Souvenir

Twenty-five years ago on a Sunday in mid-October, Michele and I drove downstate to the town of Lewistown for the annual fall festival that centers on native son Edgar Lee Masters.  As I recall, the local cemetery was filled with actors playing characters from Masters’ Spoon River Anthology, which is set in a fictionalized version of said cemetery.  I had another reason for going—Luke Appling, at the time very much alive, had been booked to appear at a local memorabilia show.

Since there was no one else in line, we had the Hall of Famer all to ourselves.  Appling complained about Chicago weather (“you had to dig the snow out of your neck at shortstop”); being cheated out of a base hit on an umpire’s call during Bob Feller’s Opening Day no-hitter in 1940 (“go ahead, ask him”); and the play of Pete Rose (“what is he, 215 pounds, and he slides into the second baseman, 159 pounds?”).  Throughout our conversation, Appling kept flirting with Michele, which she denies to this day.    

Along with an autographed picture of Appling, I bought a drinking glass, with the image of a smiling (who knew?) Ted Williams on it, along with the subliminal command to drink “Ted’s Delicious Creamy Root Beer.”  Whenever Clare faced some sort of challenge, a big game or tryout, I had her use the glass.  The idea was for her to see herself in the image of Williams, a hitter who had no use for pitchers other than as a means to an end.  It seems to have worked over the years.

Our daughter came home for the weekend from school and used the glass at breakfast yesterday.  I can only imagine the challenges ahead.