A kid's love affair with baseball

Torrance American Little League All Stars sporting brand new uniforms in 1961. Ken Palke at rear center.

The sun's been out  around here for the last few days and it's got me thinking about baseball. The major leaguers are playing and in a couple of months our local minor league team -- the Salem-Keizer Volcanoes -- will begin its season.

Baseball was a big thing in southern California when I was about 11 to 14 years old. Most of the neighborhood boys loved to play catch or get up a ball game in the street. Often we'd go to the schoolyard to play over-the-line, a hitting game designed for just a handful of players.

A lot of the guys played Little League ball. I was a first baseman and pitcher on the Red Sox and my brother John played for the Padres and Pirates. The Torrance American Little League marked the beginning of each new season with a parade near city hall and opening day ceremonies at the ball fields a few blocks from our house. I loved the pageantry and the multi-colored rainbow of uniforms as each team gathered on the field.

As I am to this day, I was drawn to the warm sunshine and smell of freshly-cut grass and the cultivated infield dirt of  those magical diamonds. According to my scrapbook, the Red Sox won 12 games and lost seven during my 11-year-old season in 1960.

We practiced once or twice a week and our manager Leonard Fink hauled us kids to and from the field in the bed of his battered red '52 Chevy pickup truck. He was a patient guy, good with kids (including his sons), and obviously dedicated to the team. He taught my teammates and me a lot about playing the game.

Mom worked in the snack shop during a few games. Kids who chased down a foul ball and returned it there were given a free piece of bubblegum -- a nice treat in those days. Dad told me recently that he'd been roped into umpiring a couple of times. "They weren't too happy with me, because I didn't know too much about umpiring," he said.

The Red Sox won a few more games during my 12-year-old season in 1961 and I became a better hitter and pitcher. I was selected to the All-Star team and remember the nervous butterflies flittering in my stomach before the first game.

The all-stars played well and won the first two games on 8-0 and 9-5 scores. I hit homers in both games and was a happy camper because the folks were in the stands watching. Our dreams of advancing to Williamsport, Pa., were dashed, though, when we lost the next game. And sadly, a few years later I learned that one of my teammates -- Tommy Haslet -- was killed in Vietnam.

The next season I moved to Pony League where the fields were bigger, the fences were farther away and we wore metal-spiked shoes just like the big leaguers. I loved the sound of those spikes on the pavement as we walked from the stands onto the field. About that time I also started noticing pretty girls in the stands.

I played outfield for the Braves (I still have my cap) at Ryan Field, which was adjacent to the Torrance Airport. I still hear the sound of those private planes puttering overhead as I played my position in right field.

Though I loved playing the game, Pony League was where the serious ballplayers were separated from the rest of us. Other things came up in life and I wasn't the best curveball hitter anyway, so I didn't follow my friends into high school ball.

I've played softball over the years and still enjoy attending baseball games, but somehow those youthful days of playing ball hold a special place in my heart.