An Afro-American man showed up in
the park one day his name was Cecil. He wore a Red Sox uniform and cap covering
his silvering hair. He brought a bag full of baseballs, gloves bats, and
softballs. He got all us kids attention by his amazing ability to throw behind
his back really high and far. He would take a baseball, point at a tall tree,
and would toss into the air with his left catching it with his right and throw
that ball right over the tree behind his back. He would then turn to all of us
for he had our attention, and say, “I’m in the Guinness Book of World Records
for throwing a baseball the highest behind my back.” This book was a popular
book and sold at all the school book fairs. All us kids would respond with “Oooo’s”
and “Ahhhh’s”. He got us into batting some days and others he just played some
catch with so many kids who wanted to throw like him. I was one of them. Kids
were all over the field throwing his baseballs behind there backs. Then he
would call us all in and we would put all the gear back. It was him and his
appearance in the park that started the community softball games. How? The kids
and him and the parents who came to the park on Sundays, at first it was just a
Sunday afternoon where the families of the neighborhoods came and BBQ and
picnicked. Cecil would show and the kids and parents would be amazed by not
just his skills but his ability to communicate with the children. Cecil got
together the first game just by saying “Shall we have a game of softball?” and
dumped the game gear out of his big canvases bag. Everybody who was there that
day including myself grabbed some gear. There weren’t many of us playing at
first but soon more and more people came till there wasn’t enough equipment. I
remember an older gentleman who had large brown knuckled hands and a brown hat
with suspenders who played the whole game in the outfield with no glove. We
used what we had that first day.
The next week we brought our own equipment.
Fathers all week long prompted by their sons and the feeling of some of their
lost youth dug through attics, garages, and closets looking for old beaten
leather gloves, and a few bats of every size to bring to the park. Something began
to happen, something big as week after week the neighborhood gathered in the
park. Not just the softball game but what it fostered was a community gathering
fun and with fun comes familiarity. The parents began talking about all sorts
of issues our little park became a place of social awakening, and most
important anyone could play. You had to know the rules to play. No throwing
bats, no sliding in the field on base, (people were getting knocked down we
weren’t pros), and anything down the hill that lined the back field in the air
was a double because: 1. It took forever to get the ball back, 2. Sometimes it went
into the street. 3. A balls few went into the storm drain. 4. And just way too
many home runs.
I was still little when this started and the
kids were the main attraction with the adults joining in. Andre who wound up
being the pitcher for our team, he liked to pitch. He would stand not in the
pitcher box, but half way up to the batter over home plate. The game was for
the kids and he made sure everybody could get a good shot at getting a hit. He
had been chosen among all the children to be pitcher and the fact that he was
one of the few Afro-American kids in the neighborhood made it special. He was
able to connect with all the kids and keep a feeling of being competitive. Not
like a parent who would always lob a throw in, but more a fellow player looking
for the out. Andre was 12, a gangly youth who had a big smile in contrast to
his dark skin and was well liked by all the parents. He was a social ice
breaker in the making. I still remember the man who came to bat on this
particular Sunday. He was burly man, lots of reddish hair, everywhere, and he
stepped to the plate like he meant business. I had seen him on the plate before
and he played like he was out to prove something of his athletic ability. Today
was no different and he stepped to the plate. The pitch was up and powerful
line drive aimed low to be a grounder that would have headed down the hill. It
didn’t make it far. It hit Andre, in the balls. He went down and was up in just
a second running all around the park, screaming holding himself. The kind of
scream that sends chills down your spine. The adults were in full swing after
him and finally got him down on the ground by the small swing set. Somebody
called an ambulance and another went down to his house to get his mom. What I
saw besides the biggest groin shot in my life was a whole neighborhood leap
forward together in time of crisis, not their crisis but one of their own in
their neighborhood, a black youth. We would continue to meet in the park every
Sunday to play softball, but a new rule had been added. ALL pitches had to be
done from the pitching box. The murmurs of what had occurred prompted more
parents to come to the park to watch their kids play and just in case. It was about
three weeks before Andre came back to the park on Sunday. I had seen him a few
days before and he was walking okay, and seemed in good cheer. As he entered
the softball field a great applause erupted mixed with cheers and everybody
stopped playing and ran forth to greet him. A crowd of at least thirty people
surrounded him with back pats all around and “Hello’s” mixed with “How are you
feeling?” He went to take his position as pitcher again, and tried to stand in
the same spot. Everybody was like “No!” We backed him up to the pitcher mound
and the game resumed. Andre became a household name. The park elevated to the
next level. Crisis brings people together and that’s what happened in our park.
Over the years the Sunday softball games would become a true affair with the
grill going and all the women getting together to provide snacks and food for
all who came. The true power of this social gathering was the neighborhood
becoming solidified and lead them to become a force to make a better community
in Takoma Park Maryland
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