The "Segregation and Racial Prejudice in Lancaster, PA in the 50s: Part I" Story

LDub in his green and gray Schick uniform

It was an ordinary day.  Talking with my friend Butch who happens to be a custodian at Manheim Township Middle School in Neffsville, PA.  Butch and I have been friends for over 50 years now.  Met him at Williamson's Park in the southeast end of Lancaster in 1956.  For years I had tried to talk my dad into letting me play summer-league baseball, but being the super protected child that I was, I was never allowed to participate.  Then in the late winter of 1956, dad was reading the paper one evening after supper and asked me if I would like to try out for the Schick midget-midget baseball team.  I'm sure my eyes must have been huge when I gave him an affirmative head-shake.  Already had my hat, glove, bat and ball so all I needed was a pair of baseball spikes.  In 1956 baseball players wore real metal cleats and luckily, I was no different.  Dad took me to Shenk Bros. sporting store on West King St. and in no time I was an official baseball player.  All I had to do was try out and make the team.  The league was for boys ages 9-12, so it would be my one and only year that I could tryout and play for the Schick team, being that I was 12 years old.  Schick was a company in Lancaster that made and sold razors.  Pretty big place and employed quite a few in Lancaster.  I can still remember that first evening after supper when dad and I hopped in his car and drove to the south end of the city to Williamson's Park for the tryouts.  Some kids had their Schick hats on from the year before and as I looked around, I figured there weren't many spots open on the team if I counted the hats correctly.  Coach Hawkins told me to head out to 1st base to take some ground balls that he was going to hit to the infielders.  I guess he figured if I had a 1st baseman's glove on my hand, that's where I wanted to play.  Actually it was a glove that a friend had given to me after he grew out of it.  Didn't disappoint him or my dad that night.  Heck, it was like taking balls off the wall in the parking lot behind my house on North Queen St.  Actually may have been easier since the parking lot near my house was loose stones and the playing field of the ball diamond was smooth dirt.  Ball after ball he hit to me; some to my right, some to my left, some hard, some high and some line drives.  Caught everyone of them and at the end of the evening I was his new 1st baseman.  Couldn't wait to to get home to tell my mom and brother about me going to be on the Schick team and playing 1st base for them.  Following Saturday was the second day of tryouts and I watched more than tried out, since I was already on the team.  Stood out in left field, taking fly balls from assistant coach Mr. Keifer with Bill, Ron, Johnnie, Artie and Butch, my new baseball friends.  In right field stood Tommie, Brent, Casey and maybe half a dozen more of my teammates taking fly balls from a different coach.  We were all members of the team that day and were waiting for tryouts to be over so we could see who all out teammates would be.  Funny thing about the groups taking fly balls in the outfield, my group was white kids while the other group was black kids.  I didn't think any thing of it at the time, but as I grew up in baseball I started to realize that some teams from the city had quite a few black kids on them while the teams from the county had all white kids.  I don't think dad knew that when he took me to the southeastern end of the city for tryouts that night that I would be playing for a team that had only half a dozen white kids on the team.  Let me tell you, we were one of the best teams in the county that year.  Boy could we play ball.  Years later, as I continued to play ball, primarily with friends from my elementary, junior high and high school years, my teammates were mostly white, if not all white.  The team from the city was mostly black.  I had some of the best times, and the most memorable times, that year playing for the Schick team.  Can still remember dad loading a bunch of the guys in his station wagon after some of the games and taking them home after ice cream at the drive-in.  Driving through some of the poorest and most rundown areas of southeast Lancaster, we dropped teammate after teammate off before we made our way to the other end of town and home.  I never once felt I was any better than they were and had no idea that the houses where we had dropped them off may not have had running water or electricity in them.  Truth was, most of my teammates that year were dirt poor.  And I mean that literally.  One of my black teammates lived in what was called Barney Google Row, perhaps the poorest section of Lancaster, while a white teammate lived in Shanty Town which was the poor white section of town.  Didn't matter to me, we were teammates and I was loving it.  Probably the highlight of my baseball career.  It was another extraordinary day in the life of an ordinary guy.   PS - Tomorrow I will give you an idea of what my teammates had to endure!