Growing up in Wellston, Missouri brings to mind many fond memories. Playing baseball at the corner lot is one of them. The lot was bounded by Ogden Ave., the alleys of Wellsmar Ave. and Wellston Ave., and by the Randazzo residence. Many times, I crossed diagonally across this lot to get a loaf of bread etc. at Klein’s grocery store. Everybody used the lot as a short-cut, and a well-defined city cow-path was formed across it.

The lot was often used for playing ball by the kids in the neighborhood. Maybe Jerry McBride would bring a bat, Roger Ashenbremer would bring a ball, and everybody who had a glove would bring one. Often times, there were not sufficient gloves to go around, so when you came in from the field to bat, you would leave your glove in the field. In doing so, most everybody got a glove. If you were left handed, you just made do with a right handed glove. Sides were chosen; first pick was determined by doing the hands-on- the-bat thing. Our bases were made out of what was laying around the lot; a board, brick, piece of tin, etc. were all appropriate. The infield was somewhat worn down especially around the bases. The outfield area was pretty rugged terrain; but the name of the game was play ball, and we did.

As I mentioned earlier, the Randazzo property was adjacent. Mr. Randazzo was a police officer. Depending upon his duty hours, it was sometimes necessary for him to sleep during the day. The left side of our ball field was along his backyard and his bedroom window was adjacent to left field. Larry is at bat and he pulls a pitch a bit; and shortly thereafter, there is a sound of breaking glass. Apparently, Mr. Randazzo was dressed and ready to go to work. He comes out of the house and yells at us, “Kids, come over here”. We didn’t run, although I must admit that the thought did flash into my head. “Did you kids break my window?” “Yes, we did”. Some said, “Larry did, Sir”. “Well, the window will have to be fixed.” “Yes, sir”.

Now what do we do? Well we are going to fix the window! I think it was Ronnie Oellermann that said, “I know where some old windows are”. Anyhow, we wound up in an old garage behind the Oellermann’s house just down the street from the ball lot. Now let me tell you, it isn’t an easy task to get a pane of glass out of an old window frame!  Finally, after several unsuccessful attempts, we did get a pane of glass. Guess what, it wasn’t the right size. Not a problem for us Wellston kids, we will cut it to fit. Let me tell you, conventional tools like a hand saw, tin snips, etc. are not designed for glass cutting. I don’t know if Mr. Oellermann ever needed the windows in that old shed; if he did, we sure didn’t leave him much to work with. Well, we had to come up with plan “B” as plan “A” didn’t work too well. So Larry decided he would tell his dad what happened when he came in from work (my dad walked to and from work each day and took his lunch). Like many other dads in the Wellston community, he was employed by Wagner Electric Corporation.

Well, Larry was dreading talking to his dad. At supper time, I began telling my dad about the window incident at the ball field. Somewhat to my surprise, my dad said something like, “Son, finish eating your supper, then we will measure the window and get a new pane at Central Hardware”. After supper, my dad showed me how to remove the old putty from the window frame and we cleaned up the old broken glass (dad didn’t want anybody to get hurt). We then took measurements for a new pane; I noticed that these measurements seemed to be very important to him, and they were rechecked just to make sure they were correct on the piece of paper before we departed for the hardware store. My dad also instructed me to save all those triangle metal things to be reused later, and that we had putty and a putty knife at our house that would be needed.

My dad and I walked down to the hardware store. Dad showed the man at the hardware store the piece of paper with the size of the glass needed. The man asked my dad, single strength or double strength. My dad said double strength, which was more costly. I didn’t say anything as things were going pretty well for Larry. I wondered why the more expensive glass was purchased as we could have gotten by with a lesser expense. Nothing was said about the cost and repayment. Larry expected the cost of the glass would come out of and deplete his grass mowing monies (Ouch). This did not happen, and I think I now know and understand my dad’s reasoning.

My dad and I returned to the Randazzo residence by way of our house to pick up the putty etc. The new window pane was installed that evening using the metal triangle things that held the glass. We could have skipped the metal things which did take extra time, but my dad said it was important. From the exterior appearance, nobody would have known we skipped this step, but that wasn’t my dad’s way of doing things. I was then shown how to apply the putty and smooth it out nice and even. It was a quality job and looked good compared to the adjacent pane. 

 Upon completion of the window, my dad looked around at the vacant lot. My dad didn’t say much; but when he did speak, it was probably worth paying attention. Best I can recall, he said something like this; “It would be good if you didn’t do that again” which I interpreted as him saying, “Son, you did get into that pitch pretty good; but you will score more runs if you keep it within the foul lines, and just maybe, a change is in order”.  We departed and went home.

I think I learned much more that day than baseball strategy and window repair. Maybe hitting a foul now and then isn’t necessarily a bad thing. The next summer, Larry became a member of the Hillsdale Boy’s Club and played baseball on a real field without any windows nearby. The wisdom of a dad, I think he was both saddened and pleased that I was growing up and that a larger playing field was now in order. He was preparing me for life.

I lost my dad at an early age in my life while attending college. Thank you dad for the many things you taught me by example before you departed this earth. I also thank you for not yelling, preaching, and lecturing to me. I mostly learned by observing your kind and soft spoken actions. In doing so, I was able to pick up on your deep rooted Christian faith and His principles. Yes dad, it worked, and I got the message!

Dad, some of your tools (hammers, putty knifes, etc.) are in my Bollinger County shop today. It’s always a warm feeling when I use them! Maybe Bradley Wade and Diana Lynn, your grand kids whom you never met, will enjoy them as well. I plan to pass them on. This article is, in part, a tribute to my dad, Hammond John Bollinger (January 12, 1909 – June 28, 1965).

Part 2 will appear in the March Flashlight

     Page 6                                                                                      FEBRUARY, 2011

     Page 7                                                                                    FEBRUARY, 2011