It’s that simple and certain. I love Montana—its rivers that laugh their
way toward human delight, its mountains that outreach imagination, and its sky
that stretches all the way from memory to hope.
Montana's big sky above the Big Hole River. |
In two summers prior to our anthem tour, Bonnie and I had vacationed in the western region of the state, staying with friends in Anaconda and taking daily trips and overnight outings throughout the region. We coursed beside the Clark Fork and Blackfoot Rivers before picking a picnic spot at one of the frequent places for public access to the ever-flowing streams. We watched the antelope gambol across the valleys and slopes north of Ennis as we meandered away from Yellowstone, and farther north, we saw a grizzly bear paw its way across a meadow as we neared St. Mary’s Lake. We rose toward earthly orbit, it seemed, on the historic Highway to the Sun in Glacier National Park.
We mourned the tragic oppression of Native
Americans commemorated at the Big Hole National Battlefield near Wisdom, where
Chief Joseph and the Nez Perce had engaged the pursuing U.S. Army in the bloodiest
battle of their five-state flight toward possible freedom in Canada.
We visited the local historic museum in Dillon
where we saw on display an early map of Beaverhead County surveyed by Bonnie’s
paternal grandfather, whose engineering firm had also been the first to publish
a detailed sectional map of the entire state.
We explored the ghost mining town near Philipsburg days after we had
read a letter from Bonnie’s maternal grandmother about her friends, about their families
departing from the community following the silver market collapse caused by the
government’s shift to the single monetary standard of gold at the turn of the
twentieth century.
The field of Nez Perce defeat near Wisdom. |
Bonnie's grandfather's firm's map, which hung in classrooms throughout the state. |
The abandoned mineshaft where Bonnie's great grandfather had worked. |
Fifty summers before our recent forays into Big Sky country,
I had first experienced warm feelings toward the state when my family had stopped
in Butte to purchase hoodies for our tent camping in Yellowstone. When we had left our Mississippi home weeks
earlier for a vacation featuring western National Parks, we had not packed enough winter
wear, not fathoming the summer need for so much warm clothing. As stunning as I recall Old Faithful, I was
awed even more by the expanse and heights of Montana’s landscape, especially its
glorious, grand mountains that punctured the wide black ceiling to pixelate the
night sky with stars.
So it shouldn’t come as a surprise
that I made sure to design our anthem tour route to coincide with the Pioneer League’s
short season schedule and to coordinate dates with most of Montana’s teams—the Mustangs
in Billings, the Brewers in Helena, and the Osprey in Missoula. The state’s fourth team, the Great Falls
Voyagers, had agreed to let me sing if things worked out, but they were on a
road trip during our trek through the state.
Unlike my previous ventures to the region, however, this time our
schedule restricted sightseeing to ballpark vistas and Interstate panoramas,
spectacular nonetheless.
The big sky above the picnic panorama at Billings' ballpark. |
Although I had no personal memories of Billings, my introduction
to the three-year old ballpark there was filled with memories of a different
kind—impressive memorials to local baseball heroes and passionate fans. Nearest the main entry gate stood a
life-size, bronze replica of former Baltimore All-Star lefty Dave McNally,
mid-delivery to the plate.
A local “product,”
McNally had achieved stardom in the Billings Little League, but had been unable
to play in high school since Central Catholic High School, where he attended,
couldn’t field a team because of the short spring and lack of schools with whom
they could easily compete. Even so, he
excelled on the city’s renowned American Legion team, which played a summer
schedule sometimes of 80 games, longer than the Mustangs’ Rookie League season.
During
his American Legion career, McNally once struck out 27 batters in a single game
(including five in one inning), he had posted a nearly perfect 18-1 record one
season, and he had led his team to the American Legion World Series title game before
signing with the Orioles. Outside his
professional baseball career, McNally lived his entire life in Billings.
The narrative tribute accompanying his statue also featured
his role, with “Andy Messermith” (a regrettable typographical error omitting an
“s” between the “r” and “m” in “Messersmith”), in winning the suit against
Major League Baseball to end the “reserve clause.”
Opposite the statue of McNally was an equally active, bronze
tribute to his former American Legion coach Ed Bayne, who had taught fundamental
baseball skills to young players for more than a quarter century.
Bayne’s teams won twenty state championships and had advanced to World Series play on four occasions. As celebrated as he was for these coaching accomplishments in baseball, Bayne was even more respected by the Billings community for coaching kids about life, summed up in this way by one of his former players: “He taught me right from wrong, he was tough, [and] he challenged you to reach the level your ability would allow. He showed respect for you whether you were the last guy in the dugout or one of the best players. We learned the fundamentals of baseball but we learned also how to be successful in life.”
The second challenge was unique. As I
moved to the area behind home plate about 10 minutes before singing the anthem,
Matt, the staff member coordinating
pre-game presentations, pointed above the bluff behind the trees beyond the
left field wall and said that the end of the runway at the Billings airport was
less than a mile away. “Every night
between 7:00 and 7:05,” he said, “a FED EX flight takes off and comes over the
field. Some nights, it’s during the
anthem.”
Bayne’s teams won twenty state championships and had advanced to World Series play on four occasions. As celebrated as he was for these coaching accomplishments in baseball, Bayne was even more respected by the Billings community for coaching kids about life, summed up in this way by one of his former players: “He taught me right from wrong, he was tough, [and] he challenged you to reach the level your ability would allow. He showed respect for you whether you were the last guy in the dugout or one of the best players. We learned the fundamentals of baseball but we learned also how to be successful in life.”
At the ballpark in Billings, the American Legion tradition appears
to rank more highly than professional baseball.
While many Minor League ballparks feature a Hall of Fame of former
players (and sometimes managers) who set franchise records or later achieved
stardom in the Major Leagues, only a handful display walls of recognition of
collegiate players who have shared the facility, like the one in Peoria, or
American Legion Posts, like the one in Casper.
By contrast, the dugout-length wall of fame in Billings—by far the biggest
bronze tribute that I had seen at any ballpark—honors local American Legion coaches
and players.
In the first two years of its existence, the organization
inducted more coaches than players. Of
course, leading the roster were Ed Bayne, whose name now graces the award given
to inductees, and Dave McNally, whose name is associated with the award given
to supporters of American Legion ball.
Others also were recognized in less
formal ways. Between the two statues, the
walkway to the main gate featured bricks inscribed with tributes to fans and former
Billings baseball personnel. The
children and grandchildren of Alvin Schlenker remembered his love of the
Mustangs, “especially when they were winning.”
One inscription honored coach Dennis Sahli, who inspired players to love
the game, and nearby another recognized Andy Andrews, the “fantastic” concession
manager from a half-century earlier.
Noteworthy was the message describing his work—that he gave “many kids [their]
1st jobs.”
While the sculptures, memorials, and tributes were inviting,
we were deterred by several unexpected difficulties. To our surprise, when I went to the Will Call
Window, there was a single ticket for me in the envelope, none for Bonnie. And since the game was sold out except for
picnic and berm seating, the staff member couldn’t locate available, adjacent
seats. Recalling the distress that we
had experienced in Durham when separate seats were finally offered, I insisted
that our inclusion of Billings on the tour demanded appropriate seats. After making several offers of disconnected
seats, the ticket seller finally departed to secure authorization for us to sit in a reserved
section.
While our entry was delayed by the search for tickets, we nevertheless felt welcomed by the Mustangs. |
If that happens, I
immediately thought, whatever you do, don’t
stop. Although it was certainly possible that my rendition might get
blasted by the roar of the jet’s engines, I also thought that it might be fun for
the timing to work out to make the departure a fly-over as the anthem ended. Alas, the fly-over occurred before my
singing, which meant that I appreciated the full introduction about my anthem
tour while not worrying about a possible interruption by FED EX’s departure.
As I moved toward the dugout following my rendition, Billings
pitching coach Bob Forsch asked, “How many games?”
“Tonight was number 87,” I replied.
“Where’ve you been?”
“All over: Texas, Florida, North Carolina, New England, the
Midwest, and Wyoming and Montana for the Pioneer League.” And I added that several years ago I had once sung
for a game that his brother Ken had pitched at Anaheim.
“Did he win?”
“Yes.”
“Too bad.” Ah, the
memories of sibling rivalry!
The storm rolls in above the bluff that provides the airport's runway. |
The third unanticipated difficulty was a thunderstorm that
approached during the third inning. When
lightning began to strike nearby, the game was halted; and rather than wait out
the delay, Bonnie and I left the ballpark as raindrops
started to splash quarter-size spots on the memorial bricks at the front gate. We didn’t expect the storm’s threat to be
brief, causing a rain-delay of less than half an hour. So we missed the scoring in the Mustangs’4-1 victory
over visiting Great Falls, highlighted by a homerun by their slugging third
baseman Sean Buckley.
The pot of gold seemed to mark the entrance to the freeway as we left the ballpark. |