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.