I specifically remember that feeling at the end of sixth grade on the last day of school at St. Mary’s Grammar School in early June, 1967, when everyone knew there would be no more Catholic School rules to follow until September.

 

That was the same year we had Sister Bridget as our teacher. She was a big baseball fan, and a few times late in the school year she took the class to play stickball and punchball at a playground.

 

None of my other teachers had ever done that before or since. 

 

Everyone had a great time - spending class time playing. Little did Sister Bridget  know at the time, but my friends and I would spend most of our summer vacation doing the same thing. It was the same just about every summer.

 

 The summers in Jersey City were very hot and humid. But it didn’t stop the neighborhood kids from getting up early to make the trek a half mile to the nearest baseball field to play ball. 

 

It didn’t matter how many of us were there. We’d adapt and find a way to play a game even if there weren’t enough for two full teams.

 

Sometimes there would be no hitting to right field. Often, the team at bat would have to provide the catcher. It we were really short-handed, we’d just hit fly balls to the outfield.

 

We’d play for hours without taking a break until we couldn’t take the heat anymore. No one had money for sodas, so we’d walk to the nearby firehouse and ask to use their water fountain. After a short rest, we’d be back on the field again until it was time to go home.

 

On other days we’d play stickball in the street - Third Street. We didn’t need too many for that game - three on a team, and everyone lived on the same block. It was usually me, my older brother George, Greg and Michael Kemelek, Ronald Karpowicz and sometimes my younger brother, Mark.

 

We didn’t play slow pitch-on-a-bounce stickball like the kids on other streets. We played fast pitch with a catcher. 

 

Home plate was the metal sewer plate in front of Rafter’s Garage. First and third bases were usually the tires of a parked car.  Second base was an asphalt patch in the middle of the street  from a watermain break years earlier.

 

    There was a pitcher, catcher and outfielder on each team. If a batter hit a fair ball, he’d run the bases while the fielder chased the ball down. Sometimes there were close plays at the plate. But there were also lots of strikeouts and home runs.

 

We’d play doubleheaders and sometimes tripleheaders, depending on the weather. (Rain usually didn’t stop us.)

 

We were so dedicated to the game, we even kept statistics on wins, losses, strikeouts, hits and home runs.

 

I wish I still had those statistics, but I know they’re long gone.

 

But the memories are still there.