Not Just Another Town
Fred Everhart read the mail and felt sick. What would the kids do? Fred, head of
the recreation commission, experienced what many American towns and committees felt
- loss of funds.
Greenfield, Ohio, population five thousand, a town reliant on the auto industry,
struggled in the 2008/2009 economy. Five hundred jobs (70% of the town's industrial
employment) would be gone by October 2009. In Willington, the nearest town, DHL
express announced it was pulling out, leaving another eight thousand employees without
work. Due to the severe economic downturn, Greenfield lost fifty percent of the money budgeted to run the city and its recreation department.
The economy didn't factor in people like Fred Everhart. In January, 2009, Fred
called a meeting. Twenty-five to thirty angry parents showed up to protest the loss of
little league baseball. Their anger and frustration prevented productivity. The parents
understood their own hardship, but how could a city face the same? The city always
gets tax money. It was difficult for many to understand.
Fred, not to be beaten, called a second meeting, in which only nine people
attended. They would become known as the "Gang of Nine". Together, they convinced
the town to give them five thousand of the original twenty thousand dollars budgeted for
little league baseball.
Greenfield had only one ballpark, which the city could no longer afford to
maintain. The "Gang of Nine" convinced the city to give the park to them. Fred posted an
advertisement in the local paper a few weeks before opening day - Memorial Day -
asking for volunteers to help get the ball park in shape for baseball season.
On the designated Saturday morning, Fred arrived at nine in the morning and
found only two others waiting. They looked out over the park. A small breeze picked up
a piece of paper and sent it tumbling over the barren infield. The grass was uncut. Holes
surrounded the bases, dug into the dirt by last season's players. Water rimmed home
plate. A hawk circled overhead, waiting for a rabbit or mouse to exit one the many holes
they had dug in the once pristine outfield.
Fred looked at his two companions, "Looks like it's just us." He surveyed the
field. "Where's the flag?" He frowned, "For that matter, where's the flag pole?"
"It blew down five years ago." One of his companions said. "They couldn't afford
to replace it."
"No matter," Fred said, "Let's get to work. We can't let the kids down."
They pulled their mowers, shovels, and rakes from their trucks and began to work.
A half hour later, another truck pulled into the parking lot. Behind it, trailing dust, were
more cars and trucks. They soon had fifty to sixty men, women and children working.
The small army mowed the grass, painted dugouts, patched fields and mended fences.
When the day was over, the group surveyed their work, and smiled.
A local newspaper picked up their efforts and printed a story. The "Gang of
Nine's" efforts symbolized the strength of community. Their story was picked up by
a national newspaper. Fred was overwhelmed with phone calls, emails, letters, and
donations from around the country. They came from Hawaii to Vermont. One lady called
from Illinois. She'd lived through the depression and knew what it was like to go without.
She didn't want the kids to do the same. A few days later, Fred received a check for
five hundred dollars from her.
Baseballs arrived. Twenty-four dozen came in one delivery from New Orleans.
Donations of equipment arrived from individuals and little leagues in Pennsylvania and
Illinois. The league was featured on "Good Morning America". They received more
equipment from the major baseball leagues, and the Cincinnati Reds invited the entire
Greenfield league (more than four hundred kids) to see a game at "Great American
Ballpark" in Cincinnati.
Fred wasn't done. He spoke to members of the "Concerned Veterans of
Greenfield". Their bylaws prohibited them donating money, but they donated a flagpole
and a flag.
Fred spoke to a stone mason, Jay Hardy, owner of Hardy Memorials. Fred
wanted to do something in return for the veterans. Jay agreed to donate his work to
those who fought then and now. Fred expected a small plaque, but one morning, Jay
pulled into the parking lot with a section of marble three feet, by two feet, by two inches.
The flagpole and monument where mounted in cement.
The league made concessions: only one new baseball per game; the scoreboard
and lights remained dark; and restrooms were locked, replaced with portable toilets.
Four hundred and fifty children, ages five through sixteen, signed up to
complete forty-seven teams. On opening day, Fred and his gang surveyed the field
once again. Fred remembers one thing - the sounds. He listened to the laughter of
children, the crack of bats against balls, and above it all, the snapping of the flag blowing
in the wind.
A call for silence - the national anthem played and the plaque was dedicated to the
veterans who stood proudly along the first and third base lines.
"Play ball!" The umpire yelled.
The season was on.
On July 3, 2009, the last game was played. The last ball was struck. The last game
of the season came to an end. The players, parents, coaches, and umpires left the field.
The last breath of wind rolled a hotdog wrapper over the infield. The sun dropped below
the horizon. The light of day faded. The stars and stripes gave a final wave in the dying
day and then hung limp against the pole - vigilant - waiting for another season. One
could imagine the sound of a bugler playing, signaling the end of the day, the end of a season, and the success of the volunteers. The day turned to night and all was quiet.
In the year 2009, the economy wrecked havoc across the United States and around
the globe, but in Greenfield, it was beaten - Greenfield, not just another town.
~ Michael T. Smith ~
<heartsandhumor@gmail.com>
Michael lives in Ohio with his wife Ginny and his stepdaughter's
family. You can see a list of Mike's stories here:
http://tinyurl.com/moud8u And you can get his stories emailed to you
by signing up here: http://tinyurl.com/ldjruh
Please let Michael know what you think of his story:
Michael T. Smith
[ by: Michael T. Smith
Copyright © 2010, ( heartsandhumor@gmail.com ) -- {used with permission} ]
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