By David Simmons
NORCROSS, Ga. | Early spring, 1972, Greenfield, Indiana, varsity baseball practice, Saturday morning, cold, and six inches of snow on the ground. Our coach, former Greenfield High football star who wore double zero (00), known as Zeke, had cleared off a big patch of the parking lot so we could have practice using hard rubber baseballs.
As the end of practice neared, I was catching our fire baller and starting pitcher, Tracey Cole. Zeke was standing behind me observing as Tracey got his pitches in. Things were going along just fine until he fired a fastball and I plumb missed the ball!
The ball hit me square in the face, with no catcher’s mask on. I swear, right between the eyes. The impact was spread evenly among my forehead, nose, and the lenses of my glasses. Down I went. Zeke thought I was a goner. But I popped right up. Fearing the worst Zeke was so relieved I was ok, but exasperated. He then swore he would never worry about me ever again. Sure! I never even got a black eye, it was a miracle, but a half inch or so in any direction would have been a totally different story.
Fast forward about 15 months, late spring 1973. Greenfield Central was hosting the baseball sectionals and we were playing our county rival, Fortville. Leading off the top of the second inning was their star first baseman, cleanup hitter, and masher of baseballs, Big Joe Hall. I’m in on the grass playing third base, hands dangling, when Big Joe hit a screaming meemie, an absolute frozen rope straight at my head! I barely got my glove up to thwart off the rocket that sent my hat and glove flying into left field.
Bowled over backward, I don’t know what came over me, but in a moment of brilliant, mischievous, ingenuousness, I feigned death. The ump called time, pointing my way toward third base.
Perfectly okay, I just lay there, motionless. Meanwhile, having watched it intently, worried and concerned, Zeke flew from the dugout. Just as he leaned over me, I burst out laughing, saying: “I thought you were never gonna worry about me again?”
Astonished, he grinned, shook his head in resignation, turned to go, and under his breath said, “I’ll get you for this.” As he jogged back to the dugout, our shortstop Mike Burton handed me my glove and hat and play resumed. We went on to win that game and ultimately became Sectional Champs.
Two weeks later, Zeke was coaching our school supported summer league and my hair was creeping down over my ears. One day at practice Zeke told me I had to get a haircut to play on his team. I just laughed and said: “I guess you got me back.” I turned and walked off the practice field, never to return, my high school days were over.
Four years later, late spring 1977, I finally got a haircut, the day before my first job interview after graduating from Indiana State University. As best I know Zeke stayed on for a long and successful career at Greenfield Central.
I moved to Atlanta November,1990 after finishing a through-hike of the Appalachian Trail. I accepted the offer of my best friend on Simpson Mill court, Duluth of a free place to live till I got back on my feet, went to work at Kurt’s on the River. Bought my house in Norcross, 1992. Been here ever since.
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