Still Pitching (18 page)
The other person my father schmoozed that summer was Gail Sloane, our neighbor from across the street. Gail was an attractive woman in her mid thirties. She had strawberry blond hair and an hourglass figure. Some of the kids on the block bragged about hiding in the bushes and spying on her when she sunbathed in the backyard.
It turns out that Gail worked in the administrative office at P.S. 198, the new junior high where Kerchman taught Guidance and First Aid. Every so often I'd heard rumors that the coach had a thing for her.
Maybe talking to Gail about me was my father's way of compensating for missing so many of my games. But I was uncomfortable with the idea. It was not the way I wanted to make my first impression on a coach who already believed that boys from my neighborhood were too privileged.
My grandfather, Hymie (pictured here circa late 1940s), was my earliest mentor and a horse racing aficionado. By taking me to the track, he opened for me a whole new world of excitement and adventure.
The would-be pitcher, at twelve, showing off for Grandmother Tessie in front of our house.
This was taken in my backyard when I was ten or eleven years old and just beginning to imagine myself as a baseball player.
My first baseball uniform, bought for me by my father when I was twelve.
This is me at thirteen wearing my P. A. L. (Police Athletic League) uniform. It was the first competitive team I ever pitched for.
A rare photo-op for me my junior year, 1956. I was a rookie sports reporter for
The Chat
(the high school newspaper). The two girls in the picture are the cheer leading cocaptains. Maybe my luck was about to change, after all.
I'm fifteen here, pictured with Carole Wertheimer, my first confidante and platonic girlfriendâanother mentor of sorts.
The Village Vanguard on Seventh Avenue near Sheridan Square in the spring of 1957. A high school friend took me here when I was sixteen and she was fifteen. For years afterwards, I went back to this fabled club to see the likes of Monk, Coltrane, Miles Davis, Cannonball Adderley, Mingus, Dizzie Gillespieâthe great jazz players of that era.
Group photo taken at Grove Day Camp in 1957âthe summer of my transformation. No longer a chubby, unpopular outcast, I'm at the far right striking my best “I know I am a very cool guy” pose. My co-counselor and summer advisor about matters of girls and sex is at the far left.
That same summer, 1957, I found this photo taped up above the lockers in the girl's locker room. Shot by my soon-to-be first girlfriend, it's one of the most flattering pictures taken of me during my high school years. I swiped it to remind myself that for a brief moment at seventeen I really did look this good.
American Legion team photo taken the summer of 1957. We went all the way to the state finals that summer. I'm in the second row, far left, holding a baseball and showing off.
The banner from my first
Chat
sports column and my best “Joe college” pose.
