5/3/24 - Friday Forget-Me-Nots by Jim Silcott

Photo Caption: Crooked Tree Rehearsal

Dear Our Lady of Peace Family,

In the early summer of 1961, my father and I walked to Memorial Stadium in Baltimore, Maryland to catch an Orioles baseball game. We were playing the Washington Senators that Thursday evening. The weather was hot and muggy as we traveled on foot the few blocks from my grandparents’ house (my mom’s parents) to the stadium. Their brick row house was close enough that you could hear the roar of the crowd when someone hit a homerun or, during football season, the Colts scored a touchdown.

Memorial Stadium, long since torn down, was only seven years old in 1961, having replaced two other stadiums on the same site. The most prominent feature at Memorial was on the outside façade where rested an inscription to the heroes of World Wars I and II. The man for whom I am named, Jim Norton, my father’s favorite uncle, was a casualty of World War II and so these words were especially dear to my dad, and they became special to me as well.

As A Memorial To All Who So Valiantly Fought And Served In The World Wars

With Eternal Gratitude To Those Who Made The Ultimate Supreme Sacrifice To Preserve Equality And Freedom Throughout The World.

Time Will Not Dim The Glory Of Their Deeds.

As a five-year-old growing up in Baltimore, I was a proud card-carrying member of the Junior Orioles.

My favorite player was first baseman Jim Gentile (although the team roster had two future Hall of Famers on their roster, third baseman Brooks Robinson and pitcher Hoyt Wilhelm). Two future Hall of Fame managers were young Orioles that season as well—Dick Williams and Whitey Herzog.

The reason that I remember this particular game from all these years ago is that I got to go up to the press box high above home plate that evening. My dad’s best friend, Bill Tanton was a sportswriter for the Baltimore Sun Newspaper. I remember climbing a long flight of stairs to the dingy paneled box of a room with dim lighting and the sound of clanking typewriters. Because the pace of baseball games is somewhat slow, Bill and my dad had time to talk between innings. My job was to be quiet and not bother anyone. At some point, someone, not my dad or Mr. Tanton, handed me a six-ounce bottle of Orange Crush soda pop, which was a welcome relief as the press box, with its wide-open window into the park, invited the heat into the confined space. I don’t remember much of the game that night. Because of my age, I don’t think we stayed for all nine innings. The O’s lost to the Senators 2-5.

Although we moved from Baltimore in 1963, my connection to the Orioles and Memorial Park remained strong, thanks to my family. During Fourth of July celebrations, we all sat on the squat hill of a front yard of my grandparents’ house to watch fireworks that were shot off at the stadium. My cousin, Neil, two years older than I, became a batboy for the visiting teams when he was in high school. Later, he became the Orioles’ batboy. When he went to college, his brother, Michael, who was my age, inherited the job, and two younger brothers did the same.

One summer visiting my cousins, Neil had been doing yard work for Hall of Fame pitcher, Jim Palmer. I got to swim in Palmer’s pool and witnessed the great pitcher using hedge shears on bushes nearby! I was also present at the stadium at the end of Brooks Robinson’s career for an Appreciation Day held for him by an adoring city.

I don’t remember ever visiting the park for a Colts game. I do remember that my grandfather, newly widowed in 1984, cried when the Colts moved out of town in the middle of the night to relocate to Indianapolis.

I don’t get to my hometown very much anymore, but when I do, I make it a point to drive by my grandparents’ house on Westerwald Ave. The house is still there, and after some years of neglect, is looking good these days. Memorial Stadium was torn down 25 years ago, and the neighborhood in which I spent so much time when I was young looks completely different without the imposing structure overlooking the houses in the area.

I know people who talk fondly about Crosley Field and Riverfront Park in Cincinnati, Municipal Stadium in Cleveland, as well as Forbes Field and Three Rivers in Pittsburgh.

Isn’t it amazing that the Roman Coliseum still stands, thousands of years old while there is already talk of replacing Cleveland Browns Stadium which was only built in 1999?

Enjoy your memories of youth, my friends.

Jim Silcott