BELIEVE IT OR NOT- H. PESKIN

MORE TALES OF SANDLOT BASEBALL ON FLETCHER'S FIELD.

Here is another story which has taken on a mythic quality with the passage of time.

Some time around July 1959, Willie Richter a ferocious slugger if there ever was one was served a fast ball down the center of the plate. He took a hefty swing, connected right on and the ball sailed up into left field--- and never came down. It sailed right out of sight.

The next evening about the same time, Willie came up to the bat, and waited for a pitch. Suddenly a ball came hurtling down from nowhere. The left fielder lifted his glove and caught the ball.

The Unpire flung up his hand, yelled to Willie, yer out- FOR YESTERDAY.

There are a couple of witnesses to the event that swear up and down that it actually happened. Believe it or not.

THE LONGEST HOME RUN - HYMAN PESKIN

A return to Fletcher’s field during the 1957 to 1962 era, involves a story told to me by Willie Richter, presumably related to him by the crackerjack pitcher, Marty Kaufman, and is about he late Myer Anapolsky. The factual truthfulness of this anecdote cannot be confirmed, but why allow the absence of evidentiary data get in the way of a darn good story.

Myer was a tall (over 6 feet) hulking outfieder who always swung for the fences, even though there were no fences at Fletcher’s field. His batting average was low and he often either struck out or flew out to deep center. On a rare occasion he connected with his roundhouse swing . And this occured one evening in mid june approximately 1959-60, (the exact year is uncertain). The ball catapulted out to deep left field on to the street. That was located on the west perimeter of the park and appropriatetly named Park Avenue, a very busy Montreal artery running north-south. The ball might have been propelled some 380 feet and landed on the back of a truck transporting live chickens. Again I must warn you this is pure hearsay. There were no credible witnesses confirming these facts. The truck headed to the town of Chicoutimi, a 450 km. 5 hour drive from Montreal.

Now a brief digression, the record for the longest home-run is held by Mickey Mantle, The Yankee ace who hit a homer 656 feet at Briggs Stadium, Detroit, Michigan – on September 12, 1960.

But that is just what is recorded on the books. For me the real record is held by Myer Anapolsky, slugging a homer 450 km- and 380 feet.

This record is in the memory tracks of all those aspiring ballplayer of Fletchers field, and will live on so long as there are old codgers like myself who are prepared to perpetuate the myths of that wonderful era. An era long gone and never to return.

After his baseball days ended, Myer Anapolsky settled into the mundane world of a working man, involving himself in such tasks as driving a truck and working in a garment factory. His personal life was troubled- with marital problems. I met him several years ago at a Montreal synogogue. The occasion was not happy. He was attending a memorial service for his son who had just died of a drug overdose. At the age of around 80 he looked shrunken and very tired with no indication of his previous imposing athletic bearing. I reached out to shake his hand. He held back,excusing himself, saying that his hand was still sore from multiple surgeries required to repair old baseball injuries. His eyes visibly brightened when I reminded him of the halcyon days of baseball on Fletcher’s field. He died shortly thereafter. Yes, there is life after baseball, but for Myer Anapolsky it was not much of a life.

A Dog

Dogs should not be locked up behind bars.
They are meant to be free and happy.


This morning I walked over to the Metro store on Queen Mary near Decarie - Noticed on the bulletin board a lost dog notice.

Lost- black and white cocker spaniel. left ear missing, hind leg broken tail partly gone, answers to the name - lucky.

OH, GIVE ME SOMETHING TO REMEMBER YOU BY

This song was used very effectively in the documentary film- THE HIDDEN FACE OF SUICIDE. Yahudit Silverman


Oh, give me something to remember you by
When you are far away from me, dear
Some little something, meaning love can not die,
No matter where you chance to be.

Though I'll pray for you, night and day for you;
It will see me through like a charm,
Till you're returning.
So give me something to remember you by
When you are far away from me.

Though I'll pray for you, night and day for you

It will see me through like a charm
Till your returning

So give me something to remember you by

When you are far away from me.
___________________________________________________________________________
There is something so damaging, so profoundly hurtful, when we silence those who are suffering, when we turn away from their pain."

The Hidden Face of Suicide is a meditative, heartfelt, film that explores the question of suicide with fresh eyes, originality, and intelligence. Department of Creative Arts Therapies professor and filmmaker Yehudit Silverman enters the world of survivors, those who have lost loved ones to suicide and reveals their remarkable stories.



Date:
April 11, 2010 at 3 p.m.

Location:
J.A. De Sève Cinema, Concordia University, 1400 de Maisonneuve Blvd W.

Cost:
Free admission. Everyone welcome.

Colours- Lynn Gordon

I slogged at a slag-coloured job
concealed it in a rose petal hues
as I focused on perks and benefits
to banish the eight to four blues.

From ho-hum I made la-di-da
as boredom at bay I did hold,
Magician, sly alchemist, I worked hard
at transforming dust into gold.

Til settling for gray would not do;
I unleashed the longing within,
shed the past, turned the page to shades of white
faced forward and sloughed off a skin.

Imagine-John Lennon

Imagine there’s no countries

It isn’t hard to do

Nothing to kill or die for

And no religion too

Imagine all the people

Living life in peace…

…..Imagine all the people

Sharing all the world…

You may say I’m a dreamer

But I’m not the only one

I hope someday you’ll join us

And the world will live as one”

Introduction to Poetry- Billy Collins

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author's name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.