Archive for the ‘Washington DC’ Category
Washington Baseball

Washington baseball fans are understandably excited about the Nationals being in the World Series. It’s been a long drought. I grew up in Capitol Heights, MD about two blocks from the DC line. Of course, at the time I was a Washington Senators and Redskins fan. In 1962 or 1963 (I can’t quite remember), my friends and I had an encounter with Jimmy Piersall. Most of you are too young to remember him. He spent 1962 and 1963 with the Senators. He was a good player, but crazy. We were silly-assed 12 or 13-year-olds (like I said I can’t quite remember) and loved attending games at DC Stadium.
The Washington Daily News had a nice deal for kids called The Knothole Club. We paid 25 cents for tickets to various games in the center field bleachers. That’s what was so great. Jimmy played center field, so it gave us a chance to be punk kids and heckling him was fun.
He is in the Boston Red Sox Hall of Fame and probably did not have the statistics to be in the Major League Baseball Hall of Fame, but his antics are legendary.
There is a movie, Fear Strikes Out, based on his career. It stars Anthony Perkins as Jimmy and Karl Malden as his father. It’s an old black and white film, but if you find it, it’s a good watch.
He once hit a home run and ran around the bases backward. Now, that’s funny. Then in a game when he was with the Cleveland Indians he ran back and forth in the outfield while Ted Williams was at-bat for the Red Sox. He was ejected. Then there was a game where he was so upset with the umpires that he went into the stands and heckled them relentlessly.
So, while we were at a game in the bleachers we harrassed him. I can’t quite remember the things we yelled at him, but he turned around and gave us the finger. Very cool to get the finger from a good player. But, we kept it up hoping to receive more insults we could talk about 50 years later.
We had two teams in Washington during my childhood, We had the Senators who had been there forever; eventually moving to become the Minnesota Twins, then the next Senators team left to become the Texas Rangers.
Even though I no longer live in the DC area, I salute the fans for their World Series team.
With love,
Bake My Fish
How Not To Sell Virtual Cookware
The last time we got together I mentioned something about trying to sell Ecko Hope Chests on the streets of Washington, DC. Don’t try it, it doesn’t work. It didn’t work in 1973, and it won’t work in 2008.
My first job after being discharged from the service was selling pots and pans. Our “product” included glassware, china and silverware, but the meat of the sale was Ecko waterless cookware. The ensemble was touted as the answer to the dreams of all “single working girls,” and the job was to essentially accost young females on the streets of Washington during their hurried lunch break, and convince them to allow me to bring a free gift (plastic “rain bonnet”) to their premises some evening, to hear my pitch about what they might need for their future domestication. If you are following me, you know this won’t work.
My “supervisor” was a really cool fellow. He was charged with training me to get the necessary number of appointments to make a living. His name escapes me (since I knew him all of 15 business days, 35 years ago), but I do recall he was cool. I’ll give him the name Freeburg, not for any particular reason, but it’s silly, and that’s my purpose in life.
Freeburg had long blonde hair, a hip mustache (not necessarily a Fu Manchu, but long) and he wore sunglasses. He was a Hippie in a suit. Now, my interest was in providing for my family, but Freeburg was there to get lucky. And he did. Quite a few times (it was the era of free love). The ladies of the time liked the look, he was intelligent and spoke very well, and he was always stoned, so his mellowness apparently was a draw.
I wanted to learn my trade, and quite honestly I really sucked at it. Freeburg often disappeared into the nearby alley to toke on a small pipe. Once he was sufficiently high, he would direct me how to talk, but somehow it wasn’t particularly intelligible. My animated, freakish mumbling at the women who walked by seemed more like Quasimodo communicating with Esmeralda.
Picture this. It’s 1973, and everyone had long hair. I, on the other hand, had short, closely cropped bangs (think Jim Carrey in Dumb and Dumber); being out of the military for just over three weeks. Combine that sight with my pencil-thin mustache, which looked more like groomed nostril hairs and you have a pretty good idea of my handicap. Take your pick; the contemporary, handsome, long blonde-haired guy, stoned and mellow, with sunglasses and a cool mustache, or the jittery dork, with the sneaky-looking nose hairs, wearing a polyester suit and platform shoes, desperately seeking a dollar, who looks like he just fell off the lettuce truck. As you can guess, there weren’t many appointments in my future.
I did get one. She probably felt sorry for me. Either that, or she really needed a rain hat. That evening, I went to Debbie’s (I remembered her name) apartment in Wheaton and knocked on the door. During my last few months in Taiwan, I had several suits tailored (very cheaply) in the finest polyester double-knit fabric available. My duds were proudly displayed on my slim body. That particular day, I was wearing my rust-colored, maxi-patterned, plaid suit (similar to the picture). The shirt was beige; accented with a fine, matching non-silk tie. In my left hand dangled the handle of my sample case. One of her roommates came to the door and fingered my lapel and said, “Really nice,” in as sarcastic a way as he could. But, he invited me in. This was the opening scene in Death of a Salesman.
He immediately and proudly showed me the marijuana plant growing in the hall closet. “I suspect you don’t know the purpose of my visit,” I thought. So I nodded and said, “It looks very healthy (as if I knew).” But, I was thinking, “I need a sale.” Debbie walked out of the kitchen to greet me, and two other female roommates came out of the bedroom to say hello. The Botanist was the only male living with three women, all very cute. Then they asked if I wanted to party. Tempting as it was, I had to leave. There was no way a sale would be made among this group, and it didn’t really matter why my prospect agreed to allow me to come by (even though it was intriguing). I pulled the packaged rain hat out of my suit pocket and gave it to Debbie, but Botany Man grabbed it, peeled off the wrapper, and put it on his head. “Really nice,” I said in as sarcastic a way as I could, politely thanked everyone for their time, and left.
That was my first and last appointment. As ridiculous as it was, I had fun in a weird sort of way; however, that was not the job for me.
Still, I always wondered if the waterless cookware really worked.
With Love,
Bake My Fish