Skip to main content

A Budding Cubs Fan



Zenith Radio
“No man is rich enough to buy back the past.” – Oscar Wilde.

That thought may be true however, vivid memories at unexpected times can flood the present.

My childhood for the most part was very uneventful; growing up in the small Midwestern town of Cuba, Illinois was going to happen anyway with no particular thought or effort on my part.

There were many experiences that mirrored the very fabric of life in the 1960s. Baseball reflected the sounds and smells of summer.

The ole' timers congregated at Main Street Barber Shop in Cuba, its proprietor Bernard (Cocky) Lyons, a rabid Cubs fan. Monthly, my father would take my brothers and me for our haircuts. The sweet smell of Vitalis filled the air, the jars of blue liquid with combs on the shelf, and of course conversations about the plight of the Chicago Cubs.

This is my first memory of major league baseball. As a young boy my attention was not on the game, really. The game was always background noise, from an old Zenith AM/FM radio tuned to 720 WGN Chicago.

Listen carefully and you can hear the sounds of that era - “Double play! “Number 10 Ron Santo makes a spectacular unassisted double play at third from a line drive off the bat of Cardinals left fielder Curt Flood!” Shouts Cubs’ announcer Lloyd Pettit along side Jack Brickhouse.

What makes this memory so vivid was my youngest brothers’ reaction to the barbershop visit. It was always a traumatic experience for him. Both brothers were destined for the haircut of the military, the dreaded crew cut. 

There was always a dull roar as patrons chewed the fat, "Santo is the best third basemen in baseball." Immediately an objection, "No I'm afraid you're wrong, it's Ken Boyer, Cardinals," – instantly a hushed silence as the voice on the radio suddenly came to life - “Home run Ernie Banks! Cocky would pause from his work as my brother squirmed in the barber chair wailing with tears streaming down his cheeks. He simply hated getting a crew cut!

Hmmm, upon reflection, this may be the traumatic experience that compelled my brother to become a Cardinals fan. 


Its funny what triggers memories, a sound, a smell, a baseball game on the radio!

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

A Game for the Ages

Game One: Yankees 3 vs. Dodgers 6 - A Game for the Ages 120th World Series –  Forty-three years of anticipation culminated in a clash of titans, a World Series showdown between two baseball dynasties. And what a way to kick off this historic series! The stage was set: bottom of the tenth, bases loaded, two outs. The hero? A hobbled Freddie Freeman, his ankle injury a testament to his grit and determination. The pitch soared, a moment suspended in time. Then, a thunderous crack of the bat. The ball arced skyward, a breathtaking flight toward rightfield. A collective gasp, a hush, then a roar. The ball cleared the fence, a grand slam of epic proportions: a walk-off masterpiece, the first in World Series history! As the echoes of the crowd’s jubilation filled the stadium, Vin Scully’s iconic voice rang out in the minds of Dodger fans: “High fly ball into right field, she is gone!” It was a fitting tribute to a moment that defied all expectations. Yankees 3—Dodgers 6. In a year of the unex

Dawn's Embrace

In this episode - Dawn’s Embrace . . .   In the quiet hours before dawn breaks, The darkness whispers, and my spirit wakes. For in my hands, tomorrow lies— A chance to reach, to strive, to rise. With steady focus, I find my way, Turning each task into light for the day. Not every path is smooth or clear, Yet I push forward, shedding fear. Life may bring disappointments, it's true. My dreams are mine, and I'll see them through. My attitude is my own to steer, and No One else shapes the hope I hold dear. So I start each morning with a heart alight, Embracing dawn’s gentle, hopeful sight. For love, for dreams, I’ll build and grow, Sharing this warmth with all I know. In each sunrise, I find the key— The dawn of hope that lives in me.  . . . Welcome to this week's episode of On The Fly . The previous poem was written the day after the election results. Yes, we’ve made it through another presidential election cycle. Everyone at work was gloomy, angry, frustrated, and could not

The Power of a Thank-You Note

In this episode, The Power of a Thank-You Note . . . Halloween night is a time for spooky fun and neighborhood camaraderie. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the streets, neighbors emerged from their homes, transforming their driveways into festive candy stations. A familiar face caught my eye as I strolled around the neighborhood, taking in the sights and chitchatting with the neighbors. It was a neighbor I hadn't spoken to in years, a young mother whose daughter had interviewed me for a school project on gemstones and the GIA in 2014. As I approached her, a spark of nostalgia ignited. "So, how old is your daughter now?" I asked, curious about her journey. "She's 23," she replied, a smile spreading across her face. "She's studying architecture now." I was taken aback. "That can't be possible," I exclaimed. "It feels like she interviewed me for her school project just yesterday." Time had s

GridBot & Gramps

In this episode, GridBot and Gramps . . .   – Meanwhile, back in Greenwood, Dr. Jon Gellborn, Ph.D., sat at his cluttered desk, the dim glow of his ancient desktop flickering as he pecked at the keyboard. His workspace, a chaotic mix of handwritten notes, old newspapers, and dog-eared magazines, mirrored his frustration. Marvin’s grandfather was a relic of an analog world, though he tried to keep up with the times. For the past week, he’d been baffled as to why Marvin had hurriedly left town, disappearing to the High Sierras without much explanation. “Mary, have you heard from Marvin?” he called out, frowning at his inbox. “He isn’t answering my emails.” From the kitchen, his daughter Mary poked her head around the corner. “Dad, remember? Marvin’s off-grid on that fishing trip. There is no service out there in the mountains. He’ll be back soon.” Dr. Jon sighed, fiddling with his outdated oversized flip phone. “This old PC . . . I can’t get my blog post sent to my friends on Facebook.