When the baseball bug bit me

I remember when the when the baseball bug bit me. I was nine years old, the year I almost died. I spent a total of about nine weeks in the local hospital, first with a very serious bone infection in my left hipbone called Osteomyelitis. I came home for a couple of weeks before broking my hip on or about July 4, 1963 and was in the hospital for another six weeks.

The first hospital stay occurred over my ninth birthday. I was at my sickest on my birthday, throwing the nurses out of my private room when they came into sing happy birthday. I also had one of the few TVs in the hospital in my room. I know this because I have memories of being very sick and watching TV. I remember game shows and baseball. Bone pain is the worst possible pain. It is hard to explain but the sounds on the TV, the sounds of baseball and game shows gave me some comfort. It was like there was something outside of the pain and the fever that I could focus on.

I also remember the room. The door was to the left of my bed. The bone infection was in my left leg, so I either lay on my back or on my right side. Lying on my left side where I would face the door was not going to happen.

I got better; I had a wonderful pediatrician, a real sweetie. I continued to watch baseball, game shows, comedies and cartoons.

During the first hospital stay, my parents moved to a new house across town. I remember being disappointed because he rented a pick–up truck for the move. I desperately wanted to ride in the pickup trip but I was not allowed to leave the hospital so I missed my chance. My Dad drove the truck to the hospital where I could see the truck from the window next to my bed in the four–bed ward that I was in pediatrics. It wasn’t the same.

I got out of the hospital sometime in early June, before school let out for the summer. I got out of the last few days of school. This suited me just fine because I hated school. When I got out of the hospital my family gave me another birthday party. Grandfather gave me some birthday money and I used it to buy a baseball glove.

The house we moved to was a really cool old farmhouse vintage mid 19th century with a wrap around porch. The house next door was on the corner and was owned by a nearby private school. The school rented the house out. The tenants when we moved in had two boys, Bebo was a year or two younger than me. Bebo was a nickname, I don’t remember his birth name. Bebo had an older brother named Rob. I think that Rob was sixteen or seventeen because I have it in my head that he drove a car.

So, I would hang out outside on my lawnchair in either my yard or Bebo’s yard with my sister, Bebo, and our basset hound. My leg was weak, so I could not move around a lot. After being in the hospital for a couple of weeks, the last place I wanted to be was in a house. Rob was nice to me and we probably talked about something, but we did not pay that much attention to each other.

I loved my baseball glove. I think I even slept with that glove. Whenever possible, I’d sit in my lawnchair and play catch with whomever else I could snag. Bebo was easy to snag, so he was a frequent partner. I spent as much time as I could outside, so I don’t really recall how much baseball I watched during this time. But I must have watched some games.

On or about July 4 we went swimming at a local swimming club. I remember this because it felt wonderful to actually move around. That is the night I fell and broke my hip. The pain was even more awful then the Osteomyelitis. I remember the pain and the whole neighborhood must have heard me. I found out later that Rob was especially upset at hearing my screams before my parents could get me to the hospital.

After I was readmitted to the hospital, I spent a couple of days in a private room. I was in traction with weights off my left knee and ankle. I was to remain in traction and in the hospital for six weeks. I have good memories of the private room because I faced the door of the room. Since I had nowhere to go, I got intimately familiar with whatever room I was in. It was probably a couple of days after my fall when I saw Rob walk through the door carrying a small magazine, the 1962 yearbook for the local baseball team. I remember being surprised to see him but the baseball yearbook put me at ease. We talked baseball for awhile then he left. Rob and Bebo and their family moved shortly after Rob’s visit. I never saw them again. And I will always remember them.

I found out later from my parents that Rob was very shook up when he heard me screaming in pain the night I broke my hip. My parents said that he wanted to come and visit me in the hospital before they moved. He would have known that I loved my baseball glove because I was never without it, so he would have known just what I would like.

I don’t remember how many times I read the yearbook from cover to cover. I knew every player and their stats. There is an advantage to being a sick kid in for a longtime stay, so I got one of the very few televisions in the hospital. In the mid sixties, there were many afternoon baseball games on TV, and it was the height of the baseball season. So, I watched baseball that summer. It did not take long for me to get hooked. I quickly learned the game. It wasn’t like I had anything else to do. And someone brought me my baseball glove. The local team was not very good, but that didn’t matter, the magic of baseball took over.

And I always remember Rob visiting me in the hospital with the baseball yearbook.