Baseball Thoughts...

I was born into a family where my dad worked many long hours to provide for our family. He was a “Sanitation Engineer” or as what we called him, “the sewer cleaner.” Don’t get me wrong, I knew he loved me. In fact, he would always tell my mom to let me stay up so that he could see me.

My mother—well she pretty much ran the family and loved me as well. She worked hard at home to provide “home” for us. If there was anyone who was the closest to knowing sports, it was her.

I tell you all that so that you will understand that I knew very little of baseball growing up until I had my one “baseball experience.” No, there were no lightning bolts or voices from the sky, but rather just a meeting.

My older brother by eight years did participate in sports as I remember. He played baseball and broke his nose when he missed a thrown ball. He also played basketball, to that I’m not sure how good he was at that.

But what I do remember is an evening where he came home from school and as we ate supper, usually which didn’t include my Dad, my brother brought up the need for some basketball shoes. Now, my parents would not give out money freely to us kids, but if there was a legitimate need, the money would be there.

On this occasion it was, and my brother was elated as he thanked my Mom and took his little brother (me) and his new money down to the Sporting Goods store. I lived in a relatively small town of Sheboygan, Wisconsin.

Sheboygan had the main store of Pranges, which was to me at the time a large department store and it was where most in Sheboygan would go to shop. Side bar, it was a known phrase to “Go down by Pranges, once hey.”

Across the main drag was another department store known as “Hills” and across the corner was a Walgreens which is where you could sit at the food counter and watch shoppers walk by. Down the street from there near Fountain Park sat a Sporting Goods store. It was the elite place to get the latest and greatest sports equipment.

On that night, it was cold and my brother grabbed my arm so I could keep up. He was on a mission and I, although unannounced, was introduced to baseball.

The objects in the window seemed to be a blur as I felt the warmth of the store hit my face as we entered the building. There were all kinds of sports equipment and I didn’t quite get the excitement that my brother had for going to that particular store.

As we walked up to the sales counter I remember a heavy set gentleman smoking a cigar asking if we needed any help. My brother said he was looking to purchase some sneakers for basketball and the gentleman got up and brought several boxes for my brother to try on. Later, my brother taught me that the ONLY sneaker to purchase was Converse; I guess I stuck that info away to this day!

The black high-tops with the little white Converse circle looked strange on my brother as the gentleman helped lace up the shoes.

My uncle was the smoker in our family and he smoked a pipe, but this sales guy had the cigar smoke wrapping his head as he concluded the sale. He gave the change to my brother and tied up the box with some string.

As we left the store, my brother with the shoe box under his arm, asked me as if I should know who that cigar smoking gentleman was.

I had no clue, and was just glad to get away from his cigar.

My brother answered his own question, that I had just met Joe Hauser! Yeah, so I thought.

And that is where I first met baseball—

Joe Hauser was a professional baseball player who played first baseman in the major leagues from 1922 to 1929, with the Philadelphia Athletics and Cleveland Indians. Hauser's major league career was undistinguished, but he made a name for himself in the minor leagues, where he became the first player ever to hit 60 or more home runs twice in a professional career: 63 in 1930, and 69 in 1933. By the way, only Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa passed him in 1998 and 1999 seasons.

That was my first introduction to baseball.

In the years that passed, I would stop in the store from time to time, Mr. Hauser didn’t know me, but I knew who he was. He would sit behind the counter with his cigar and I would “pretend” to shop, when in reality, I just wanted to be with baseball.

As time passes, and we moved away, you lose the connection. I checked the internet to check on him and it said that he had passed away in 1997 at the age of 98.

Thank you Mr. Hauser for helping birth me to baseball… just some baseball thoughts!