After the Near Drowning

By Steve Carr

While following the news of the uncomfortably awkward and baffling wrangling going on in Washington as the new administration jockeys with Congress, I was reminded of an experience from my youth.

On a summer day, in simpler times, my Longfellow Elementary sandlot baseball buddies and I ventured from the familiar confines of Tautphaus Park and “our” ball diamond near the zoo. We had heard that some punks from the other side of the canal were publicly disrespecting our game and hence our manhood.

With mitts slung through handlebars and bats wedged under spring-hinged book racks, creating stubby wings, our convoy of Schwinns, Huffys and Raleighs moved south along the canal, through the graveyard, down Rose Hill Drive, crossing the 17^th Street “parallel,” into the hostile territory of Hawthorne Elementary.