Tucked inside a small opening in Hermitage, lays hallowed ground for many a family that grew up in that area. This place is not unique as there are probably thousands of them around the country. It is where a lot happy times took place and yes, some heartbreak.
Every time when March and April roll around, I think about this where so many friendships were made and they are still going strong today. It is a timeless place, as most of them are.
Rotary Park in Hermitage. You mention that to any man in their 60’s to their 20’s that lived in eastern Davidson county and they all start to smile. When I played at Rotary Park, there were four ballfields that to us was as if were playing in Yankee Stadium. Hallowed ground as I look back at some amazing times.
Memories man, memories.
I drove past there recently and I remember my mom rushing home from work to get me to my game on time. The uniforms, the jackets, the stirrups all bring back some memories that are worth more than gold. The jackets were especially something and we wore them with pride.
Murphy Sales, Sunshine Shop, Kiwanis, Bensons, and I know I am leaving out about eight other teams, at least. It was a special time to be there in the early 80’s with so many great baseball players. We would sneak down and see a guy named Dan Eskew who threw the ball at least 150 M.P.H. At least. Jimmy Waggoner was another icon to me who batted at least .900 when he played. I can go on and on, too. We thought these guys were Mickey Mantle and Hank Aaron. Funny, because icons were supposed to be so much older and they were only a few years older than us.
Being big and aloof, I got hit with probably more pitches than anyone who played at Rotary Park. Joey Lee hit me on my thigh one time with a fastball shot out of cannon that I still have a bruise there today. I don’t but you know what I mean. He hit me so hard that I couldn’t cry because I was torn between just dying or rushing the mound. I would have made it three feet before collapsing. We laugh about that today.
Memories man, memories.
In 1983, I was the worst player in the league playing on the best team, Murphy Sales. The team was loaded and Don Baskin was our coach. Don still means the world to me because he would pick me for practices and games when my mom wouldn’t make it in time. My father was not around so Don spent extra time going over batting and catching and also, making sure you looked like a million dollars in those Murphy Sales uniforms.
In that ’83 year, Murphy Sales won the championship and all I contributed to that is that I made a catch at first when the bases were loaded and we were up by two. I miss that and we lose the game and the championship. Although I struck out almost every time at bat, I was encouraged by Don Baskin to keep on going and ended up making a catch that got us that win.
Memories man, memories.
Kids. We were just a bunch of kids coming into our teenager years and had zero cares in the world. We were lucky to have these coaches who took a vested interest in us when they did not have to. We had a place where we could go when we weren’t playing and knew that if we needed anything, there were so many parents who would help us out in a pinch.
Some of these dear friends have passed away and along with many of the parents but they will forever be alive in our hearts. As I write this, my deep appreciation for my mom and other single moms who were busting their tail to get us to the park, grows more and more. Sacrificing their time to make sure we had everything that we need.
It was our playground. It was our therapy. It was our home. It was our field of dreams.
Memories man, memories. Thank you to those four ballfields that were much more than three bases and a home plate.
