Spring Training in Castro Valley
As Spring approaches, so does our national pastime – baseball. Ballplayers go off to attend “Spring Training.” It is where they “warm up” through practice to prepare for the season ahead. It is an annual ritual in the leagues of the lives they lead. Like children, they go through training for the road ahead. With these thoughts in play, reflections emerge.
In 1955, as a kid, I traveled with my mother and brother to New York to “summer” with relatives. We “trained” on the California Zephyr from Oakland to Chicago. From there we transferred to the famed “20th Century Limited” to Grand Central Station in Manhattan. Along the way we observed the broad scope of our country. We “railed” through the Sierras to the Rockies, and then across the plains in the Midwest. Aboard the famed train, we traveled east and down the magnificent Hudson River to Manhattan. Along the way we experienced fine dining (on white tablecloths) in the dining car. To us, it was a discovered elegance unknown. Our baseball gloves dined with us. The mitts were our ‘buddies.”
As we disembarked in Manhattan the sounds of the city pronounced their presence. They emerged from within an anarchy of purposes on parade. Within the chaos of the chorus the musical masterpieces of George Gershwin were born prior to our presence. As we “summered” in Brooklyn and on Long Island we played ball on local fields. We went to Ebbets Field to see the Dodgers and Yankee Stadium to see the Yankees. The sounds of the field still echo – of the smack of a ball hit with a bat, and again when caught in a mitt. We played at the Parade Grounds adjacent to Prospect Park in Brooklyn. A kid from the neighborhood preceded us upon the same grounds. His name was Sandy Koufax.
As we March forward from February, the sounds perform again with the curiosity of a young boy in the spring training of life. The “clickety clack” of the train moving down the track for experiences that continue to educate. The chaotic concatenation of sounds on the streets and sidewalks of New York. The smell of fresh grass emanating from the ballfields still aroma within my senses. My brother and I were “boys of summer” upon the ballfields of New York. As these reflections synchronize, I realize that when in the spring of my life an appreciation developed for the sounds and smells of life. As the warmth of the season arises, the memories incubate again. As they blossom it begins “spring training” again for me and for others here in our hamlet known as Castro Valley. It is time to play ball again upon the ballfields of life. Let the games begin.