Representing the hardscrabble hardball fraternity
Some of you are familiar with my first book, When Towns Had Teams. The book took a unique journey back to baseball’s past, when the local version of America’s game was deeply rooted in the culture of rural small town living just after WWII. I spent nearly a year in 2004 gathering research—scouring old box scores on microfilm, interviewing former players, and looking for other sources (of which there were few)—all connected to the kind of hardscrabble hardball that was played during the 1940s and 1950s in Maine and elsewhere.
Since then, I’ve moved on from writing solely about baseball. I love baseball; I’ve played it at the college level and have coached it at multiple levels from Little League to the semi-pro ranks. A fear I had, as much as I loved the entire process (well, most of the process) of developing that first book idea about baseball and following it through to fruition, was the concern that during that maiden publishing voyage with RiverVision Press, I would end up being pegged strictly as a baseball writer, or even someone who merely mined arcane Maine history. I’d wanted to believe that my interests were more diverse than that. Still, it’s been nice to be reminded regularly over the past five years that my first time out with a full-length resulted in a book that is still viewed by those that know, as the quintessential look back at a brand of baseball that’s pretty much gone.
A few weeks ago, one of my interviews for the book, a fine gentleman named Marty Roop, was inducted into Maine’s Baseball Hall of Fame. The Roops lived just up the street from me growing up in Lisbon Falls. I played ball with all three of his sons, and went to high school with his daughter. Marty felt that my book helped him in being selected for induction. He invited me to the ceremonies, and I was honored and thrilled to attend.
Sitting in the room, watching Marty make his induction remarks, having the opportunity to spend some time talking with his son Larry (an idol of mine growing up), as well as Steve, Marty Jr., and Kathy, along with his wife Mary Jane, were highlights of my time at the Holiday Inn in Portland, on induction Sunday. The event also provided me with a prompt to reflect back on my decision to invest nearly two years of time developing that particular narrative, and a period of Maine’s history that hadn’t been well-documented up until my book came out.
A week after attending the HOF ceremonies, I received a request from Maine author, John Hodgkins, asking if I’d be interested in reading his manuscript draft of a book on town team baseball he’d been working on. He indicated he’d like me to provide a blurb for the jacket.
The manuscript has been sitting on my book table for the past couple of weeks. Last weekend, I decided to give it the time that I had committed to, and sat down on Saturday to start reading.
Along with being busy, I think the delay was attributable to a certain reluctance to delve into the manuscript, since I’ve received my share of slushpile-caliber manuscripts the past couple of years. In fairness, I must indicate that I had hope, especially given that Mr. Hodgkins had published a book about his WWII era dad for DownEast Books in 2006 that received favorable reviews.
When RiverVision Press began, the goal was providing a vehicle for my books, and entertaining a handful of other Maine-based authors. After having worked with another author, I now recognize that expectations are different and miscommunication can and does occur. Consequently, the effort and corresponding returns are not worth the investment of energy and time. I don’t really make much money on my own books, but at least derive satisfaction of seeing my ideas in print. Receiving a national award for When Towns Had Teams was validation of my efforts. My next book, Moxietown, was well-received, selling out its first pressing in 2008, and warranting a second printing this past June. My writing has been recognized and I think I’ve been able to carve a niche for myself as a Maine-based writer. Long story short, I was prepared to spend my weekend doing something out of duty, rather than enjoyment. I prefer to reserve my weekend reading time on the latter.
For the past few years, I’ve become removed from baseball for the first extended period in my life. It’s ironic, since I had gotten roped into town team and local baseball, first through my own involvement keeping a local league afloat (Portland’s Twilight League), and as a result of that experience, I ended up wanting to document some history of the game from a personal perspective, and also create a historical record as a writer/publisher.
Hodgkins’ manuscript was hard to put down. I was thrilled that much of what he wrote about paralleled my own research back in 2004. His focus was on Temple, Maine (where he grew up), and his uncle, Lawrence Boyce.
Without going into a great deal of detail (you’ll have to pick up the book when it comes out), Hodgkins’ mother left his father when he was 14. His dad had returned from WWII a changed person. Apparently, drinking was involved and things had gotten bad enough that his mother was leaving to return to her parents in Kennebunk with his two sisters. She couldn’t take all three children, so John got left behind with his Aunt Marion and her husband, Lawrence.
Boyce was a “baseball nut,” according to Hodgkins. He writes, that “if he is a baseball nut, then perhaps I will be a baseball nut, too.” Young John began to take an interest in baseball, and this began an eight year odyssey with Boyce’s Temple Townies.
I read the entire manuscript in two days and found it hard to put down. Hodgkins is an excellent writer and he obviously did his own research and interviews, much like I did. He mentions my book in the forward, and he and I have exchanged emails and had a phone conversation about the book.
I’m eager to see Our Game Was Baseball: Growing Up with Boyce and the Townies released, hopefully during the holidays. I think many of the people that bought my book would also enjoy this one. It's a home run as a read.
