Better Late Than Never

By Al Horn

At the ripe old age of forty-six, I attended my first minor league football game last fall. Just the other night, I attended my first minor league baseball game. My wife and our oldest son, who came to visit this week, enjoyed the spectacle greatly. This had been a first for them, as well. As fate would have it, the previous night's game had been rained out so we were treated to a double-header. The most expensive ticket was only eight dollars; about the same price for bleacher seats at Busch Stadium. Once inside the ticket gate, we were treated to some familiar sights.

For a couple of years, my wife and I were season ticket holders for the St. Louis Ambush indoor soccer team. After you passed through their ticket gates vendors and a variety of activities that were family oriented greeted you. Things weren't much different here. The areas behind home plate and the dugouts were filled with booths hawking souvenirs, drawings and credit card offers. This area was open air and you almost felt like you were at a small carnival or a parish picnic. Adults stood around drinking something cold while the kids were running around under foot. A ten-year-old boy dutifully held his little brother's hand while taking him to the restroom. A teenaged boy and girl held hands while standing behind the box seats. Their attention alternating between each other and the action on the field.

This particular park had the area behind left field for the bleacher seats. Circling around the left field foul pole toward home plate you encounter a playground for young children. At the other foul pole was a beer garden that also offered simple entertainment for adults. If you were raised in western St Charles County, this would very much remind you of a gathering similar to picnics and the county fair.

Having opted for box seats, we were led to ours by a young lady that would double as our waitress for the evening. I ordered drinks for all three of us. After our server had walked away, I thought about asking for peanuts as well. I walked up to the concession stand and there stood a former co-worker with his wife. We talked for a bit and then I ordered by snack. I returned to my seat to tell my wife about this meeting. Before I could, she started pointing out other people we knew.

The section we were in started to fill up and you could hear people comment on foul balls and the bad calls the umpires were making. (All were against the home team, of course) People were discussing the ball players' activities with friends and strangers alike. One young man was telling an older gentleman about how the foul ball would bounce every which way off of the entrance roof. A young girl was talking to a middle aged couple sitting behind her without her mother scolding her for talking to strangers. Two small boys were using age-old rhymes to jeer the opposing pitcher. All of the adults smiled at their actions.

I suddenly felt like I was at Firemen's Park in Wentzville during the summer of 1966. The same interactions took place during the little league games that my siblings and I participated in. My first wife and I separated when our children were young and they were never really exposed to something like this. The revelation struck me as sad, and amusing. Thanks to urban sprawl and so many things becoming institutionalized, environments such as this have almost become extinct in this county. All the family grocery stores and hardware stores are gone. The little soda shops and bookstores are fading into the sunset. How many remember what a full service gas station was?

As people drifted away during the second game, I noticed that a few were putting on their airs of indifference that they use to survive in today's world. The rest smiled and waved at everybody on his or her way out. These were the ones that had been raised in this community and knew what the village concept meant without being told. This was the kind of 'village' I wanted my children to raise their children in. I knew that I would be coming back with my grand children. If their parents want to come along, that would be great. Better late than never.