Where I Stand — Classic Hank: Baseball has always been America’s game

Friday, Sept. 7, 2001 | 4:43 a.m.

Note to readers:

Sun Publisher Hank Greenspun, wo died in 1989, was a prophetic, hard-hitting columnist who butted heads with world giants and demagogues and zealously defended the rights of the little guy.

Every week the Sun will run one of Hank's Where I Stand columns, recalling his finer moments as a chronicler of the late 20th century. We call this feature "Classic Hank."

TODAY: In the midst of a Little League cheating scandal, the ending of the first season of the Las Vegas 51s AAA club and the heating up of the Major League pennant races, here is an April 5, 1955, Hank column that wallops a grand slam for the true spirit of the ol' ball game:

The height of futility.

A foul ball hit into the midst of a crowd of kids, and others from at least four different sections all converge to make a mad dash in an attempt to retrieve the ball. Can any effort be more in vain? The ball is gobbled up before the youngsters have had time to leave their seats, but the scramble does not stop. The lads go down fighting.

The baseball game between the San Francisco Seals and Oakland held at Cashman Field this past Sunday merited far better attendance.

It was an exciting game and the weather was perfect at the field which is more than can be said about the rest of Las Vegas.

The proceeds went for the benefit of the Municipal Baseball League, a federation set up to support the 1955 local baseball program. The money raised was to be used to construct much-needed backstops and bleachers for the many teams of youngsters scheduled to participate in this year's baseball program.

And though the youngsters would have given their right eye for an opportunity to see the game, there were all too few fathers who took the afternoon off to make their young one happy.

I know how important it is for the Old Man to get some rest on a Sunday, but what can be more restful than a relaxing afternoon at a ball game. I only took three of my kids, and inasmuch as I wished for a restful Sunday, I held the guest list down to one friend for each offspring. So with six little ones in the car, we started for Cashman Field equipped with one blanket, three dolls, two fielder's gloves, three old baseballs and two American flags. I still cannot see any significance in having the flags but Janie insisted on it and far be it from me to curb such patriotic enthusiasm.

I surely thought all the sporting elite of Las Vegas would turn out for the game; so, I wore my new sports coat.

There was a slight breeze blowing at Cashman Field which did not impede the progress of the game in any way; neither was it in any degree uncomfortable from a climate standpoint, but it was slightly awkward for me with a new cashmere jacket and six kids sitting to windward eating six fluffy balls of candy cotton.

I didn't mind the stuff in my hair but I felt some remorse because of the jacket.

However, the stuff didn't blend too badly with the cokes, Seven-Ups, peanuts, mustard other eating matter which somehow managed to leave some tell-tale impression on the multicolored fabric. To an untrained observer, the mustard only added a little color, but I must admit the candy cotton effect was superfluous.

It wasn't until after the third inning that I abandoned any attempt to keep the youngsters at my side and discourage them in their quest for foul balls. They ran with the others even though the ball landed in sections too far distant for salvage even if a jet plane was the means of transportation instead of stubby little legs.

Brian finally latched onto a ball but an assist must be chalked up to Nick Kelly of the Sands, who employed the services of his good friend, Lefty O'Doul, Oakland manager, who, in turn used his good offices to pacify my 8-year-old. And it was an autographed one at that. You couldn't swap the kid a new Cadillac for the ball.

Jim Cashman wore a light Palm Beach suit to the game to show his disdain for those who feared the day might be too cold. The weather of the day before kept the crowd down to disappointing numbers, which was a sad blow to the efforts of men like Cashman, Bruce Trent, Bob Fowler, Ross Tucker, John Conway, Bert King, Joe Rue and Newt Kimball, who are working to establish support for a baseball program for the youngsters of Las Vegas.

Joe Rue umpired the game and proved conclusively that it isn't necessary to be blind to be an umpire, but it sure helps. Even Janie was forced to razz Joe in spots and she knows nothing about the game excepting that she is quick to learn from her elders. And the fans gave Janie ample opportunity to learn especially her Old Man who won five bucks from Umpire Rue on the Giant-Cleveland game and his still to see a down payment on the winnings.

There must be some way of whipping up some enthusiasm in Las Vegas for the greatest sport this country has ever produced. Baseball is almost as important to young fellows as schooling and they are being denied the opportunities afforded to boys in other cities.

However, the Old Guard is still trying and perhaps someday their dreams of minor league ball for Las Vegas will be realized. We owe it to our youngsters if for no other reason.

Oh, yes, I finally made it home from the game, more dead than alive, only to be greeted by my wife with the news that the lining of my new jacket was hanging in the back.

A small price, indeed, to pay for an afternoon at the ball game with six youngsters.