Page 94 - WhyAsInY

Why (as in yaverbaum)
stepfather-stepson) game played at Camp Walt Whitman on visitors’ day in 1993 or 1994, I parked a pitch in the left-field woods, albeit the very close left-field woods, for a home run.
Left field was the opposite field for me, but I had early on learned that because I batted left-handed, as few others did, the outfielders would invariably over-shift when I was at the plate, thinking me to be a pull hitter. When I played against new opposition, I would first, if I could, foul a ball to the right side. Then, if I got an outside pitch, I would try, usually successfully, to poke it over third for a double. In time, left became a power field for me.
The P.S. 193 schoolyard was covered with concrete, except in one small area, and was surrounded by a chain-link fence that seemed to be about eight feet high. The advantage of the concrete was that most bounces were “true.” The disadvantage was that the surface made slid- ing less than fun—some would say idiotic. Sliding would occasionally lead to blood or, at the least, a “strawberry” on one’s thigh, but, hey, the game might be on the line. The advantage of the chain-link fence is that it often kept the softball in the field. The disadvantage was that it kept you out of a locked schoolyard, unless you climbed over the fence or a slightly shorter steel fence that met it at the corner of the school— which is exactly what we did on weekends or after hours on school days.
We used a rubberized softball for schoolyard play. It was only when we were older or went to camp that we might be lucky enough to play with a Clincher. (Once again, see Appendix B.)
One pleasure of playing in the schoolyard was the fact that the pret- zel man would sense when the boys would be playing and bring his truck over to serve up his large, supposedly soft, pretzels, which would be coated with hot mustard, if that was your preference. The other enterprising salesperson was, of course, the Good Humor man (known to us as the “Guhjoomah man”), who would sell ice cream cones to us between innings. Guhjoomah men would circle the neighborhood in their white refrigerated trucks and signal their arrival by ringing bells the sound of which would have kids and grown-ups pouring out of their houses on hot summer evenings.
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