The Last Summer. Chan Howell

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      The Last Summer

      Chan Howell

      Copyright © 2020 Chan Howell

      All rights reserved

      First Edition

      Fulton Books, Inc.

      Meadville, PA

      Published by Fulton Books 2020

      ISBN 978-1-64654-446-2 (paperback)

      ISBN 978-1-64654-447-9 (digital)

      Printed in the United States of America

      On the Map

      Frankie Winslow and my dad have told me the story of the 1980 Swansville Red Raiders state championship game so many times I feel like I was at the game despite the critical fact that I was not even born yet. I would make my debut roughly sixteen months later. The story seems more like a legend than something that actually happened.

      My parents, much like most of the local youth and high school kids, gathered at Rocky Point Pier to listen to the game on the radio. Red Solo cups were to disguise the teenagers that were drinking alcohol in the event the authorities or someone’s parents showed up unannounced. No adult was concerned with the local teens at Rocky Point Pier. They ignored whatever teenage cocktails were drunk as everyone expected the night to end in a celebration. A small bonfire made the trees dance across the water just before the sunset. The adults gathered at the back of the cove at Winslow’s to do the same. Only a small caravan of parents and relatives made the trip to Chapel Hill to watch the game in person.

      Radios echoed off the water at Rocky Point Pier. The boys that now considered themselves men, who had played on the team a year earlier, controlled the crowd with shouts of “Close your mouths or leave!” Baseball was serious business to those that almost won a year prior. The night was heavy and mostly silent, until something happened in favor of the Red Raiders.

      My dad said, “We lived and died with each pitch, and the fact we trailed most of the game made everyone nervous.”

      My parents sat on a blanket under an old oak tree and quietly listened as the innings slowly passed. The adults at Winslow’s cared little that the town youth were drinking alcohol just up the cove. Most of the adults sipped from flasks to calm their nerves.

      One year earlier, the Red Raiders fell in the state championship game, and most of the folks in town thought the chance at baseball immortality had passed. Tonight’s game was a rematch and a shot at redemption. We still had a dominant pitcher, but his home-run-hitting older brother had graduated. Jacob Hartley represented our last and best chance now that his brother was gone. Swansville was not known for baseball, but a win would put the town on the map. The Hartley brothers had brought attention to the brown water of Pisgah Lake.

      The local church radio station broadcast the game, and the AM radio station was interrupted with static throughout the broadcast. The Methodist preacher and his brother stumbled through the game. Every time there was a break in the action, Reverend Callahan would ask, “Why is Jacob Hartley not on the mound?” His brother Peter would answer, “It doesn’t make sense to keep your best pitcher in left field.” Jamie Hartley paced the shoreline while his future bride tried to settle him down. She did little good as usual, and Jamie’s face turned scarlet with each step.

      Jamie was banned from all of Swansville High School’s athletic events due to a fight earlier in the year. He was only able to give advice by shouting at the radio and hoping the frequency somehow reached his younger brother. Swansville High School was glad he was gone. Jamie was exiled from all sports and school functions. Two fans from our conference rival shouted taunts at Jacob while he was injured when an errant foul ball hit him while he was warming up on deck. Everyone was silent until Jacob gained consciousness, while the rival fans openly mocked him, shouting, “Delay of game cupcake!” among other insults. After the game, Jamie confronted the opposing fans. The grandfather and father of a rival player were behind the insults. The story went that the opposing fan told Jamie, “I guess you are trying to hold on to your glory days by holding your brother’s hand.” A melee ensued, with Jamie breaking the old man’s arm. He was not arrested, but the penalty of not being able to watch his younger brother was far worse than a jail sentence or any community service.

      Jacob had pitched 15 2/3 innings over the last three games, and his arm was ailing. It achingly hung by his side while he patrolled left field. The former baseball players knew why Jacob was in left field, but the rest of the crowd shouted at the radio, “Coach Burkhard, you’re a fool! Put him in! There is no tomorrow!” Jamie scowled at any comment that would be perceived as negative. No one dared making a direct comment at him, and everyone avoided eye contact in effort to keep Jamie’s wrath from turning their direction. The red cup he sipped from made him more volatile, and his fuse was shorter than normal. His date would occasionally walk up and kiss him as he paced the shoreline. Her kisses did not seem to settle him down, but it did slow his vibrant pace.

      The Swansville Red Raiders were down 2 to 0, heading into the fifth inning. The crowds at both Winslow’s and Rocky Point Pier began to sense a repeat of the previous year’s title game. Reverend Callahan opened the fifth inning with “For those of you back in Swansville, hope and faith are two pillars of our lives. Don’t fret. We can still win.” His words floated into the night air like ashes from a dying bonfire. No one wanted to hear a sermon, and the crowd at Rocky Point Pier booed.

      Jamie Hartley threw two large bundles of wood on the fire, then doused it with gasoline. The fire raged and popped as he said, “We have nine outs. We can do it!”

      The crowd cheered as one lone boy shouted back at Jamie, “Let’s hope your brother can deliver. You surely couldn’t!”

      It was rare for someone to challenge either of the Hartley brothers, and the crowd looked in the direction of the boy that made the foolish remark. Jamie shouted, “You’ll find out one way or another!” Jamie’s date ran over to the other boy and told him to stop. She grabbed his face and pulled him down to her level, then whispered something to him. Whatever she said seemed to work. The blue-eyed beauty was successful. She was able to quiet her older brother, George. Others in the crowd were shocked her brother even showed his face on this side of the lake. George sulked away quietly, but his red Solo cup still had some courage left in it.

      The Swansville Red Raiders scored one in the top of the fifth, and now the deficient was only a single run. The heat from the fire forced my parents away from their spot under the old oak tree, and they struggled to hear the rest of the game. My dad told me, “I felt like I missed those last two innings.” The tension in the air was more prevalent than ever. Swansville scored two runs in the top of the sixth on a no-name sophomore’s double. The sophomore pitcher for the Red Raiders was running out of steam, and we still needed six more outs.

      Reverend Callahan ran out of words and pointed the microphone toward the crowd. The crowd at both Winslow’s and Rocky Point Pier started shouting at the radio. My dad said, “The shouts must’ve reached old Coach Burkhard, because he called for Hartley to take his place on top of the mound.” Reverend Callahan’s brother Peter was so excited he shouted, “Jesus Christ, here he comes!” Jacob Hartley was sent to the mound to get the last six outs of the 1980 state championship. Jacob had little trouble in the bottom of the sixth inning. He struck out two of the West Lee Dragons as the third Dragon bounced weakly to first.

      The mood at both Winslow’s and Rocky Point Pier began to sense the outcome. Jacob Hartley had given everyone confidence. Car horns began to the fill the night air, much to the chagrin of the folks actually trying to hear the ending СКАЧАТЬ