Like a Rhinestone Cowboy

We’ve all experienced it.

Some sound or a movie clip triggers a flood of memories and for me last night, driving home from dinner with friends, it was a song. Rhinestone Cowboy by Glenn Campbell.

It was the summer of 1976 and my Minnetonka baseball team was playing in the District Championship game.  I don’t remember the exact score but we were behind by a number of runs and frankly, it wasn’t looking good for us.  Then we got a break.

It started to rain.

The game was halted while we waited for the rainstorm to pass.As we sat in the dugout, someone in the small “press box” behind home plate turned on the PA system and played one song.

I’ve been walkin’ these streets so long…

It started slowly at first, led by Dick Crawford and Russel Jersak and the idea caught on rapidly.  In just a few lines, we had all joined in, singing along.

Like a Rhinestone Cowboy…We sang.  We sang our hearts out.  Eighteen teenage boys who wouldn’t be caught dead listening to Disco, let alone Country music sang Rhinestone Cowboy as loud as we could right there in front of our parents, friends, and girlfriends.

It was surreal.

The team, sponsored by the mail order giant Fingerhut, was an amazing collection of personalities led by our very East Coast coach, Dick Middleton.  Mr. Middleton was  a gentleman, the epitome of class, and not only loved kids and baseball, but he was determined to teach us important life lessons.  I can still hear his voice and sometimes repeat some lessons he taught.

When one of us hung our head after making an embarrassing error or struck out, he would say, “It happens in the best of families.”  One time, one of the boys said to another, “You’re making me look like a fool.” and Mr. Middleton chimed in immediately to say, “No.  Only you can make a fool out of yourself.”

I still feel lucky to have been part of this team on which, truth be known, I really didn’t belong.  I had never planned to try out for a “major” league Babe Ruth team but ended up at the first team meeting by mistake.  I liked Mr. Middleton and somehow I took up the challenge of making the team.  Besides, I reasoned, practicing with these guys could only help me improve, right?  The last couple years I had been a bit of a star on my “minor” Little League teams.  As a twelve-year-old I batted something over 900 and was enjoying my big fish in a little pond baseball career.  While I could hit the ball, my fielding skills were somewhat raw and I hadn’t really developed to my full potential.

The tryout practices were both fun and interesting.  My pea brain seemed to figure out fairly quickly that I was no longer the big fish.  I was a 13-year-old on a baseball team of 13, 14, and 15 year olds and there were ten or twelve 13-year-olds vying for five positions on the team.  There were some really good baseball players trying out for that team and I and my raw talent was just one of them.

What I lacked in baseball skill, I made up for with hustle and good attitude so when the music stopped and all the cuts had been made, the five “13’s” on the team were Roger Anderson, John Aspelin, Chris Johnston, Ron Simmonds, and myself.

Mr. Middleton was assisted by Coaches Burt Smith and the late Dennis Leisz.  Mr. Smith’s son, Kem “Sweed” Smith was pitcher and first baseman.  Sweed was a year older than me and his sister, Stephanie was in my class.  Mr. Smith ran a floral business and the giant box van he used for deliveries became the de facto team bus, a big yellow box known as the “Sweedmobile.”  The Smiths were a very warm family, Sweed being the only son among a large number of daughters (I can’t remember how many).

A big baseball moment for me and really, there weren’t very many, happened the following year when I was lucky enough to make a diving catch in right field, preserving Sweed’s no-hitter that day.  I don’t have any of the dozens of trophies that came with playing baseball all those years but I still have the hug Sweed gave me at the end of the inning.

Dennis’ younger brother, John Leisz was a fifteen-year-old.  John played catcher and was the lead-off hitter for the team.  Good men, gentlemen, both of them.

On third base, was my personal hero Ross Saville.  Ross was tall, quiet, and a solid player.  He was what I wanted to be:  Talented, competent, and unassuming.  As I recognized that my mouth got me in trouble more often than I liked, I many times attempted to model myself on Ross’ quiet way.  (It didn’t work).  Ross later went to play baseball for the University of Minnesota but I lost track of him after that.

Another 15-year-old on the team was Jim Hoopes.  Jim’s family belonged to the same church we did and I was confirmed together with his sister, Kim.  In our little upscale community where “snooty” was a very common personality quality and the social pressures were high, Jim and Kim were never anything but nice.  Just plain nice.

At shortstop was Russell Jersak, a likeable charismatic guy who was, shall I say, a little rough around the edges.  Mr. Middleton handled him like a Maestro at a Symphony.  I really admired Russell’s Mom, who was also a little rough around the edges.  She knew that her mouth got her in trouble as well and so chose, instead of sitting in the bleachers with the rest of the parents, to stand on the road above the field and heckle Russell during the games from there (in the most loving way possible of course!).  I could respect that.

Kevin Russeth played first base when Sweed was pitching and also helped us win many games as a relief pitcher.  Another quiet guy who was always friendly, he was a pillar of the team.

The 14-year-olds were also a good crew.  Dick Crawford played second base and attended a nearby private school.  Dick was a regular guy and a leader of the team.  Now that I think of it, he liked to sing.  Not only was he an instigator of the great Rhinestone Cowboy sing off, but I have a memory of him singing the Chuck Berry/Beach Boys song, “Rock and Roll Music” in Saint Peter when we were there for the State Tournament later that year.

Dave Larson played catcher and outfield.  His brother Bruce took Dennis’ place as coach the following year, continuing the tradition of a good man coaching his good man younger brother. 

Todd Leeder played in the outfield and was another quiet guy.  Although a year older, he was in my class at school and he quarterbacked my 5^th grade football team so we already knew each other (I was the center).  I had played hockey with Ron Anderson, a talented athlete and all around good guy, so we were acquainted as well.

Well I really don’t mind the rain…

As is probably already clear by now, our impromptu concert inspired us deeply and we came back to win that game in the district tournament and went on third place in the State Tournament that year.  In the interest of full disclosure, it should be clear that my role in these victories was that of bat bag carrier and cheerleader.  Occasionally I would be pressed into service as catcher to help a pitcher warm up.  I didn’t get into a game again until the last game in the state tournament.  One at bat.  I walked and was then thrown out by the pitcher because I led off too far.

It was just as well that the other guys played.They were baseball players.I was just along for the ride.

The experience of being on that team, and under the mentorship of Mr. Middleton, was a very special thing.

I did not need to be where the lights are shining on me to recognize that.