A Friend Comes Home

The Federal Express delivery arrived from New Jersey. My heart was beating fast and, as I opened the box and saw my old friend, I’m not embarrassed to say that my eyes welled up with tears. It’s been almost 50 years since I last saw my friend and I really never thought about seeing it again, except maybe in a photo.

I had stared at it many times back in the day from a small hill about 60 feet, 6 inches away. Nothing gave me more pleasure in those days than hearing the smack of the leather as a fastball hit the pocket and the man in blue called a strike.

Yes, I am talking about a catcher’s mitt. I know you are thinking I must have lost my mind, but this is a special mitt from a special friend and teammate. When you play a sport every day of your life, you form a special bond with your teammates, and they are friends forever. The catcher’s mitt has a special history, mostly good, but with a bit of tragedy thrown in.

The friend who sent it to me was my catcher for four years with the Babe Ruth League All-Stars. Ron Labenski caught most of my wins and losses during those four years. One game he caught was a no-hitter I threw against our cross-town rival, a game I will never forget. Ron thought the mitt was lost forever until his brother told him, “I have that mitt in my basement; Mom was going to throw it out and I rescued it.”

The history of the mitt is one with irony, tragedy and triumph all wrapped up in the beat-up leather and the blue towel Ron put in for padding. Ron received the mitt from a friend named Paul Soltesz. Paul played ball with my older brother and sometimes caught for my brother when he was not playing third base. My brother was good buddies with Ron’s brother who rescued the mitt.

They all played on a semi-pro team back in the late ’50s and early ’60s. Paul gave the glove to Ron and Ron used it throughout his baseball days. Shortly after that, Paul was drafted into the Army and lost his life when the plane carrying recruits, many from our hometown, crashed in Richmond, Va.

I always thought about how much alike my brother’s life and mine ran parallel. We both lost close friends in a plane crash at an early age and, we were both recognized as great baseball players of our day, among other things. Now the catcher’s mitt that caught both of us has come home to roost, so to speak.

When Ron told me he was sending the mitt, I was a little overwhelmed, as I was just expecting a picture that I could put on my desk. Ron said, “Well, I have had it for the last 40-50 years, you can have it for the next 40-50 years.” At a loss for words, all I could say was, “Once a teammate always a teammate.”

The glove holds some special memories embedded in the old leather for my brother and me. Those were good times that never fade from my memory.

Thanks, Ron, for sending my friend “home.” It will have its own place in a display case where I can look at it and bring back the days when we were young, and you were flashing signals from behind the plate and making me laugh with some of those special signals only I saw; the days when we were just “boys with a ball and a dream.”

Welcome home, my friend.