MY EARLIEST MEMORIES OF THE LOCAL AMERICAN LEGION—POST 1619 IN WEST PLATTSBURGH, LESS THAN A MILE FROM OUR HOUSE—WERE OF WATCHING SLOW-PITCH SOFTBALL UNDER BUG-SWARMED LIGHTS ON MUGGY SUMMER NIGHTS.
My father belonged to a league that played on the post’s fields, and in later years my brother and future husband took their turns at bat. I never spent much time thinking about the building behind the bleachers, or if I did, I imagined a dimly lit space where veterans swapped stories and sipped beer from juice glasses.
That changed after I bought my parents’ house. Thanks to our home’s convenient walking-distance-to-the-Legion location, I’ve become a regular at the post as a guest of my husband, now a member of the Sons of the American Legion. It’s the kind of neighborhood hangout where the bartenders have your favorite beer cracked and waiting even before you make it to your barstool. It turns out the a dimly lit space for veterans to swap stories and sip beer from juice glasses. But it’s so much more.
