In the Record Book - And I Was There.

Carlsbad has always been a baseball town. The first mention of baseball in early Eddy/Carlsbad newspapers was in the Eddy Argus in 1892. And at one time we had our own semi-pro team. Yes, our small New Mexico town, hosted a semi-professional baseball team, The Potashers, from 1953 until 1961. They played at Montgomery Field, located near the Beach and owned by Real Estate developer C.F. Montgomery.

At various times, the team was ranked B level, C level, or sophmore league. The longest homerun ever recorded was hit at Montgomery Field on August 11, 1959 by Potasher, Gil Carter. It was my birthday and my Dad took me to the game for my birthday. We sat in the second row right behind the catcher. Gil Carter never made it to the bigs. But he has his name in the record book for that hit - 730 feet.

If you are from Carlsbad you might remember the field as the Connie Mack Field. I have a lot of good memories of keeping score at the Connie Mack games in the summers when I was in high school. The field is gone now. It was the soccer field for a while, and now it is a new development project.

According to Sports Illustrated reference (Dorbin, Jerry. Elysian Fields Quarterly Review, 2001)

The date was August 11, 1959. It was Carter's 28th homer, a new league record in the circuit's second season. Carter was a 218 pound former boxer from Topeka. He'd been an all-star fullback in high school, but lived in Kansas City when the Chicago Cubs assigned him to the little potash mining city on the Pecos River near the Caverns which bear the town's name.
The sports editor for the Carlsbad Current Argus, the official scorer that night was also a service trained aerial photographer. He was flown over the field the next day and photographed the scene. Prints were laid out on Montgomery's desk. The monstrous stroke was measured and triangulated. Give or take a couple of inches, the ball was found 730 feet from home plate.

Carlsbad is still a baseball town. We have always had a good Little League program and a great High School baseball program that has sent a few players to the "Big Show". Right now our current local Major League star is Cody Ross, who plays for the 2010 World Series Champions, the San Francisco Giants.

Happy Birthday to Me.

I am now 59. Wow, I remember in junior high thinking that the highschool students were really old and sophisticated. And in High School thinking the college crowd knew everything. And the banner of our generation, "Don't trust anyone over 30." Oopps. Remember how we thought all of our teachers were really old? And that our parents were clueless. I would love to be 16 again, but only if I could be 16 and know what I know now. Those lessons were painful and I wouldn't want to repeat them for anything. We were young and invincible. I did so many dumb things, pretty much from the age of 12 on; Riding my bike across the top of the flumes on a dare; jumping off the top of the RR bridge, running the quarter on the Hobbs highway when I had just barely learned to drive. Riding on the back of motorcycles with boys who probably didn't have much more experience than me. We rode bikes without helmets, down C-Hill if you were brave enough. Instead of seat belts we got whacked by Mother's right arm if she had to stop at little more quickly than planned. We sunbathed without sunscreen, baby oil and iodine was the preferred solution. We played outside til the streetlights came on. We went to the beach in the summer and stayed all day. I loved laying on the raft and jumping off the tower. Remember how on really hot days the asphalt in the beach parking lot got spongy under our feet? We had curfews and parents that were serious about them. If I was 10 minutes late, my dad was sitting on the porch in his fire engine red pjs. That was always an interesting ending to a date. There was going to the Cavern theatre on Friday night and meeting boys at the skate rink on Saturday morning. Before we got our licenses, we would walk to Thelma's on Saturday to buy a vinyl album, usually $5.00. Walk back home and listen to music and hang out. I loved to go to the Babe Ruth field and watch the boys play baseball. Later when I was older, I kept score at the Connie Mack field for a couple of summers. Our parents hosted well chaparoned semi-formal dances for us - presumably to teach us the social graces. The police were a little more leinient back then. I got pulled over with a case of beer, but all Officer Fry did was make me pour each and every one out on the ground. He didn't take me home or tell my parents. It took almost an hour to find someone else to pull for me. And by the time I was 17, I could drive thru Sunset package and buy my own beer. $1.25 a six pack and $5.00 a case. And I drank Schlitz (ick). We could go to good dances, at the Elks. When I got caught racing on the Hobbs highway, in my 62 Impala w/ my 8 cylinder 454 engine, They did bring me home. Daddy was a little ticked and went and traded the Impala for a Volkswagon. And it's top speed was 90 floored. Looking back, he probably saved my life. We went to church on Sunday's, did our work in school - mostly, kept involved in Camp Fire and Boy Scouts and Student council. We partied at the sanddunes, and the Cottonwoods. We thought we were so cool. But really we were the ones that were clueless; we were always trying to be older than we were., always reaching ahead for that golden ring. I got kicked out of the Stevens bar by Ray and Jerry's by Art. Art would just say, "You can go, or I can call Voncile" It was kind of a bummer having parents that everyone knew. I was sure that all the rules were just a conspiracy to keep me from having fun. Actually, we lived in fairly safe times, and a community of caring people who cared enough to let your parents know when you were acting up. Kids today would be lucky to have "all of our problems." I have been careful not to mention the names of my coconspirators, but they know who they are. I can look back on this birthday and realize that bad and good, I have had a full life. I have many happy, joyful memories. There are many wonderful people who played various roles in my life, teachers, Camp Fire leaders, church youth groups, neighbors and friends. Life went on and we became the adults. Raising our kids, going to work, teaching school, and all the rest. It has been an amazing journey. I had the perfect childhood - no matter how bad I tried to mess it up. And I wouldn't trade any of it for all the money in the world.

Taking the Elderly Hostage

The recent Debt Ceiling disaster in Congress made me wonder if the people we have elected to Congress could actually pass a basic 8th grade Civics test. We do not send people to Congress to hold senior citizens hostage. We send people to Congress to govern, political agendas aside. The function of Congress is simple; they are to distribute the revenues which are raised by the taxes they create.
My son’s grandmother lives on her $1010 a month Social Security check. She lives in subsidized senior housing. If she didn’t get her check, she wouldn’t be able to pay her rent. Yes, maybe she wouldn’t be in this situation if she had saved more when she was working. But like many elderly women today, she lived during the time that the man was the breadwinner, and women stayed home and were housewives and mothers. When she was widowed, she went to work. Then when she was 62, she chose to take the Social Security that her husband had earned.
The debt ceiling crisis frightened her. She has trouble making ends meet as it is, even with some help from her family. She and other seniors living in the housing complex were extremely worried as this debate was broadcast on the nightly news. And most of them did not understand the debate other than there was the possibility that they might not be getting their check on August 3rd. They were just scared.
There are many points of the Tea Party agenda with which I agree. I am a proponent of tax reform. I believe that government spending is out of control and money is spent on the wrong priorities. I believe in a balanced budget. But I don’t believe in taking the elderly poor hostage to achieve these goals. Shame on those who do.

Equanimity

Equanimity is tricky.
It can fool most everyone.
You wear it like a costume.
Evenness of temperament,
Sunglasses and a pleasant smile,
Makeup and a nod,
A slapdash shot at manners . . .
If only you don’t forget.
From the outside looking in,
It resembles courage
To those who only glance
As they pass by.
“Isn’t she brave?”
But all the while, inside,
Secretly, you’re boiling,
Yet, you are freezing still.
And you make certain
That no one hears
Your midnight scream.
It looms larger than loneliness,
And deeper than the fear of dying.
Your constant companion:
Hidden, swallowed grief.

Pearls of Wisdom

This poetry thing is not working today.
I’m trying much too hard,
And agonizing over adjectives.
My metaphors are dusty,
My alliteration rusty.
I can’t seem to invoke the Bard.
Every word is like a grain of sand.
Pearls of Wisdom should be grand.
Oysters are “seeded” they say,
And will force a perfect pearl.
The Muse must be sleeping today.
At the very least, she’s missed.
After such a rude intrusion,
The poor oysters must be pissed.

Imagine - In my Best Dorothy Parker Voice

Imagine, if you can, or will
Facebook . . .in an earlier time.
Would Papa Hemingway
Have announced his daily mood?
“I am........ morose.”
And would his circle of friends
Have included Gertrude Stein?
Could Scott Fitzgerald have written
his quintessential questioning novels, while
Checking his cell for messages from Zelda?
Would Emily have been more or less prolific
With a laptop and Internet access?
Would Poe have posted daily,
Or just lurked online
And drank his absinthe?
Well then, maybe . . .
I’ll have another glass
Of the Merlot.
And think about it for a while.

Where I'm From

I am from backyard swing sets, from Ivory soap that floats, Breck shampoo, and stories that end with happily ever after.
I am from tumbleweed snowmen, roly-poly bugs, horny toads, and freshly mowed grass.
I’m from roller skates, playing jacks, hula-hoops, and Barbie dolls. I had my very own John Deere pedal tractor and my big girl, fat-tire Schwinn.
I am from the Beatles and the Monkeys on 45s spinning on a record player, orange juice can hair rollers, trading disks to go steady, going to the picture show on Friday night, and meeting boys at the skate rink on Saturday mornings.
I am from bright yellow daffodils that bloom on Daddy’s birthday, colorrama purple and orange desert sunsets; the Llano Estacado, the yucca, prickly-pears, cottonwoods, and mesquite bushes.
I'm from black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day, "big girls don’t cry" and “until your better’s best”; from Voncile, and AJ, and Ida.
I am from “clamming up”, and “not counting your chickens before they’re hatched”, and “hit the deck, you’re burning daylight”.
I’m from Blue Birds, Camp Fire Girls, Rainbow, MYF, Sunday school, and Student Council.
I’m from Camp Skyline in the Guadalupe Mountains and Camp Mystic on the Guadalupe River, swimming lessons every summer, and those damn piano lessons every week.
I am from “slow and steady wins the race”, and “nice girls don’t…”.
I am from Methodists backbenchers, and rebel Campbellites, going to Church in your Sunday best, after dancing in the kitchen on Saturday night.
I’m from Bobbie Brooks pant suits, Villager sweater sets, penny loafers, and Keds with a hole in the toe. And cutoffs that lasted for years and years.
I am from Carlsbad, from Texas, Tennessee, and North Carolina, from England and Ireland; from fried chicken, pot roast, collard greens, cornbread, and pecan pie.
I’m from “turn out the light when you leave the room”, “don’t comb your hair in the kitchen”, and “the work isn’t finished until the cleanup’s done.”
I am from snow-cones at the ballpark, giant pickles at the movies, wax lips and pixie sticks walking home from school. I’m from swimming in the Pecos, at the flood gates, and Diving Rock. I’m from partying at the Cottonwoods, or the sand dunes, and running the quarter on the Hobbs highway.
I’m from Daddy, a roofing contractor who invested in the bogus uranium mine, and Mother, who bought her own ladies ready-to-wear business without asking Daddy and made it a success. They didn’t always agree, but they stayed married for 59 years. And they loved each other and me. I will never forget who I am, or where I’m from.

Carlsbad Treasure

This 1990 photo is my dad and another member of the coffee clatch codgers at the North Y Drive-in on the bend where Canal Street turns into Pierce right next to the Fire Station here in Carlsbad. Daddy was 77 when this photo was taken. The problems of the world have been solved in this diner - more than once. Sometimes more than once a day. The coffee and the ambiance are about the same today. Good coffee, good conversation, good people. good service. Not much has changed in the last 30 years.

My dad drank coffee at the North Y twice a day for the last 20 years of his life. He passed away in 2002 and I took some money down so he could stand for the coffee for a couple of days. He would have liked that. This place gave him a social life after my Mom passed on. The stories told here are the true heart of a small town, and more accurate than the local paper.

I mentioned Blue Highways by William Least Heat Moon in an earlier post. Least Heat Moon rates local eateries in his "blue highway" travels as one, two, three, or four calendar diners. The North Y is a three calendar diner. Homemade pies, breakfast anytime you want it, cooked to order, the best cheeseburger in town and if what you want is not on the menu, just ask. When the regulars pull up in the drive way - the cook starts their order. Almost no one needs a menu. Most of the coffee drinkers have their own cup. They take turns tricking each other into paying. There is even a second generation, or third - and a seating hieracrchy. If I came in to visit with Daddy, I got a seat at the table. If I come in with my kids - I get a booth.

These days I try to stop by about once a month. You can go in and eat and not worry about eating alone. Ocena, the owner, will come out of the kitchen and sit with you for a few if you are alone. She is in her eighties now. I think the North Y Drive-in is an endangered state treasure. It will be a shame when all the local diners turn into Golden Arches. This little corner of the world will be less bright when places like this disappear. I hope it doesn't happen for a long time.

Sonnet to Sean

You were my sun, my son, my light, and love;
As golden as the summer’s brightest day.
And striking as a shooting star above,
Forever changed the night you blazed away.
Grief turned the light to darkness when you died.
I swallowed grief and made it part of me;
I fed it fear and locked it deep inside.
Grief grew until I almost ceased to be.

Time turned the days to weeks, and months to years.
And yet with time, the deepest grief will wane;
The darkness fades to dawn that quiets fears
And light seeps gently in to ease my pain.
Now with the shining stars that grace the night,
You’ll be my star, my son, my love, and light.

The Bottom - Addiction

No mother purposely intends to court grief,
To raise her precious little child
To be a junkie, druggie, liar and thief.
Honest truth, the two I raised went wild.
The sweet cub-scouts, the little league players,
The bike riding little fishermen,
The Sunday School and summer camp boys
Who later found themselves in the grip of addiction,
Somehow, somewhere, something went wrong.
My grand plans were headed for perdition.
Neither was neglected, abused or rejected,
I always did my very, by the Dr. Spock book, best
To ultimately provide, the basics and
Moreover, finer things – maybe in excess.
Quality time, educational trips, and all the other
Accoutrements the experts claimed
Would insure their life’s success;
Acceptance to college, and maybe fame.
But addiction is the greedy monster
That is hiding silently under the bed,
And lurking behind the closet door
Savage and hungry and waiting to be fed.
My precious sons – the monster ate,
And, for a short while, all that I was holding,
Was a mother’s misery, wine, and hate.