Man in the Boy

By Rex Lantz

A compelling story of a troubled and rebellious youth from a good home with devoted parents and their relentless struggle to help him find a way into adulthood.

The book reflects the youth's early years and inner struggle with authority, school, and discipline as his world rapidly transitions from that of an ordinary happy "kid" to almost instant adulthood and self-reliance which is brought about as he begins to recognize his personal failures in school and at home and the almost certain life of failure.

The transition begins with an event at school, launching him on a path of no return towards independence followed by the sudden loss of his perceived success. Fortunately he finds his way into the armed forces, and he receives plenty of the authority he requires in the Marine Corp, where he learns to adapt, overcome and gain the confidence that successfully carries him into adulthood and along life's path today.

Written from the “kid's” point of view and slowly evolving to that of a boot Marine, the author demonstrates how self-recognition of imminent failure, with the help of others, acceptance of the need for change and some old fashion discipline can make a difference.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rex Lantz
• Release date: Jul 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781508791638

Book preview

Man in the Boy

Rex B. Lantz Jr.

Man in the Boy

Copyright © 2015 Rex Lantz

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13:  978-1508791638

ISBN-10:  1508791635

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

DEDICATION

To My Parents

RIP

CONTENTS

Man in the Boy

FOREWORD

BATS AND BALLS

WORKING FOR PEANUTS

THE GAMBLE

INDEPENDANCE

THE BEST OF THE BEST

THE NEW SKIP

AFTERWORD

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

The author would like to take this opportunity to thank Ed & Jo Halliday for their assistance with the production and editing of this book.

FOREWORD

A compelling story of a troubled and rebellious youth from a good home with devoted parents and their relentless struggle to help him find a way into adulthood.

The book reflects the youth's early years and inner struggle with authority, school, and discipline as his world rapidly transitions from that of an ordinary happy kid to one of adulthood and self-reliance which is brought about on his own after recognizing his personal failures in school and at home. 

The transition begins with an event at school, launching him on a path of no return towards independence followed by the sudden loss of his perceived success.  It is culminated with a military solution, where he learns to adapt, overcome and gain confidence that successfully carries him into adulthood and along life's path today.

The author demonstrates how self-recognition of imminent failure with the help of others, and acceptance of the need for change, can make a difference.  If one youth can gain a bit of encouragement and find their way then the author's goal has been accomplished.

W. Lynus O'Rilly

[1]

BATS AND BALLS

It was 1963 and the Dodgers were ahead in the standings by six games, with a season record so far of 99 to 63.  They had moved into their new Dodger Stadium three years ago and it looked like they would take the National League pennant this year for sure.  St. Louis would have to step aside and take a back seat.

Dodger Stadium

I am Skip Malone, and as a 13-year old boy I was a big baseball fan, and the LA Dodgers were my favorite team, even when they were the Brooklyn Dodgers.  I had played ball since I was just a kid, starting out with Little League and then on to Pony League.  That was the newer version of the American Legion teams of the 1930s, ‘40s and ‘50s.  My father, Frank Malone, a player in his own time, was a big supporter of my sports and maybe my potential baseball career.

The long California summers were warm and clear, perfect for baseball and I played almost every day with my best friend Steve at my old elementary school which was just up the street, at the top of the hill, from my house.  We always played ball there anytime we managed to get a few more local boys to join in for an afternoon game.

It was the old Westport Elementary School I had attended earlier.  A simple place with six long buildings arranged in a triangle and a covered walkway around the inside.  Each building had two classrooms for different grade levels and subjects.  There was an intersection in the middle of each building so I could cross over to the other side, not having to go all the way around for a different class.

The school also had a large paved playground with an official softball diamond that we used.  It was painted on the blacktop, complete with a screened backstop and base tie-downs - perfect. There was a dodge-ball court in the center and a small gymnastics area on the far side.  The girls had their regular Jack’s parlor and hopscotch area off to the side and out of the boys’ way.  The girls were too fragile, giggled a lot, and we didn’t like playing with them.

The usual summer game was over-the-line since we only needed two more players.  It was always hard to find extra players because most of the boys went to the beach during the summer so a simple game like over-the-line was about the best we could usually find enough players for.  Each team needed at least two players and could have three if enough of the other boys showed up, but that was not usually the case.  If we had an odd number, one team would have three and the other would have just two. That was OK, I didn’t care, and we let the other side have the extra player to keep it exciting.  We always needed to give the opposing team a sporting chance against Steve and me.  We were the best!

The game field required an imaginary line from second base to third base about 55 feet from home plate. This was the line.  The painted softball diamond was perfect and the backstop saved us a lot of chasing when the batter didn’t hit the ball.

The object of the game is simple.  The batter tries to hit the ball over the line without the other team catching it first or without the ball hitting the ground before it reaches the line.  If the ball did go over without hitting the ground first it was an automatic hit, even if caught.  If it hit the ground first and was caught, it was an out. Three hits scored a run.  If the ball was hit over the outfield player’s head that was a home run, so they usually played deep.  I hit it out a lot and the outfielder would move further back when I was the batter.  Sometimes I would try to hit it softly and drop it in front of the outfielder for a hit before he could get to it. Keeping them confused was fun!

The up team provided the pitcher and the ball was tossed underhand to the plate so it was easy to hit.  The batter got two chances to get a hit which reset his count.  If he was caught twice without a hit he was out. After three outs, the inning was over, and the teams switched sides.

Steve and I were the best players around, and everyone knew it, so it was hard to get other boys to play.  Sometimes one of us had to play on their team or they would quit.  Steve and I always had a fierce competition going and his team would often win, but I did OK too and in the end we probably broke even.  Baseball was my favorite and I played for hours when I could get a good game organized.

I always tried to get my dad to play a little ball in the evening after he came home from work.  We played catch in the front yard and practiced shagging ground balls.  He had an ulcer which gave him stomach pains, but usually agreed and out we would go.  Our house was on a slight hill and there was a small flat grass strip at the bottom in front between the sidewalk and the street.  It was perfect and I could never get too much practice in.  Sometimes Steve, who lived across the street, would come over and work out with us.  Dad would hit grounders with the bat and we took turns fielding them.  He got tired after a while and went inside but I stayed to practice my pitching with Steve until dark.  Steve was a catcher, so it worked out great.

On the weekends, the Elementary School grounds were locked so we played Bat-Ball in Steve’s driveway instead.  His house was on a hill across the street from mine and Ernie’s, who lived next door.  The garage was in the front facing the street, sort of below ground and dug into the hill a little with the house on top, and the door made a good backstop.  A wall and stairs, leading up to the house on each side of the driveway, made a perfect batter area for the game.

Bat-Ball is a simple game, just right for neighborhood kids and the field we had to work with. The pitcher slow pitched the ball and the batter would hit it.  The aim is to hit the ball to a spot where it could not be fielded, sort of like over-the-line but there was no line. If it was caught, you were out and the next player got a turn.  If it wasn’t caught, you got a man on base and another turn until you were out.  It was hard to score a run but we managed.  It was an individual sport game, no teams, so we could play with as few as three boys and it was a lot easier than over-the-line, but we had to be careful about cars and people walking on the sidewalk since we played at home.

We used a miniature sawn off bat or sometimes a short flat board I had made into a paddle.  It did not have a lot of power like a real full size bat, but it still hit the ball hard.  You could see the bat was well used just by looking at it and I had it for a long time.  We had to use a softball or a tennis ball after I hit the baseball across the street once and broke Ernie’s window.  I got in a lot of trouble for that so we needed to be careful.  I sure did miss those warm summer evenings playing ball with my friends and drinking ice cold lemonade.

They were having Little League try-outs and I wanted to play in the worst way.  My dad said it would be OK and he took me to the field down on Manchester where they were being held.  This would be my first real baseball team, with uniforms and all, and I was pretty excited. 

LL_Ball

Most of the boys were already there and some had played before.  I could tell by watching them, they seemed to know their way around, and looked confident.

Batting practice had already started and some of the boys were warming up with two bats for the hitting try-out.  I had seen the batter-up in the box at the Dodgers game using two bats so it must be necessary.  What the heck, I’ll give it a try and I did the same thing when it was almost my turn at bat.  When I was up using the single bat it felt a lot lighter and I added a lot of zip to the follow-through.  The bat was light as a feather compared to the two bat warm-up and I punched a few good shots to the outfield during try-outs.

I was getting anxious – when are they going to tell us if we made a team?  A week later I got a postcard in the mail that said I had made the team and was going to play on the Braves.  Hot dang, I made it!  I think all the kids made teams just for trying out, but it felt good to be selected anyway.

My dad had played a little AA ball himself as a pitcher when he was younger, and he volunteered to be an assistant coach on my team.  Having my own coach probably gave me an edge over the other boys.

We had two assistant coaches on the Braves but Steve’s dad, Mr. Hensley, was the main coach.  He was a friendly man, athletic, and he knew a lot about baseball.  My dad did too and by then so did I, maybe as much as they did.  I knew most of the plays already, like when the pitcher covers home and first plate.  I knew that with a man on first, and only one out, the batter would bunt to move the runner to second to put him in scoring position so I need to pitch him high to force a bad bunt. I studied baseball and I knew the strategy well.  It was my best game!

At practice, Coach Hensley hit fly balls for the outfielders and fast, hard (called hot by the pros) grounders to the infielders.  I practiced with the infield mostly and worked on my pitching the rest of the time. Double plays, hitting running bases and fielding are all important elements of the game and need to be practiced constantly.  Running is very technical and the runner has to round first as they say to have a look at second for an opportunity to get the extra base.  That’s where the third base line coach comes into play and signals the runner to go on or hold up.  Everybody works as a team in baseball.

Sliding is really important and we often practiced that.  It is tricky, and a big part of good base running, and I was good at it.  Most of the time I used a hook slide … off to one side, usually to the right, with the leg bent and the other forward so my shoe would barely catch the bag as I went to the outside edge.  It gave the fielder a small target to tag and a good slide could be the difference of being safe or out.  Those were good times and you could tell a good slide just by looking at the uniform afterwards.  Dirt all the way down the leg and on the hip is considered perfect.

I was a pitcher, at least I thought so, and I was pretty good at it, certainly better than most.  For a young boy I had a snappy fastball and good accuracy.  It took a while for me to develop a fast breaking overhand curve that not many of the other players could hit but I didn’t always throw it where I should.  It was hard to control if I wanted to get a good break-over on the ball.  They said I was scouted more than once.  I am sure that was just a rumor, or my dad telling me one of those whoppers again, to keep me pumped up.  I had a good eye and think I would have spotted a real scout right away if it were true.

I wanted to be a pitcher but they only played every two or three games.  I was here to play ball, not sit on the bench resting, so I decided to double up as a shortstop. That way I could be in every game.  Besides, I was a good hitter, not like most pitchers, and usually batted 300 or better.  In the big leagues outfielders needed to hit close to 300 and infielders around 265 if they wanted to be starters.  Duke Snider was traded to the Mets that year and he didn’t even hit as good as me .... Maybe that’s why he was traded!  Steve was the catcher and already playing every game which was another reason I needed to play because we always had a batting competition going.  I’m still not too sure who won that argument though.

Coliseum

Occasionally, when I was younger, I was treated to a live game with my dad.  He took me to see the Dodgers at the LA Memorial Coliseum before they built the new Dodger Stadium.  Just the noise and the dead thump when they turned those lights on in the evening was worth going to see and hear.  It was like instant high noon surrounded by dark when the field exploded with all the light.  The scoreboard was in deep center field and had walking animations the announcers used to coach the crowd and get us excited and cheering.

The standard fanfare was the original Da Da Da Da Da Da Charge!  They even sold toy trumpets capable of playing the six notes.

I still remember the smell and hearing, Popcorn, peanuts, hot dogs - come and get it. Ah - the smell of roasted peanuts as they traveled down the aisle, wanting a sample and hoping some of the aroma would stick to your fingers as you passed them along to the buyer at the end.  The sound of the concessionaire’s voice, and their neatly arranged trays bouncing as they walked up and down the stands was all part of going to the game.

The coliseum was originally designed just for football and track events.  It was a big oval shape stadium with arched pillars at the far end like a grand entrance for kings and lions.  It didn’t look like a regular ballpark or Yankee Stadium.  They put a 50’ tall net across left field because it was only 250’ away from home plate, much too close for the big leagues, to make it harder to hit a home run.  It was a great big metal looking thing suspended between three huge yellow towers, one on each side, to hold it up and the top foot was painted bright yellow.  I guess so the home plate umpire could see if the ball went over the top before he called the hit a home run.  No way could you bounce one over that for a ground rule double!

It took quite a wallop to punch one over that fence.  The engineers said the ball would have to be a 325’ plus homer to clear it and that is how they figured out how high it needed to be.  Center field was 405’ and right was 300’, so that seemed about right, 250’ away and 50’ high.  I remember it was always a thrill to see Frank Hondo Howard almost knock the ball out of the whole arena with one hand on the bat as he followed through with the swing.  That’s if the wrapping stayed on the ball long enough to get there!  That fence didn’t bother Frank much – crack, its outa here!

Howard was a giant, 6’-7" by the time he made the team.  A beanpole—probably a farm boy or something and skinny back then, but man could he hit a long ball.  It seemed that if he didn’t hit a missile he would strike out trying.  I doubt it is true, but they say he sometimes swung so hard they thought the bat might catch fire, so they kept a bucket of water close by.  If it looked close he would swing and let-er-rip!  They told us that all the farm boys were lean and mean, probably from a lack of food and chasing pigs around the farm.  He was still young though, so I figured he’d probably grow out of it eventually.  He did – so did I.

Frank couldn’t see a barn up close while he was standing in front of it – blind as a bat!  He struck out so many times that people said …. He will never last! That joke was on them as it turned out.  I knew better and always figured it was probably all that farm dust or something getting in his eyes.  Besides, everyone knows most of those farm boys are half blind from wallowing around in the mud chasing cows and pigs most of their life!

Frank Howard

Well, he finally got some glasses and  – OH BOY!  For years, wrote Sports Illustrated, he has tried to hit 90-mph pitches with 20/40 vision in his good eye and 20/60 in his left and he was second in the league with strikeouts.  He had struck out 108 times that year, a record, but it all changed after he put on those new glasses and slammed three home runs in the next four games.  Vision, it brought a completely new dimension to the game for Frankie.

Frank got the Hondo nickname from his teammates after the John Wayne movie.  He was so big they didn’t know what else to call him.  By the way—John Wayne was the only man alive who could ride a wild bronco on the first try and shoot bad guys at a full gallop holding the reins in his teeth … with a patch over one eye!  Yep, you knew all that I bet and that was my Frank Howard all right.  A cut from the same mold for sure.  I always wanted to catch one of those foul balls he hit but feared it might break my glove if I