog was barking like crazy and probably waking everybody up, so I gave him a quick squirt right in the face with “Mailman’s Best Friend”. The dog started crying and rolling around in the grass.  I went on my way, finished my route and went home. 

This is the actual mailbox that I was supposed to put the paper into.  It still stands today.

A couple hours later, mom got a phone call from Mrs. Brazelton. Apparently, she had seen the whole thing through her window and was none too happy about it. She was back from the vet, where she’d had to have the dog’s eyes washed out. She informed mom that she would be expecting me to reimburse her for the vet bill, which was just short of $100. That’s where my memory ends. I don’t remember having to go down and apologize for being so stupid, and I don’t remember ever having to pay the bill.  To this day, I think about how stupid I was everytime I walk down the street Mrs. Brazelton lived on.  By the way, I'm still scared of dogs.

Update [December 16, 2020]:

Mrs. Brazelton's 97 year old daughter still lives next door to where Mrs. Brazelton's house once stood.  97 years old, and sharp as a tack.  I happened to see her a couple of times this fall.  She knew who I was from when I was a kid and mentioned both times that I used to be her paperboy.  Uh-oh.......

A couple of days ago, I stopped by her house to ask her to sign a petition for me.  As always, she was super nice and was very encouraging when I told her that I was hoping to join the Philo Village Board.  We talked about Philo's 150th birthday (in 5 years) and how she hoped to be around for it.  We talked about Philo's 100th birthday back when I was 9 years old.  We had a great conversation going, and then she had to ruin it by saying "I remember when you were my paperboy."  

I couldn't stand it any longer.  I had to know if she remembered.  I said "You mentioning that I was your paperboy reminds me of a story."  She gave me a knowing nod and smile, and I asked "Do you know what I'm going to say?"  She said "I know what you are going to say, but I would have never brought it up unless you did. I wasn't even sure if you remembered."

Oh, I remember the story alright.  Apparently a little better than her because her recollection was that I shot her mom's dog.  While still bad, I don't think a little spray of ammonia to the face is quite as bad as a gunshot.  I'm glad I was able to clear my name of that charge.  I'm also glad that, 43 years later, I finally found a way to apologize for my dumb adolescent actions.  In fact, I probably apologized 2 or 3 times.  I'm not quite sure if she ever really accepted my apology.  She did, though, say that she would vote for me when the election rolls around.

Hmmmm.....now I'm trying to come up with other dumb stuff that I did as a kid that I can apologize for. 

When I was a kid, we raised rabbits.

You know, the cute fluffy white ones. Dad used to butcher them and sell the meat. We all helped take care of them, but only my 2 oldest brothers took part in the butchering. I steered clear on those days because I was usually too attached to the little things to think about what happened to them, although it never stopped me from eating the rabbit meat.

Every once in a while, a neighborhood dog would visit and think about getting him some rabbit. Mom kept a gun (it only shot blanks, I think) in the kitchen and would shoot toward any dogs that got too close. One time though, a dog got to the rabbits and ended up killing something like 10 or 15 of them. Mom must have somehow caught the dog, and called the owners. I have a vague memory of some 10-12 year old boy coming over to our house to get his dog. He was crying a bunch, but I’m not sure why. I don’t know if it was because mom was calling the dogcatcher or what. But he was crying as if he was never gonna see the dog again, so I don’t know if they took it away for good or what. When that kid grew up, he turned out to be pretty mean and picked on me a bunch. Thanks mom.

I think I’m gonna call mom right now and ask her if she remembers that happening. Then I’m gonna ask her what they did to the dog. Ugh, what if she tells me they shot it?

Old Computers

When I was a senior in HS, our school got their first computers. 3 of them, but I have no idea what kind they were.  There was no computer class, so they asked 1 or 2 kids from each grade if they wanted to use their study hall and free time to be the guinea pigs and work independently through a workbook.  I was the lucky senior that was picked.  I breezed through the book in about 3 weeks so I spent the entire rest of the semester writing a BASIC program that recounted the play-by-play of the entire 1982 World Series.  For example: - Tommy Herr lines a 2-2 pitch into left field for a single; Ken Oberkfell hits sac fly to right, Herr advance to second.  So forth and so on.  Sadly, I only got through the first two games.  All the info was based on my scorecards that I filled out while watching the games on TV.

When I was a kid, my favorite jacket was

a bluejean jacket that was covered with iron-on patches of Freakies characters.



Just about every square inch of that jacket was covered with them. In addition to the iron-ons, I also had multiples of every magnet. The real prize, though, were the Freakies figurines. Those things were the best.