The glory days at Perry Park: part two

Pete Whalon

Occasionally we succeeded in convincing her to have a seat on a picnic table bench while we finished our football game, but that was rare. Mostly she would wave her cane at us, as if chasing away a bothersome fly and declare, in no uncertain terms:

“I’m very tired and I need my beauty sleep,” she would always smile, exposing uneven teeth in dire need of dental work. Then slowly Mo (one our many nicknames for Mrs. Morris) would cautiously turn and begin her arduous journey back to the sanctuary of her bucolic home.

Often on a jam-packed afternoon during baseball season, our rag-tag band was relegated to the practice field on the corner of MacKay Lane and Rockefeller Lane. There proved numerous downsides to playing baseball in that location; however, one loomed large on our minds–no backstop. With nothing preventing our foul balls from flying out of the park, we had to institute a scramble drill for these all too common emergencies. If one of our batted balls struck a passing car or took a peculiar bounce on the street, shattering the window of one of the corner houses, we swiftly implemented a practical approach: run like hell. There are however valuable life lessons to be learned from such situations–don’t leave your favorite bat behind. In fact don’t leave any equipment on the field. It appeared that irate house owners and fuming drivers would delight in extracting their pound of flesh by confiscating all bats, balls, gloves and articles of clothing scattered on the grass. Unfortunately, it was part of the high cost for playing ball in Devil’s Corner.

During the summer months, I spent more waking hours at Perry than at home. If my parents had permitted it, I would have pitched a tent in centerfield and lived there. Living six blocks away, it took me about five minutes to run and ten to walk the distance. My mom insisted I return home every day between noon and 12:30 to eat lunch. She imposed a harsh, unique punishment to assist me in avoiding being tardy. For every minute late, I had to sit quietly for two minutes after eating before I could return to my Camelot. Often I arrived for lunch with two or three buddies in tow, looking to score a free meal. My mom was a much better cook than most of the other mothers and thoroughly enjoyed feeding any of my friends at any time. Also, after lunch we could usually talk her into passing out some candy for our return trip.

Out of necessity we developed a phone call system designed to contact everyone in the loop when special occasions arose. I would call Kenny and Bob, who would then call Larry, Lenny, Danny, Craig and so on until all Perry Rats had received the urgent news. “Hey Kenny, it’s Pete, it’s pouring outside; make your calls. I’ll see you at Perry in ten minutes, hurry, and make sure Lenny doesn’t wimp out this time.” Football in a driving thunderstorm was better than Christmas and Halloween rolled into one. We could gleefully play for hours in the sludge, muck and mire, although often many of us would have to tell a little white lie to get out of the house. “Pete, where are you going, it’s pouring outside?” my father might ask. “I’m going to Larry’s to play Monopoly.” Usually that would satisfy the folks. However, it was critically important to sneak out a set of clean clothes for your return.

In hindsight, I imagine the most memorable aspect from those halcyon days would be the cherished friendships I acquired and the indestructible bond formed with my “Perry Rat” buddies. Upon entering those sacred grounds we were all kings. Sitting in the park that brisk day not so long ago, recalling all of the unforgettable memories stirred emotions deep inside of me. I despondently reflected on the three cherished members of our band of brothers that had passed away over the years and how much I missed them. I also realized that it had been far too long since my last visit to these hallowed grounds that represent such an essential ingredient of who I am.