Cabin

Hutchison, Patrick. Cabin: Off the Grid Adventures with a Clueless Craftsman. New York: St. Martin's 2024. Print.

First Sentences:

 

I bought the cabin for $7,500 from a guy on Craigslist. He was a tugboat captain. His name was Tony. Here's why.* (*Footnote: Why I bought the cabin, not why Tony was a tugboat captain or why he was named Tony.)

Description:

Patrick Hutchison, author of Cabin: Off the Grid Adventures with a Clueless Craftsman, at age 30, found himself in a frustrating rut. He had a decent job as a copy editor with decent pay and some interesting travel. But working in a cubicle under florescent lights, turning out copy that may never be read, he longed for something else

Years after leaving college with an intent to roam the earth telling the stories of beautiful lunatics, I was in an office creating email template to sell advertising to plumbers and wondering how I'd ended up here.

He thought that maybe if he could get away to the woods, to the environment he grew up, that would be a distraction and give him a purpose to his life that would somehow provided satisfaction.

 

Eventually, he found his answer while perusing Craigslist (during slow work hours) for cabins. There, among the pricey, fully-outfitted houses, he found a very brief note for a rustic cabin for sale 40 minutes away from his home in Seattle. Driving up that same day, he saw the "rustic" (i.e. dilapidated, falling-down) 10' x 12' structure that resembled "a big chicken coop" or kids' clubhouse. It was on an isolated road lined with abandoned buses and unoccupied cabins that were once meth houses and squatters' shelters. The cabin had no running water, electricity, heat, cell service, or Wi-Fi, but to Hutchison, it was his dream. 

Like any new parent with a hideous baby, my eyes glazed over the flaws. At that moment, I only saw what I wanted....I saw only potential, and I saw a version of myself that was capable of making it better. Not great, necessarily, but better....Most importantly, I felt the pull of something a bit bigger, a grand pursuit, a thing to dive into that was different and new and exciting.

One problem: he knew nothing about building, carpentry, or even power tools. The only time he had used an electric drill was to hang a painting, ending up making multiple holes in the wall, chipping plaster, and making a shambles of everything. With this cabin restoration, what could possible go wrong, or through some great luck actually succeed?

 

Undaunted, he bought the cottage immediately and began obsessively searching YouTube videos and any other source of info to find the best, cheapest tools, materials, cabin restoration techniques, outhouses, foundations, driveway drains, and everything else imaginable. With friends (who also knew nothing about tools or building but brought plenty of beer), on his very first weekend they somehow built an outhouse, fortified the broken deck, cut the front door so it could swing open over the leaning house (leaving a large enough gap at the bottom for birds could walk into the house, and rigged up a Coleman stove for heat and soup. These became his cottage staples, along with plenty of beer and whiskey.

 

All this happens in the first few pages of Cabin, so I'll leave the rest of this delightfully satisfying book to your imagination. But this narration is not just a laughable series of efforts by a hapless idiot. Hutchison is a serious, dedicated, albeit unskilled worker who figures things out on the fly, Yes, he make some (many) quirky mistakes along the way. But all the while, he enjoys the feeling of personal satisfaction he gains with building something with his own hands (and yes, some power tools), while experiencing the beauty and silence in a gorgeous section of forest.

[After buying his first tool, a power drill] Climbing into bed that night, I felt a glow that reminded me of Christmas nights growing up, falling asleep to the reality of new toys and the knowledge that the future held many, many days  of good times.

While the restoration of the cabin is the foundation of the book, this is also a stream-of-consciousness memoir of Hutchison's personal restoration journey to self-confidence through problem-solving of daunting tasks along with his deep love for the cabin itself, and what it represented in his life.   

At times, it felt like the cabin and I were partners in a sort of joint self-improvement project. When the cabin was all fixed up, maybe I would be too.

I don't often whole-heartily recommend a book to all First Sentence Readers, but Cabin is the exception. I hope that everyone reads this absorbing and delightful book. It is at once funny, thoughtful, energetic, foolish, emotional, and triumphant, all in the backdrop of a glorious forest setting full of hikes, trees, snow, stars, and quiet. There are times of rollicking, deep friendships as well as plenty of solitude for dreams and simply enjoying life in an isolated cottage of your own building. Highest recommendation for all readers.

With no one but the trees to judge us and a fistful of Band-Aids to keep everything in order, we'd pick up where we left off as kids, making forts, learning how to build things again.

[If this book interests you, be sure to check out:] 

  

Wallace, Don. The French House:An American Family, a Ruined Maison, and the Village That Restored Them All.   

Author Marshall and his wife, Mindy, both budding writers living in New York City, fall in love with the small French island of Belle Ile off the coast of Brittany where the architecture has remained the same since the 1700s. Their "brand-new ruin" is an eyesore, but a piece of history that needs tender (i.e., specific and expensive) attention.  (Previously reviewed here.)

Happy reading.

Fred

 

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(and read the introduction to The First Sentence Reader).

 

Food for Thought

Brown, Alton. Food for Thought: Essays and Ruminations. New York: Gallery Books 2025. Print.

First Sentences:

 

I am sitting in front of a bowl, a spoon a box,and a bottle, and I'mbeginning to break out in just a wee bit of a cold sweat 

Description:

I been a long-time fan of Alton Brown and his goofy, informative cooking shows such as Good Eats (16 seasons) and Iron Chef America (13 seasons). These television entertainments provided even non-cooks like me an entertaining introduction to the wonders and science behind preparing delicious food.

Now Brown had created a book, Food for Thought: Essays and Ruminations, chock full of his memories and wide-ranging thougts about his career with food. These short essays cover such diverse topics as "Biscuiteering," "Bad Day at the Bakeshop," "Luau from Hell,""The Turkey Man Cometh," "The Sip of the Civilized" and "Cooking: The final (Marriage) Frontier." In other words, Brown shares everything running through his mind, from making the perfect martini to cooking hacks, and his disasterous introductions to Cap'n Crunch cereal and s'mores.

It is not a book of recipe, although he does share his Horcrux meal (something that contains a part of him), the perfect martini (stirred, not shaken), and a few other tips on meal preparation and tools. And believe me, he has strong opinions. It is not a How-To book, but more of a collection of his rambling thoughts

Here's a sample from inside his brain:

• The Son of Blob story about the discarded bread dough Brown had put into the restaurant dumptster that expanded to gigantic size and oozed out of the metal container;

• The first bite of a Cortona, Italy pizza which was so delicious that he used it to define his life "before the bite and life after the bite....To say it was just six simple ingredients would be like saying Pollock's Autumn Rhythym is just four colors of paint";

• He self-taught himself to cook in college to "lure" a woman first with a simple, cheap meal (spaghetti and meatballs), then, if all went well, a second invitation to a slightly more costly one (coq au van), and finally the third meal to close the deal with an expensive serving (sole florentine au gratin. His date cancelled at the last minute and he thoroughly enjoyed the meal by himself;

• [Note: About that seduction-through-meals-plan] - Brown states, "I harbored no illusions of actually beeing anyone; a bit of hand-holding on the sofa or a good-night kiss would have ranked as a major victory." He only cooked one more meal to win a woman's affection and burned the spaghetti, but won her heart and they eventually were married]; 

• "The word chef when preceded by the adverb yes becomes a subtle yet effective form of "f**k you." 

• He conceived of a new type of cooking show to be "a juxtaposition of unrelated forms" based on the style of Julia Child (practical), Mr. Wizard (science), and Monty Python ("laughing brains are more absorbant');

• The theme song for Good Eats was, at Brown's insistance, was catchy and only 10 notes in order to be used in the new 1997 cell phones and their customizable ring tones;

• Eating with chopsticks helped him lose weight;

• To get youngsters to eat food they refuse, just tell them they can't have any of it anyways because it is adult food;

• Once after sampling a soup on Iron Chef America" that contained oysters (which he is allergic to) he threw up repeatedly on the set and ended up in the ER.

I could go on and on with engaging tidbits from Brown, but I'll leave the rest of the discovery to those who read his book in full. Haven't laughed out loud at a book in a long time, so as you can tell I really enjoyed his behind-the-scenes stories, quips about life, and of course, cooking advice/failures/triumphs. Read it even if you don't know anything about food or its preparation, but love delightful writing about stories that will definite make you at least smile alot.

 

[If this book interests you, be sure to check out:] 

  

Pepim Jacques. The Apprentice.   

The autobiography of the chef who popularized French cooking in the United States, Includes his French training, apprenticeships, and first restaurants, alltold in clear, personal writing style. Highly enjoyable, even for non-foodies. (Previously reviewed here.)

 

Happy reading.

Fred

 

Click here to browse over 435 more book recommendations by subject or title

(and read the introduction to The First Sentence Reader).

 

Brittle Innings

Bishop, Michael. Brittle Innings. New York: Bantam 1994. Print.

First Sentences:

When I look at it, minor league ball back then was sort of like B movies. Thrills on the cheap, Cheap buses, cheap hotels, cheap stadiums, cheap seats, cheap equipment, cheap talent. Cheap-cheap. Sound like an Easter chick, eh? Or like the mechanical conductor on those subway trains out to Atlanta's airport.


Description:

Here's the premise (and kind of a spoiler) for Michael Bishop's quirky Brittle Innings:. During World War II, Dr. Frankenstein's giant creation is quietly playing first base for a minor league baseball team in backwoods Tennessee. Just let that visualization sink in for a moment.

 

Sure, it sounds like a silly concept, a comic romp with madcap players and goofy situations. But Brittle Innings is actually a highly-intriguing glimpse into the minds of both a 17-year-old rookie baseball player from a tiny farm town in Oklahoma, and an 8-foot, horribly disfigured, slick fielding, book-reading infielder who both play for the Tennessee Highbridge Hellbenders in the class-C Chattahoochee Valley Baseball League.

The novel's narrator is Danny Boles, currently a grizzled minor league baseball scout, who now recounts his early time with the Hellbenders. Danny is assigned a room with the team's giant first baseman, "Jumbo," (actually Hank Clerval), a quiet, thoughtful man reluctant to speak. But when Hank does converse, it is in a beautifully formal, almost Victorian preciseness and vocabulary, an unusual voice among his scruffy minor league teammates. Visually, though, Hank is something, shall we say, different.

His body parts didn't seem to fit. His stringy-haired block of a noggin didn't belong with he bullish neck and the wide sloping shoulders under it. His proportions were more of less okay, I guess, but the colors and textures of his skin didn't match up the way you'd've expected. It was like some'd kneaded biscuit dough, cake dough, and a mass of Piedmont clay together without blending. Even as he snored, Jumbo reminded me of a body, wounded or dead.

The young rookie Danny is also mute, unable to speak due to a traumatic encounter with his father and later from a fight with a soldier. He is a willing listener and thus able to observe the world and people involved with his minor league team. He and Jumbo strike up a mutually silent friendship as roomies and fellow talented ballplayers.

All progresses well during the season until Danny stumbles onto Hank's diary. In it, Danny reads of Hank's experiences with the world that brought him to the Hellbenders. Of course, Danny finally comprehends who Hank really is. No one else suspects, mainly because Hank, despite his strange ways and appearance, to his teammates, manager, and owner, he is simply an odd, but prodigious home run hitter who might just lead them to the league championship. But from Hank's diary, he reveals his true purpose for becoming a baseball player:

The central business of every human being is to be a real person....What now infused meaning into my days...derived less from tiresome social intercourse than from the galvanizing physical sensations of hitting a ball hard and far, and of throwing it with exactitude....[D]runk with the restored robustness of my borrowed body, I would have only faceless teammates and unending occasions to exercise my intellectual and animal faculties playing baseball.

It's a coming of age story for Danny Boles, a backstory of a famous literary character, and a world of scruffy, quirky baseball players and supporters that held my attention through every page. Author Bishop's strong story-telling skills offer an insightful peak into the world of second tier baseball and the people who help keep it in existence. 

Actually, there is not a massive amount of actual baseball games recounted, as the novel focuses more on the off-field interactions between players, racism, management, friends, and family. As the team assistant and wonderful player (who is unable to be on the field due to his race), Darius reflects about a lifestyle choice he made: 

I think it's cause me life done crept into its brittlest part, like unto them innings when the whole thing could go either way -- depending on jes when the crucial bonecrack happen, and to whom. I awmost waited past the snappin point. Mebbe I did. But if I beat it now, mebbe I'll git past my brittle innings and play on through to a stretch that'll heal me, that won't jes shake me down to splinters and shards.

OK, maybe I did give away Hank's identity to you, but that revelation is something you would probably have figured out long before Danny did a quarter of the way into the story. But it is that intriguing information that led me to this book in the first place. Who could resist reading about Mary Shelley's creation in a baseball uniform, rooming with a mute teenage teammate in a tiny town during World War II? Certainly, I couldn't pass it up and was not in any way disappointed by this thoughtful, clever, compassionate, and insightful dive into the world of Danny Boles, Hank "Jumbo" Clerval, and the Highbridge Hellbenders. Hope you enjoy it as well.

Happy reading. 

 

Fred

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If this book interests you, be sure to check out:

Roth, Philip. The Great American Novel.   

Quite a bit more  black humor and satiric look at rag-tag baseball during World War II when regular players were unavailable. Here, the Rupert Mundys field a team with players named Baal and Gil Gammesh, a fast-ball pitcher who tries to kill an umpire with a pitch, a fantastically talented player made to ride the bench to teach him humility... all narrated by an excitable, eccentric journalist whose first line of his recollections of the Rupert Mundy's baseball team is, naturally, "Call me Smitty." One of my all-time favorites. Highest recommendation.  (previously reviewed here)

Apple of My Eye

Hanff, Helene. Apple of My Eye. New York: Doubleday 1978. Print.

First Sentences:

On April Fool's Day, I came home from a meeting with a publisher, hurried through my apartment-house lobby and told all the tenants waiting at the elevator:

"I've got the dream assignment of all time! I'm going to write copy for a book of photographs of New York City."

Description:

Sure, author Helene Hanff is rightfully excited to land the plum assignment to write the text for a book of photos of New York City. The pictures will be of the famous sites in the city: the Statue of Liberty, Radio City Music Hall, Rockefeller Center, Grand Central Station, the Cloisters, Grant's Tomb, etc.

But there is one problem: Hanff, a born and raised New Yorker, has never visited any of these famous sites. So nothing would do but grab onto her friend Patsy, (someone who also has not seen these destinations) and set out to visit, observe, and take notes on the intriguing aspects of each location. The result of their frantic tour around New York in 1975 is the delightful, insightful book, Apple of My Eye, a tour-de-force that I highly recommend for any one interested in witty writing, overwhelmed tourists, and, of course, New York's iconic attractions.

With little money and no maps (or ones they were unable to decipher), the two women ride buses or walk to take in all the scenery tourists might come across, poking their heads into small restaurants, shops, and historic markers along the way. They refused to ride subways since that underground experience would rob tourists of the views of the city. 

Going from Grant's Tomb to Zabar's was going from the sublime to the ridiculous or from the ridiculous to the sublime, I'll never be sure which.

They are game to see everything, but their acrophobia make them very hesitant to take the elevator to the top of the Statue of Liberty and the new-opened twin towers of the World Trade Center. (It was quite a shock to read about these towers from a New Yorker's perspective in 1975):

Throughout its construction, the World Trade Center was cordially detested by all New Yorkers. The unpopular Rockefeller brothers were so closely involved in the financing that for a while the twin towers were knows as Nelson and David....the financially desperate city didn't need two new 110-story office buildings and couldn't afford to supply them with services.

But later, when they had swallowed their acrophobia and made it to the Tower's Observation Deck, Hanff felt differently:

And suddenly, irrationally, I gloried in the highhanded, high-flying damn-your-eyes audacity that had sent the Trade Center's twin columns rising impudently above the skyline at the moment when New York was declared to be dying, and so deep in debt it couldn't afford workers to dispose of the Center's trash, police its plaza or put out its fires.

Of course, Hanff and Patsy have their differences. Hanff, who has done copious research, constantly quotes "interesting" statistics and detailed stories to a non-listening Patsy, while her friend is constantly worried that Hanff will not include items in the book that might attract tourists. Their dialogue in Battery Park is typical of their back-and-fourth exchanges:

[Hanff] "President Washington," I told Patsy -- though I knew from experience that the minute you start a sentence with "President Washington," everybody stops listening -- "used to stroll here on summer evenings with his wife and the members of the Cabinet..."

[Patsy] Who's on this slab? Did you write him down? Who's on that slab over there? Did you read this one? Write it down. You're not writing anything down....I think you're being very haphazard about this...Somewhere in this book you'd better write: "Everything in this book is half-accurate."

When they drink coffee outside the Metropolitan of Art, Hanff sits with her back to the museum "Which is he only way I will ever consent to sit." You see, Hanff is bitter that the Met takes up space "torn out of Central Park, which does not belong to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, it belongs to me. Me and a million other New Yorkers..."

They have judgmental observations about the people of New York as well:

West Siders look dowdy, scholarly, and slightly down-at-heel, and the look has nothing to do with money. They look like what a great many of them are: scholars, intellectuals, dedicated professionals, all of whom regard shopping for clothes as a colossal waster of time.

Witty, informative, personable, and always slyly funny. As a bonus, it's wonderful to see photos from that year of Central Park's model sailboat pond, the cable car over the East River to Roosevelt Island, Grand Central Station, the Metropolitan Opera House, St. Patrick's Cathedral, and yes, sadly, the World Trade Center towers. A wonderful overview of the city to accompany Hanff's text.

Hanff is the author of 84, Charing Cross Road, the epistolary story of her correspondence with a rare book dealer in London as she tries to procure obscure editions of favorite books. She is a very skilled wordsmith, someone you want to listen to forever as she reels off stories, demands, confusion, and self-reflection, all in witty, personable manner that makes you want to hear more and more.

I really love Apple of My Eye, especially since I have spent time in New York City over the past few years. Her descriptions of places I have seen, entered, or at least walked by struck a note that supported the idea that this is a great city during any age. And for anyone not familiar with New York, well, here's your chance to read all about it as you walk along side with Patsy and Hanff in their delightful explorations and observations.

 

Happy reading. 

 

Fred

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Hayes, Bill. Insomniac City.   

Author Hayes, newly moved to New York City after the death of his partner, loves wandering his new city late at night, talking with people, observing the world, and photographing the heart of New York, then sharing his thoughts with us lucky readers. Wonderful. (previously reviewed here)

New Teeth

Rich, Simon. New Teeth. New York: Little, Brown 2021. Print.

First Sentences:

I am me own master and commander. I serve no king and fear no God. I would sooner cut a hundred throats than heed one order from a living man. When I strike, I take no quarter, for there be no mercy in me heart, just cold, black ice. Me cutlass is me only friend.


Description:

Bold words indeed from a dastardly pirate, in the opening story of  Simon Rich's wonderfully funny collection, New Teeth. This character, Captain Black Bones the Wicked, and his first mate, Rotten Pete, come across a three-year-old girl left onboard a ship they had just pillaged. They reluctantly agree to look after her (rather than have her walk the plank which Black Bones preferred), and soon find themselves going against the philosophy they hold most dear: they take demanding orders like "Up" from the girl. Of course, there is treasure to be pursued, but since only the girl can barely read, she must teach them a few letters to comprehend the treasure map. In return, naturally they teach her to say "Arrgh" a lot and whistle with her fingers, while the two pirates argue over parenting techniques. Loopy, crazy, and delightfully unexpected.

Each of Rich's stories is similarly fetching, such as:

• The narrative from a laser disk player about the past good times he experienced with his owner trying to woo girls, to the present and his looming obsolescence to a DVD player and an iPad;

• A tough-talking three-year-old detective trying to solve the mystery of his baby sister's missing unicorn doll;

•  A woman who was raised by wolves, but now leads a normal life...except on Thanksgiving when her wolf parents are invited to dinner;

• The psychologist who rescued and is now studying David Merrick, the "Elephant Man," now begins to fear his wife and Merrick are falling in love;

• An incredibly naïve and innocent Babe Ruth joins his first minor league team and tries to understand baseball, fearing he has made mistakes like when he hit a ball and it exploded, or when he missed the cutoff man and threw the ball so hard from centerfield on a fly to the catcher that it knocked the man over.

Simon Rich has become my new go-to author of unpredictable, laugh out loud (hate that expression, but here it is true) situations, people, and dialogue. Really? A toddler talking in Philip Marlow's hard-bitten noir detective speak? A pirate who gives his peg leg to a child as a doll which she in turn names "Peggy"? An escaped experimental 12' tall half-man, half-gorilla who saves his city from alien attacks, is given a medal, and then forced  into a desk job? A screenwriter who becomes cursed to listen to the Beauty and the Beast soundtrack with his child and pretend to be the beast every minute they are together?

I can't wait to read more of Rich's work, and wonder why it took hearing a random NPR reading of one of his stories to clue me in on this creative writer. He's written for Saturday Night Live, The New Yorker, and Pixar, and is the creator of the television series, Man Seeing Woman and Miracle Workers based on his books. He even won the Thurber Prize for American Humor. Where have I been all this time?

Anyways, please give New Teeth or any of his other short story collections a try. Quirky? Yes. Unexpected? Always. Laughable? Of course. Thought provoking? Yes, yes, and more yes. 

Happy reading. 

 

Fred

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Rich, Simon. Hits and Misses.   

Although I have not yet read this, it is the collection of short stories that won him the 2019 Thurber Prize for American Humor. Got to be great, so I've reserved it and it's now waiting for me to be picked up at the library. Can't wait to delve into his unusual mind.

 

The Golf Omnibus

Wodehouse, P.G. The Golf Omnibus. New York: Gramercy 1996. Print

First Sentences:

Archibald Mealing was one of those golfers in who desire outruns performance. Nobody could have been more willing than Archibald....Every morning before he took his bath he would stand in front of his mirror and practice swings. Every night before he went to bed he would read the golden words of some master on the subject of putting, driving, or approaching. Yet on the links most of his time was spent in retrieving lost balls or replacing America. 

Description:

I don't know why it's taken me so long to finally get around to recommending the wonderful P.G. Wodehouse, The Golf Omnibus. It is truly one of my all-time favorite reads, one that is always there to make me laugh out loud at the characters, actions, or witty wordsmithing. It is my go-to book to recommend and give as a gift book over many years.

The Golf Omnibus is a collection of 31 golf-related stories written in the early 1920s by the fabulously droll Wodehouse. Please don't let the age of these stories put you off. They each depict a wonderfully different world of that era, the sport of golf, and the odd ducks that play it. Players used wooden-shafted clubs called "mashies," "niblicks," "spoons," "brassies," and "cleeks." Just the names of those weapons make me smile.

And the names of the players wielding these tools are simply the outrageously best: Archibald Mealing, Ramsden Waters, Mortimer Sturgis, Mabel Patmore, Rollo Podmarsh, Rodney Splevin, Ferdinand Dibble, Herbert Pobsley, Wilberfod Bream, Cuthbert Banks, and oh, so many more delightful souls with dreams of glory on the course, or of impressing a specific person they fancy.

Most stories are narrated by "the Oldest Member," an ancient golfer always found in the clubhouse lounge sipping a lemon squash. From his comfy chair, he collars players just coming off the course to relate tales of current and formers players he knew. Each one is a hilarious gem (and I don't use that word lightly). 

• King Merolchassar who declared golf the official religion of his nation of Oom.
• Archibald Mealing who, after, six years' efforts, wins his club championship despite having a style of playing that was "a kind of blend of hockey, Swedish drill, and buck-and-wind dancing."
• Peter Willard and James Todd who play a round of golf to settle which one gets the opportunity to woo a certain young lady they both fancy, and following that, who must "leg it out of the neighborhood."

Of course, the Oldest Member has words of advice for even the most unwilling listener. Here are some of his examples picked out randomly, each accompanying a story to support his words:

• Love is an emotion which your true golfer should always treat with suspicion.
• The talking golfer is undeniably the most pronounced pest of our complex modern civilization.
• One of the noblest women I ever knew used to laugh merrily when she foozled a short putt. It was only later, when I learned that in the privacy of her home she would weep bitterly and bite holes in the sofa cushions, that I realized that she did but wear the mask.
• His walk was the walk of an overwrought soul.
• Nothing but misery can come of the union between a golfer and an outcast whose soul has not been purified by the noblest of games.
• It is not mere technical skill that makes a man a good golfer, it is the golfing soul.
  

Story after story brings readers into the off-beat world of privileges, romance, peculiarities, and of course, golf as it is played by the common sports-minded hacker. Truly delightful on every page. Highest recommendation.

Happy reading. 

Fred

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Jerome, Jerome K.. Three Men in a Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog).   

The only book I could think of that is as funny, witty, and personable as the Wodehouse stories. Delightfully comedic in that dry, British manner of three friends deciding to take a leisurely boat trip. Disaster ensues as none has any experience whatsoever with boats. Tremendously droll and clever.

I Was Right on Time

O'Neil, Buck. I Was Right on Time. New York: Simon & Schuster 1996. Print.

First Sentences:

Call me Buck.


Description:

Since it is nearing the end of summer and therefore the baseball season, I thought fans might enjoy this highly entertaining, first-hand account of the Negro Leagues as written by a player from that era. Buck O'Neil's I Was Right on Time offers an insider's look at and stories about the players, teams, stadiums, and fans, along with the quirks of each one as remembered by O'Neil, an actual Negro League player, featured storyteller on the Ken Burns Baseball documentary, and member of the Baseball Hall of Fame Veterans Committee.

 

O'Neil, using his conversationally casual writing style, takes us on his personal journey from his boyhood days playing pick-up baseball games to his eventual signing to play with the mighty Kansas City Monarchs, considered to be one of the best Negro teams ever, with lineups that included Satchel Paige, Oscar Charleston, Bullet Joe Rogan, and Rube Foster. The Monarchs were the first team to play under the lights, mounted on telephone poles which gave them a home field advantage for any ball hit into the darkness above those low-level lights. Hde later became a scout and coach in the (White) major league.

And the stories are absolutely the best, particularly those featuring O'Neil's teammate, Satchel Paige. O'Neil laughs at the events that caused Paige to always refer to O'Neil as "Nancy." O'Neil also recounts when, in the Negro League World Series with the Homestead Grays and their feared home-run hitter, Josh Gibson, Paige intentionally walked the bases loaded just to face Gibson in a critical situation to see who was the best. Or the time Paige told all his fielders to leave their positions and come to the mound while he went about striking out the side.

O'Neil writes about players with colorful nicknames: Sea Boy, Gunboat, Steel Arm Davis, Ankleball Moss, Copperknee, Mosquito, Popeye, and Suitcase. Of course, there are anecdotes about the more famous Negro League players such as Jackie Robinson, Ernie Banks, Roy Campanella, Frank Robinson (the first major league Black manager), Henry Aaron, Willie Mays, and Bob Gibson as well as some tremendously talented, if lesser known stars like Larry Doby,  Luke Easter, Smokey Joe Williams, Josh Gibson,and Cool Papa Bell ("So fast he could get into bed after switching off the light switch before the room got dark." Spoiler: Bell had noticed a slight in his hotel room's on/off switch, causing a slight delay before the lights went black. Bell won some money from a gullible Paige for that neat trick).

 

And O'Neil clears up many misconceptions, such as that the one that Negro League players were inferior to white major leaguers. O'Neil compares all-star lineups from each league and concludes the Negro players would have a strong chance to beat their White counterparts. Also, his league did not play make-shift games in rag-tag environments with poor equipment as so often was portrayed in movies. Negro Leaguers in fact played established schedules in up-to-date ball parks, cheered on by fans that rivaled the major league parks in attendance numbers.

O'Neil has plenty of stories as well from his own later career as a major league coach and scout. I particularly gasped when, while in Mississippi scouting for the Chicago Cubs, O'Neil once got lost looking for the Jackson State-Grambling game and ended up at an unknown field where the Klu Klux Klan was holding a fund-raising rally in white robes and full hooded regalia.

As a member of the Hall of Fame's Veterans Committee, O'Neil was instrumental in petitioning the Hall to consider including Negro League players initially not eligible for the Hall. Later, he and the Veterans Committee were tasked to come up with the historic Negro League players worthy  to be considered for Hall inclusion. Luckily, O'Neil had either played with, coached, or at least heard about most of the best men from the past.

 

But O'Neil also inserts a few examples of the prejudices facing him and these players, from restaurants to hotels to press coverage, that still go on as he wrote this book.

I still hear African-American players referred to as "articulate," as if we should be surprised a black man speaks so well. I still see a black player labeled as an underachiever, while a while player who carries the same stats is called an overachiever. Joe DiMaggio? Why, when people talk of him, they talk of his grace and his intelligence and his consistency. Willie Mays? He was "naturally gifted," as if he didn't have to work as hard as DiMaggio to be come a great ballplayer. Poppycock. From 1949-1962, eleven of the fourteen National League MVP trophies went to black men, and all of them, including Mays, Aaron, and Banks, worked damn hard to get those trophies.

But for the most part, O'Neil revels in the wonderful opportunity he had to be a part of this league and play with these men who were heroes in their communities. It's a warm, funny, honest depiction of that era, one that any fan (or anyone else) interested in fascinating stories about bigger-than-life personalities playing the game they loved.

 

Happy reading. 

 

Fred

More book recommendations

About The First Sentence Reader blog

____________________

If this book interests you, be sure to check out:

Ritter, Lawrence. The Glory of Their Times: The Story of the Early Days of Baseball Told by the Men Who Played It.  

The definitive book of early baseball in the late 1800s through the early1900s as told through oral interviews with the men who played the game then. (previously reviewed here)

Welcome to the Circus of Baseball

McGee, Ryan. Welcome to the Circus of Baseball. New York: Doubleday 2023. Print.

First Sentences:

"Oh, man. I think that sumbitch is actually dead!"

 

Description:

 

Hardly the first sentence one might expect from a book about minor league baseball, but there it is. Turns out to be the thoughts of a spectator watching  an in-game entertainment act called, "Captain Dynamite.' In this act, a family assembles a make-shift coffin around the father, loads him up with dynamite, seals the lid, and then ignites the whole thing to a thunderous blast. (He does recover, walks away, albeit a bit unsteadily, piles his kids and wife into their beat-up wagon, and proceeds on to the next gig down the road.)

It's just one of the fascinatingly unusual recollections of author Ryan McGee, currently a senior writer and co-host on ESPN, about his first sports job experience as a minor league baseball team intern in 1994. His memories of the trials, tribulations, and genuine goofiness of people, events, and work demands are set down in his wonderful new book, Welcome to the Circus of Baseball.

Fresh out of college, McGee lands a job as an almost-unpaid ($100-a-week) intern for the Asheville minor league baseball team, the Tourists. This team is in the Division A league, meaning the players are most likely just out of high school, from a Spanish-speaking country, or a veteran re-habbing from an injury. For many, it is their first time away from home, cooking, doing laundry, managing money, etc. All are trying to climb up the ladder to join the major league, "The Show," although only a handful will make it.

The Asheville Tourists play in McGee's favorite stadium from his childhood, McCormick Field. It's the same field where Crash Davis (Kevin Cosner) hit his final dinger before hanging 'em up in the film, Bull Durham. It's America's oldest ball park, and once hosted Cobb, Ruth, Gehrig, Bonds, and many other great players. 1994 also was the year Michael Jordan tried his hand at baseball and played for the Hickory Crawdads, although he never played against Asheville. Needless to say, the Tourists sold out all those home games anyway before the season even started.
 

McGee's various jobs include providing balls to the umpires, pulling the tarp over the infield on rainy days, stocking the Dairy Queen machine with gooey mixture (with disastrous results), running the concession stand, and providing beer to the star player, even though it was forbidden by the dugout rules. He once even donned the Tourist mascot outfit, Ted E. Tourist, the bear, for the team photo. The regular mascot was a college method actor who felt he had to "become one with the bear" and therefore could not be held responsible for his actions while in costume, specifically groping a few women fans..

McGee also wrestled with the 165-lb beer kegs on Thirsty Thursdays when every drink was only $1. He noted that most fans bought two beers, then returned to the back of the line, timing it so they were finished with those original two beers by the time they again reached the counter so they could get the same order again ... repeating this rhythm for the entire three-hour game, never watching a single batter. One Thursday, 66 kegs of beer were sold, about 8,600 servings to the 4,000 fans. Predictably, all Thirsty Thursday games were sold out.) 

McGee loved baseball, but some of his expectations were trimmed when the first busload of the team arrived:

The Tourists stepped out into the shadowy concourse behind the ballpark, not a superhuman gladiators arriving to take stock of the colosseum where they would do battle. No, they unloaded off the bus like someone had spilled a stack of bowling balls ."Where the hell are we?"

Instead of observing the actual Tourist ball playing, McGee focuses on the stadium itself ("The coaches' quarters were both so tiny that it never felt like you walked into them. It was more like you were putting them on.") and the behind-the-scenes workings of what makes a minor league team work; how fans get attracted to game (see Captain Dynamite and Thirsty Thursdays references above); and who exactly were the people who contributed to or watched the final product.

A few of the quirky individuals included:

• Ron McKee, Tourists GM, who bleached the baseballs to make old ones look new enough to use in games rather than buy new balls;
• James the Mountain Man who, dressed only in overalls, would dive into the bushes behind the fences to retrieve lost baseballs for reuse, not minding the snakes and other critters who frequently bit him;
• Big Mike who repeatedly throughout the game walked away from the concession stands carrying nachos, four hot dogs, and a large drink, and usually additional items for his consumption;
• The Circuit Rider who galloped in from right field on his horse, preaching and singing Bible-related sermons;
• Macaullay Culkin who was filming Richie Rich and needed someone to throw him some pitches. Another Tourist intern made $100 for this pitching gig, but GM McKee made $300 just from renting the pitcher's screen, a widely-repeated joke.

Memorable events included when author McGee and the interns mistakenly poured bags of kitty litter onto the infield dirt to dry it out for the next day's game, inadvertently inviting hundreds of feral cats to come to the park that night to use their new facilities. And don't forget the Great Mascot Brawl at the 1994 All-star game. Truly a sight to behold.

McGee has so many more stories that I could go on and on. Suffice to say, if you love baseball, especially the workings of minor league teams, and quality humorous writing, then Welcome to the Circus of Baseball is a great choice for you.

Don't tell me about the labor pains, just show me the baby. 

     - General Manager Ron McGee to the complaining intern/author Ryan McGee 

Happy reading. 

 

Fred

More book recommendations

About The First Sentence Reader blog

____________________

If this book interests you, be sure to check out:

Shelton, Ron. The Church of Baseball: The Making of Bull Durham: Home Runs, Bad Calls, Crazy Fights, Big Swings, and a Hit.   

Humorous and detailed account of the filming of Bull Durham. (previously reviewed here)