If you climb to the roof of Rickwood and look to the west-northwest, you see a white church steeple looming over the trees some blocks away. That was the steeple of our church, then Hunter Street Baptist. Our house on Fayette Avenue was just up the hill, one block west. A smattering of relatives lived in the surrounding neighborhood.
When my father left home during my first years of grade school, my mother had to scramble for work. One of the jobs she landed was as secretary for the general manager of the Birmingham A's. Their offices were behind those windows on the second floor above Rickwood Field's entrance. Birmingham native Charlie Finley owned the team and his major league squad in Oakland was amidst a remarkable three-peat as World Champs. There were nights when my mother had duties at games so my sister and I spent the evening at the ballpark, wandering the stands, eating peanuts and hot dogs for dinner.
For a couple of seasons, I filled in as a ballboy and batboy. They paid us just $3 and change per game but we would have done it for free. I can still summon sense memories, the sound of spikes on the dirt and concrete, the smell of pine tar and rosin. I have been in the locker rooms and press box. I manned the scoreboard out beyond the outfield wall, dropping the appropriate numbered panels into the slots for scorekeeping. I enjoyed nearly unfettered access to a place that felt like a portal to an earlier era, a setting that crackled with memories of the greats who sprinted the base paths. It didn't pass unappreciated. In the years since, when I saw movies set in historic ballparks, it had a special resonance. I knew what it felt like to be in places with those appointments, though the films were set decades before I was born.
My neighborhood has disintegrated since we left in the late 1970s. Five Points West is downtrodden. The state fairgrounds and race track grandstands are gone. Fairview Elementary School, my first school, was torn down decades ago. Legion Field has lost its prominence. Birmingham-Southern has shuttered its doors. For years, I have feared Rickwood Field would suffer the same fate as so many historic places. This week's events are a hope that maybe the wrecking ball can be held off a little longer.
When my father left home during my first years of grade school, my mother had to scramble for work. One of the jobs she landed was as secretary for the general manager of the Birmingham A's. Their offices were behind those windows on the second floor above Rickwood Field's entrance. Birmingham native Charlie Finley owned the team and his major league squad in Oakland was amidst a remarkable three-peat as World Champs. There were nights when my mother had duties at games so my sister and I spent the evening at the ballpark, wandering the stands, eating peanuts and hot dogs for dinner.
For a couple of seasons, I filled in as a ballboy and batboy. They paid us just $3 and change per game but we would have done it for free. I can still summon sense memories, the sound of spikes on the dirt and concrete, the smell of pine tar and rosin. I have been in the locker rooms and press box. I manned the scoreboard out beyond the outfield wall, dropping the appropriate numbered panels into the slots for scorekeeping. I enjoyed nearly unfettered access to a place that felt like a portal to an earlier era, a setting that crackled with memories of the greats who sprinted the base paths. It didn't pass unappreciated. In the years since, when I saw movies set in historic ballparks, it had a special resonance. I knew what it felt like to be in places with those appointments, though the films were set decades before I was born.
My neighborhood has disintegrated since we left in the late 1970s. Five Points West is downtrodden. The state fairgrounds and race track grandstands are gone. Fairview Elementary School, my first school, was torn down decades ago. Legion Field has lost its prominence. Birmingham-Southern has shuttered its doors. For years, I have feared Rickwood Field would suffer the same fate as so many historic places. This week's events are a hope that maybe the wrecking ball can be held off a little longer.
