OPINION|
I feel the need to set the record straight.
In my last column, I listed the life lessons that could be learned from baseball, as well as other sports. Then I described one specific lesson learned from one specific game in 1971. Several of you oohed and aahed at the detail I included and complimented my “unbelievable memory.”
I wish.
There are two parts to my explanation. First, I learned long ago that our memories are not particularly dependable and tend to be very selective. I sometimes can’t remember an idea from our utility room to our kitchen, which are separated by a doorway. For more than 45 years, I have carried notecards and a pen in my pocket so I can write things down. If I don’t put events in my phone calendar, I’m in trouble. I frequently have to mentally go through the alphabet to try to come up with a name I can’t remember.
You get the idea. I tell people my A drive still works; it just doesn’t spin as fast as it used to.
Stories from memories may become more grandiose in time
Memories fade with time and often morph into something more grandiose, especially when it comes to sports. I don’t think this is intentional or malicious, it’s just human nature. I’ve tried hard to resist the temptation to embellish, and I actually have some firsthand experience in that regard.
In my last competitive game in the summer of 1975 following my graduation from Phillips University in Enid, Oklahoma, I was allowed to hit for myself. It was the first time I had batted in college since I pitched and we had the Designated Hitter.
My last at-bat, I hit a home run. According to my dad, who told the story regularly, the ball went over the left field fence and cleared the dormitory that stood beyond the fence. One part of that story is true — I did hit a home run.
The Phillips baseball field was on campus. It was a small park — the left field fence was about 310 feet. About 100 feet beyond the left field fence were the swimming pool and tennis courts. About 50 feet beyond the pool and courts was Earl Butts Dormitory, which housed about 200 male students. The dorm was constructed with two mirror wings on either side of a central common area and cafeteria. The aerial view would look something like an “H” — from home plate, it looked like the “H” turned on its side. With its design, the structure was about 250 feet wide.
Dad's version was better — but not reality
I hit left-handed. So, for Dad’s story to be true, I would have had to hit the home run OVER the fence, OVER the swimming pool and tennis courts, and OVER both wings of the dorm — some 710 feet in the air — and all to the OPPOSITE FIELD. (For reference, the longest documented Major League home run is slightly more than 500 feet.)
The truth is, I did hit a home run to the opposite field — a high fly ball that cleared the fence by about three feet. Had the left fielder not mistimed his jump, he might have caught it.
While I appreciated my dad’s version, I have tried to avoid that kind of exaggeration. Usually, the truth is interesting enough.
The second part of the explanation also involves my dad, who passed away in 2015 at age 84. He was proud of the accomplishments of his five sons. Because he knew it wouldn’t be a high priority for us at the time — and because he knew we would be glad we had them later — he compiled multiple scrapbooks for all of us.
In the 1960s and ‘70s, he subscribed to the appropriate newspapers: Johnson County Sun, Kansas City Times, Kansas City Star, Emporia Gazette, Enid Morning News, Enid Daily Eagle, and Olathe Daily News. Each scrapbook covered different eras in our lives and were filled with newspaper clippings (both good and bad), game programs, concert programs, graduation programs, academic achievements, some grade cards (yikes), photos, athletic letters, speech contest medals, and anything else he thought eventually might have meaning for us. There was a focus on extracurricular activities since that was what newspapers covered.
Scrapbooks are family treasures
He gave the books to us when we were ready to leave the house and go out on our own. He was right — Lance, Eric, Kevin, Matt and I were glad to have them.
Included in Lance’s scrapbooks are his two Kansas state high school football championship teams; the Ban Johnson and city championship year; his Ban Johnson all-star selection; two trips to the Small College World Series with Phillips; and his Small College All-America selection.
Eric’s books include the leadership role he had in getting baseball added at our high school, Shawnee Mission North, in 1974 and then playing on the first team his senior year; his summer pitching record; and a trip to the Small College World Series with Phillips.
Kevin, my late brother, was more focused on vocal music and his scrapbooks reflect those achievements at various competitions and festivals.
And Matt’s scrapbooks document his years playing summer baseball; his second-place finish in the Kansas high school football playoffs; his single-season scoring records (two of top five) and career scoring record (second all-time) at Shawnee Mission North as a running back and placekicker; and his full-ride college scholarship offer as a placekicker.
When I started to write the story about the lessons learned from baseball, I was able to go back to my scrapbook to look at the newspaper clippings from those 1971 games. Since the manager of the Olathe team, the late Ken Love, was the editor of the Olathe Daily News, we received good coverage, so there were a lot of articles in the scrapbook. Without that reference, I am not sure I would have felt comfortable writing the story the way I did. My memory would not have sufficed; I discovered several facts I had misremembered.
Once again, it was my dad helping keep the memories alive.
