bill lee

Yes, this is same fella Warren Zevon recorded a song about.

I really don’t write letters to current or former baseball players and ask them for an autograph. However, after recently reading Bill Lee’s The Wrong Stuff and watching “Spaceman: A Baseball Odyssey,” the documentary about Bill and his trips to Cuba to play baseball, I decided it would be a shame to not have one of his cards autographed in my collection.

So I sent Bill a letter along with one of my Archaeology Rocks t-shirts, and asked him to sign his card from the 1972 Topps set. Several weeks later, he sent it back… signed beautifully with a blue Sharpie.



Even if you don’t happen to follow baseball, Bill Lee is a person worthy of your attention. The fact that the “Spaceman” includes “EARTH” in his signature should be enough to make you want to Google him and find out what that is all about. There are so many interesting things about this man that I wouldn’t even attempt to summarize his character in a blog entry.

You’ll have to excuse me now so I can begin reading Have Glove Will Travel.

one man's trash...

... is another man’s dollhouse.

Whether you live in a large city or the smallest of towns, you can always bank on discovering the strangest things while walking through alleys. I guess it boils down to the notion that people invest the majority of their yard beautification efforts towards the front of their homes, and neglect the backsides under the theory that no one will see it. Possibly that also indicates that most people are oblivious to what alleys have to offer beyond serving as a path to their garage, or the rare shortcut. Many people also tend to employ “their” alley as an extension of their world.

I think I’ve always been a sort of alley investigator, although I definitely prefer to explore them on foot rather than by car. First, I tend to miss the finer details when traveling at say, 35 miles an hour compared to 2 or even 3 miles per hour. Also, vehicles pretty much remove any possibility of stealth from the operation, whereas on foot a person may only attract the attention of the occasional family dog, or an entire block of family dogs if you have unusually large feet, or haven’t learned how to pick them up when you walk.

I recently encountered this relatively creepy item while on walkabout in search of interesting items to photograph. It was stashed in the alley behind a large house in Albuquerque’s historic Huning Highland Addition that was featured prominently in the nightmarish film “Suspect Zero.”



I was immediately captivated by the amount of effort that appeared to go into the construction of the house to make it look old and run down. Then I realized that it probably wasn’t so much the effort that went into the creation it inasmuch as it was just sloppily constructed and then more than likely left outside in the elements for any number of years. When I reached down to move the house into light more suitable for photography, I was impressed the object’s weight. I was particularly fond of the yellow room upstairs.



Upon reaching the conclusion that the toy wasn’t a scale model of the property’s actual house, I realized that it was time to continue with my exploration. Although I didn’t feel any urges to save the item from an eventual trip to the dump, I couldn’t help but wonder if there is an interesting story surrounding this house.

old red mare

Kurt Vonnegut Jr. and I had an understanding. He would write fabulous books, and I would read them. Otherwise, we left each other alone. This is how it always was. This is how it should always have continued to be. Unfortunately, Time and Nature conspired to rain on that parade.

Now that I’m positive Kurt isn’t reading my blog (at least my blog isn’t getting any hits from IP addresses from Tralfamadore), I can write about topics that I otherwise may not have- such as the odometer reading in my pickup truck.



As trivial as it may be, my truck reached a milestone on the same day that Mr. Vonnegut passed away, by hitting the 100,000-mile mark. I remember when I was a kid the day our family car (I think it was a 1965 Chevy Impala) was going to “roll over,” and I thought it was going to literally flip off to the side of the road. It didn’t. I also remember my eyes being glued to the odometer as the dials changed for the next four miles. Then I sorta lost interest as we neared the Spoon River bridge.

When I purchased my Ford Ranger on August 20, 1995, I did so because I was pumping so much money into keeping my Dodge Daytona running that I figured I might as well be making payments on a new vehicle. It was the first brand new vehicle I had ever purchased, so it was a pretty big deal. Obviously I had no idea how long the truck would last, and quite honestly, I didn’t think much about it either. I was just happy to have a reliable means of tooling around Phoenix and the greater southwest.

Fast forward nearly a dozen years and an estimated 35 oil changes, the milestone was reached just west of the San Mateo overpass while traveling east on Interstate 40 through the heart of Albuquerque. If you must know, Aretha Franklin’s “Spanish Harlem” was flowing from the factory radio and speakers.



Overall, it has been a very good truck. The truck’s 13th windshield (that has been cracked now for a couple of years) stands testament to the fact that I no longer attempt to fight the fact that the vehicle is a magnet for flying gravel. The truck definitely has a unique personality, and features strange behavior such as the windshield wipers turning themselves on randomly, it hates to be washed, and similar to the driver, the radio receiver doesn’t “get” NPR.

It is possible that these items may be attributed to spiritual remnants attached to the human remains and associated grave items that were transferred in the cab from archaeological excavation sites around Arizona to various laboratories. Certainly there is no indication that Henry Ford’s ghost has been hitching a ride.

opening day 2007

Best day of the year? Why that would be Opening Day of course! How’d you celebrate the occasion this year?

I spent the afternoon soaking up rays and suds at Isotopes Park watching a ballgame between the visiting San Diego State Aztecs and the University of New Mexico Lobos. Normally, I steer clear of college baseball, but not when a team is managed by the likes of Tony Gwynn.



Recently elected to the National Baseball Hall of Fame, Gwynn is quite happy to sign autographs for anyone who asks nicely with a “please,” and adds a sincere “thank you.”



After Tony walked around the dugout showing this card and saying, “This is my motorcycle,” I asked him how the bike was doing. He replied that it was "sitting in the garage collecting dust." It is nice to be reminded that even Hall of Fame ballplayers are regular people (sort of).

boxer hill

While conducting my ongoing historical baseball research project, I recently ran across this interesting item in the October 27, 1888 edition of Albuquerque’s Morning Democrat.



Perhaps “interesting” is misleading in that this particular item would be meaningful to only a small handful of people who would find the overall topic, well…. interesting. While I had already discovered documentation that a few of the ball players included in my research were from Bloomington, Illinois, the thought never entered my mind that any of my research subjects would have been born only a few miles from the tiny town where I grew up and traded baseball cards with my buddies before little league practice.

Having little information besides the infielders’ last name to go on, I fired off a couple of emails hoping to catch a break. Larry Lock, President of the Kewanee Historical Society, provided me with the first name of “Beldon,” and the following from the October 25, 1888 edition of the Kewanee Weekly Independent.

“ ‘Beldie’ Hill returned from the south-west last Saturday. He has for several months past been playing ball with the team of Santa Fe, and has made for himself an enviable reputation by his fine work both in the diamond and with the bat.”

It is amazing what having a person’s first name can do for a researcher, even if there is an issue with spelling. With that important clue in hand, I was able to locate the following information with a few simple Google searches.

Belden L. Hill was born on August 24, 1864 in Kewanee, Illinois. Hill got his only taste in the big leagues in 1890 just three days after his 26th birthday playing third base for the Baltimore Orioles. Hill’s final major league appearance occurred on September 4th that same year.

The 5’10” right-handed infielder played in only 9 games, hitting safely 5 times in 30 at bats including a pair of doubles and a trio of runs scored. “Beldie” swiped six bases and was hit by the pitcher three times. Playing the hot corner, Belden committed 7 errors in 49 total chances, resulting in a lackluster fielding percentage of .857.

In 1896, the Cedar Rabbits (professional baseball club of Cedar Rapids, Iowa) began playing in a brand new ballpark named Hill Park in honor of Belden Hill, then a cigar wholesaler and investor in the team. Hill took over as manager of the team in 1897 and led the Rabbits in their quest to capture the Western Association title with an impressive record of 84-41. Cedar Rapids joined the Three-I (Illinois-Indiana-Iowa) League in 1901 and immediately dominated the competition. Hill retired as manager of the Cedar Rapids club (then nicknamed the Bunnies) following the 1908 season.

Although no longer serving as the team’s skipper, Hill was obviously still heavily involved with the club as it is reported that he failed to sign future major leaguer Edmund “Bing” Miller to a minor league contract in 1911 with his offer of $70 per month. Miller would eventually spend 16 seasons in the majors, and appeared in three consecutive World Series (1929-1931) with the Philadelphia Athletics.

Kewanee Historical Society archives note that Belden’s brother Hugh, a prominent pharmacist and sports enthusiast, was president of the Kewanee Boilermakers, a team in the class D minor league Central Association from 1908 to 1911. Unfortunately, Cedar Rapids failed to organize professional baseball clubs during that period. While it is pretty clear that Belden didn’t lead a team against Kewanee, I wonder if he had anything at all to do with the Boilermakers (either in person or financially). Belden Hill came out of retirement to manage the Cedar Rapid Bunnies to sixth and forth place finishes in the Central Association in 1913 and 1914.

Belden Hill passed away on October 22, 1934, and is buried at Oak Hill Cemetery in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.

The Cedar Rapids baseball club sold Hill Park to the Cedar Rapids Community School District for $9,000. The ballpark was razed in the late 1940s.

………..

Fifteen bonus points to anyone who can name another person from Kewanee, Illinois to have had AT LEAST one at-bat in Major League Baseball.

walterwood

Just when I was beginning to think that people might be growing tired of seeing our neighborhood on the silver screen, Hollywood came a knockin’ once again- this time three doors down to the south.

A few scenes of Sunshine Cleaning are being filmed at the Kim and Charles Salas house on the southeast corner of Walter and Lead. Here’s a quickie pic I snapped from the front porch this afternoon that demonstrates how even a small budget film can really impact a neighborhood.



I don’t know much about the film besides what is already posted on IMDB.com. Alan Arkin stars in the movie. One of the more intriguing actors in the movie is Amy Adams who not only reportedly provides the voice of Sweet Polly Purebred in the new Underdog movie, but also appeared in the juicy seventh episode of SMALLVILLE a number of years ago. In Craving, Adams portrayed Jodi Melville, a confused teenager who’s vegetable-only diet (of course heavily dosed with kryptonite) created an unquenchable thirst for the body fat of unsuspecting Smallvillians.

king of the food chain

Think you're funnier? Submit your own "winning" entry HERE.

tuesday afternoon

The Moody Blues rolled into Rio Rancho, New Mexico on February 27th with the sole purpose of entertaining an estimated crowd of 2,500 fans who didn’t want to travel all the way from Albuquerque to Denver to see them, but were willing to make the trek out to the Santa Ana Star Center.

The British rockers would have been successful in their goal even if they had only performed one of their two 50-minute sets. After opening the concert with Lovely to See You Again, My Friend, the band delivered an extremely polished version of Tuesday Afternoon- probably one of the songs that first attracted me to the Moody Blues many years ago.

You are aware, I assume, that the Moodies are one of Opus’ favorite bands. Although you may not completely understand everything about the life of that odd little comic penguin, one can hardly question his taste in music.

The light show was phenomenal as the band continued with Lean On Me Tonight, Never Comes the Day and Steppin' in a Slide Zone. Although the crowd clearly enjoyed the overall performance up to this point, The Voice was the first song to get the majority of the people up on their feet at the same time.

The remainder of the first set included spirited renditions of One More Time to Live, I Know You’re Out There Somewhere and The Story in Your Eyes.

My challenge during the subsequent 20-minute intermission was to bombard the audience with commercials on the jumbotron and ads on the ribbon board- forcing them to seek shelter among the concession stands located throughout the concourse. I think it is safe to say that I managed to sell a few beers.

The second set began with Your Wildest Dreams. It’s funny how I hadn’t thought about the video for that song in over two decades until I saw them in concert.

Isn’t Life Strange was easily the strongest performance of the evening. The best way I can think to describe that tune for someone not at the concert is to ask them to imagine watching a autumn-colored leaf drop from the top of a tall tree, rocking gently toward the ground, then catching a thermal breeze and rising ever so slowly back toward the fading sun. You know that it will eventually come to rest, but catch yourself hoping this one will defy the rules and remain aloft- thereby preventing the onset of winter. But it can't.

Before the people standing at the end of Isn’t Life Strange had a chance to reclaim their seats, they were sawn in half by bassist John Lodge ripping through The Other Side of Life. Another hit from the 80s!

The next tune, December Snow, was from their Krismas album released some 4 years ago- so it was new to me.

No other song of the evening was performed with more passion than Higher and Higher as percussionist Graeme Edge climbed down from his drum set to take the microphone. Armed with only a tambourine, Edge danced an energetic jig while chasing flutist Norda Mullen around the stage and flashing his highly contagious Cheshire grin at appreciative fans- all while surreal clips of historic Apollo missions and Neil Armstrong strolling on the moon were projected onto the giant screen behind the band. Even if you don’t click on any of the other links in this entry, be sure you do check out this one. It will give you a good idea of the amount of joy this artist has on stage.

Edge has the distinction of being the sole remaining member of the original Moody Blues formed in 1964. Newbies Justin Hayward and John Lodge have only been with the band for fourty-one years. It almost seems rude of me to not include the names of the other band members (two keyboardists and another drummer), but sometimes I'm like that. You’ll get over it.

Band member introductions were followed by a rousing performance of I’m Just a Singer (in a Rock 'n' Roll Band). The psychedelic 30-year-old concert footage on the backdrop would have been fun enough- but throw in the live performance on the stage in front and I began to appreciate how successful bank robbers must feel on payday.

I didn’t get to “see” the end of the show, as I had to make my way backstage in order to be ready to run the post-concert commercials. However, I had no troubles hearing as they closed with Are You Sitting Comfortably? and Nights in White Satin.

I was extremely disappointed when the concert director announced that the band would be performing Question for their encore instead of Ride My See-Saw which they reportedly played as the encore following a concert in Las Vegas, Nevada three weeks previously. Don’t get me wrong, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with Question, but See-Saw is one of my favorite Moody Blues’ tunes. Much to my delight, the band returned to the stage and performed it as a second encore.

The only other song that I REALLY wanted to see the Moodies perform was Legend of a Mind. Maybe next time!

didja hear the one about the lumberjack?

Submit your own caption...

albuquerque - february 12, 1876

Albuquerque's first telecommunications link with the outside world was established via telegraph on February 12, 1876. The telegraph office was located in the Centennial Hotel owned by Major Melchior Werner.

albuquerque - february 10, 1897

Fire completely destroyed the Armijo House, Albuquerque's first major hotel, on this date in 1897. Located on the southwest corner of Railroad Avenue (now Central) and 3rd Street, the Armijo House was a favorite stopping place of many visitors traveling through the New Mexico Territory via the transcontinental railroad. The railroad continues to service this burg today.

albuquerque - february 9, 1883

Milt Yarberry, Albuquerque's first marshal, was hanged after being found guilty of shooting an unarmed man to death. It wasn’t the first time Milt had killed an unarmed man, but it was the first time he was hanged for it.

Legend has it that tickets were sold to the hanging that took place around 3 p.m. on February 9, 1883. Approximately 100 men were allowed into the yard, while an estimated 1,000 more gathered outside the fence on rooftops and in trees to witness the first legal execution in Bernalillo County.

Following a lengthy speech, witnesses stated that Yarberry uttered his last words as Archie Hilton pulled a black cap down over his face… “Well, you are going to hang an innocent man.” Doctors present stated that it took 9 minutes for Milt’s heart to stop beating after he was hanged.

Yarberry was buried in the Santa Barbara Cemetery in Martineztown. Although it was reported that Milt was buried still wearing the noose as his necktie, I can’t help but suspect that that particular detail was in fact, fiction.

that'll leave a mark

I suppose it is inevitable that people who conduct historical research tend to wonder what sort of mark they will eventually leave in their wake- if ANY. Obviously, the “present” tends to obscure the future “past” to the point that it is left unrecognizable as such. Or possibly, the past can only be truly pondered for its significance by people who weren’t involved- and therefore removing the various levels of bias that are certain to cloud almost anyone’s perspective.

Admittedly that is one of the thoughts that bounces around in my skull while I’m reading New Mexico territorial newspapers from the 1880s in search of tidbits about base ball players and games that were played when the west was still untamed. Constantly distracted from my subject by fascinating reports of bank robberies, train wrecks, outbreaks of smallpox and other devastating diseases, and countless tragic double axe murders that would give Theodore Dreiser nightmares, I find myself surprised by my own amazement at how little “we’ve” changed over the past 120-some years.

Of course it isn’t all doom and gloom; the papers are also filled with reports of relaxing Sunday picnics, humorous stories about everyday events, and articles concerning technological advances or people determined to make advancements for the betterment of the world. The bottom line is that as I scroll through the reels of microfilm one frame at a time, allowing the mundane elements of the past reveal themselves to me along with the anticipated major timeline markers, I can’t help but notice that the contributions of most people are soon swept under the rug. Simply put, in the grand scheme of things, fifteen minutes isn’t very much time at all.

I sincerely hope you haven’t read this far expecting me to provide an answer. Hell, I’ve digressed so wide I barely remember the concept, let alone any question that I may have proposed. Oh yeah… leaving one’s mark!

Let’s assume for a minute that you wish to be “remembered” for more than just your name and social security number in various census tracts and records maintained by clueless government clerks and ordained archivists of the Church of the Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints; headstone-cold data that will only be uncovered by the most probing of genealogical exams. Perhaps you don’t care to tempt the historical fates by leaving behind only a few unremarkable snapshots in a very limited run of a handful of high school yearbooks. Unless you are the type of person capable of inventing something similar to (but completely different from) the atomic bomb or the internet (which you very well may be given that you have chosen to read this entry) one method that may hold the most promise is to consciously divide your allotted 15 minutes into manageable nanoseconds, and disperse them into as many different media as possible. Write a book (and get it published). Appear in a (meaningful) motion picture- even as an extra. Create some art. Submit a killer recipe to a magazine. Start a blog. Record an album. Take photographs and distribute them far and wide. Heck, develop your own television show for public access and have it beamed to well beyond the furthest reaches of the universe.

Making kids on the other hand, does NOT count. You'll need to be more creative than that.

One of the more interesting unanticipated finds on the microfilm of the 1883 Daily Democrat is this image of a thumb of the person who photographed the newspapers before they were destroyed. Unfortunately, I don’t have the name of the person to attach to the thumb, but I do know that they worked for a firm called Golightly Payne Coon in El Paso, Texas, and probably in the late 1950s. I’m left wondering whether the person intentionally included their thumb on the corner of all the pages, or if it was accidental. Seriously, that is the kind of thing I would do on purpose just to mess with a person from the future. And probably that is why I’ve never worked for a microfilm company.



I decided that I would copy the idea and include my version here on Blog Kabin Fever to entertain my readers. Normally I wouldn’t admit to copying someone else’s idea, but given DIY Networks’ recent decision to steal the name of my blog, and then bastardize the spelling in order to prevent me from unleashing a torrent of lawyers to threaten them, I figured “What the heck.”

same old yorker

My recent entries to the contest.

another belated birthday greeting

Harvey Fergusson, the grandson of influential Albuquerque businessman Franz Huning, was born in the old Spanish hacienda at 1801 Central Avenue NW on January 28, 1890. This novelist's best-known works include Rio Grande, Wolf Song, Grant of Kingdom and The Conquest of Don Pedro.

some sort of miracle

So, I was walking from the library to my truck this evening, when I observed a young Hispanic woman get off the bus carrying an infant in one arm and dragging a toddler behind her with the other. They were in front of me- walking in the same direction. I maintained my pace, as I was in time to make it across the Fifth Street before the light changed to yellow. I wasn't sure they were going to be so fortunate.

Somehow, they made it.

As I got closer and closer behind them, I could hear the mother quietly scolding the toddler... "We could have had a warm ride if you hadn't kept falling down," "Stop it!" and "C'mon, use your feet!" are some prime examples. The little girl was whimpering and crying. Admittedly, my eyes also had tears in them, but that was due to the cold.

Just as I began to pass them on the grass to their right, the little girl stopped and pointing to a statue of Jesus on the outside of a church asked, "Is that God?"

Taking a break from her scolding, the mother replied, "Yes."

They took a few more steps before the toddler noticed something that looked like a TV or cb radio antenna on the roof of the church. Puzzled, she asked, "Is that God too?"

The mother said, "No," then told her to stop dragging her feet and again pulled her along by the hood of her plastic parka - this time behind me.

The moral of this story? I believe I’ll leave that open to your interpretation.



This is a photo of the actual statue mentioned above. People familiar with downtown Albuquerque will realize immediately that this photo was taken a number of years ago, before someone snapped off one of Jesus’ thumbs.

Fred Raymer

Frederick Charles Raymer was born on November 12, 1875 in Leavenworth, Kansas. At the age of 19, Fred found himself in Albuquerque working as a fireman for the Atlantic & Pacific Railway, and playing shortstop for the Albuquerque Browns Base Ball Club. I haven’t determined how long he lived in the Duke City, but I have a feeling that it wasn’t for very long.



Raymer got his chance to play in the big leagues on April 24, 1901 at the age of 25 when he served as a utility infielder for the Chicago Orphans. After committing 42 errors out of 215 opportunities in 119 games, Fred wouldn’t see big league action again for 2 full seasons. Quite likely, Raymer simply wasn’t cut out to play the hot corner. That said, Raymer did start a triple play for the Orphans on June 14, 1901 in a game they lost to the New York Giants.

The Boston Beaneaters took a chance on Raymer in 1904 by making him their second baseman for 114 of their 153 games. Fred hit the only home run of his major league baseball career that magical season.

Raymer played 136 games for the Beaneaters in 1905, including single starts at first base and in the outfield. After flying out in the top of the second inning of the first game of a double header against New York, Raymer was allowed to “courtesy run” for teammate Rip Cannell who had ironically ripped his leg open while stealing second base with Raymer in the batter’s box. It was reported that Raymer was stranded at 2nd base, and Cannell retuned to his defensive position when the Beaneaters took to the field at the bottom of the inning. Weird, huh?

Raymer’s career major league baseball offensive stats include 301 hits, 95 runs and 101 RBIs with a .218 batting average. Fred swiped exactly 50 bases without being caught a single time. Interestingly enough, the young speedster also never grounded into a double play.

Although Raymer played in his final major league game on October 7, 1905, he obviously continued to play professional ball in the minor leagues as confirmed by these intriguing tobacco cards from 1910 and 1911.

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Raymer passed away in Los Angeles on June 11, 1957. He was reportedly cremated- perhaps in honor of his days spent shoveling coal into the furnaces of steam locomotives.

the scratching post

You may find it difficult to believe that I’ve had requests from readers to include my helper from the recent bathroom renovation project in more entries. On the other hand, perhaps you wouldn’t.

All I am prepared to say on the matter is that I will try.

Unfortunately it will be difficult to include Kancun in any discussions about baseball because she never goes to any games. Also, she isn’t allowed into my office where I keep my baseball cards. It isn’t that she doesn’t “like” baseball, mind you, but rather due to the fact that we are complete opposites when it comes to the proper methods for handling memorabilia.

just like "old days"

A most unexpected thing happened during my quest to rebuild a set of 75 Topps baseball cards. After reading my blog, a buddy from the old stomping grounds in the west-central portion of the Land of Lincoln Logs sent me all his duplicate cards hoping they would help out. I’m completely stoked knowing that one-sixth of the set that I will compile will have once lived in the very same gas station candy display case where I used to buy my cards.

Amazingly, the cards don’t appear to have seen the light of day since the Bicentennial!



This Robin Yount rookie card, one of the “key cards” of the set, is a shiny example of the great condition of the entire windfall. If you ever have a chance to check out my cards, be sure to ask to see a few of the cards from the Toastmaster Collection.

I suppose the moral of this entry is that sometimes… it pays to blog!

(So you’d like to see YOUR name mentioned here in my blog but don’t feel like sending me a stack of 75 Topps baseball cards? Well, I’m also going to be working on the 1974 set…)

in a new yorker minute

Sometimes I have good reasons for not posting an entry for a considerable period of time. But usually it is because I have been wasting time creating witty entries for the New Yorker magazine cartoon caption contest.

After deciding that the "contest" is a scam a while back, I quit entering and just started emailing my "entries" to people I thought would either think them hilarious, or cause them to scratch a raw spot on their scalp attempting to figure out what they had done to deserve that particular evidence of my insanity.

But no more... I've now decided to just post them here. Thus, here is what I would add to this Lee Lorenz arting: