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The Boomer and Me
by Doug Adams
Six weeks of R. O. T. C. Summer Camp at Fort Riley, Kansas would pass quickly. Six weekends, devoid of the frenzied military pace
of the weekdays, were interminable. Homesick, lonesome, far from home, for a long-time, for the first time, baseball became a sanctuary. Interstate 70, the new Ford Maverick, and the old Memorial Stadium, home of the recently expanded American League Kansas City Royals, was an end-of-week staple. On a never to be forgotten weekend during a summer in Kansas, my team, the Boston Red Sox came to town.
In the days before ballplayers became millionaires, in an era of accessibility to major league players that would be unthinkable today, I parked by a pay phone booth and called one of the few major league players I have known,
Boomer Scott was named an American League All-Star during his rookie season in 1966.
fellow Greenville native George Scott. By way of introduction I said, “George, my Daddy owns the Greenville 5 & 10 Cents Store.” His high pitched, audibly affable reply was, “Oh, yeah, the white haired man with the glasses on his head.” We laughed. Daddy’s always perched his glasses on his head.
Perhaps as a way of saying “thank you,” George had brought my daddy a World Series pennant when the Red Sox won the American League championship in 1967. Like so many of my daddy’s customers, the Greenville 5 & 10 had been an indispensable part of the Christmas season for George’s Momma. “Lay-a-ways” filled the back rafter storage area at “the store.” These were usually retrieved on Christmas Eve as most customers had little room at home to hide the red wagon or the tricycle Santa would bring. On some occasions my Daddy was paid for lay-a-ways on Christmas Eve and on some occasions he was not. Daddy knew his customers. Those who had paid some, if not all, in the past and those who paid over time always retrieved their Christmas lay-a-ways. Magnolia Scott Straw was one such customer.
Who knew that the son of a long-time customer at the Greenville 5 & 10 Cents Store would become one of the better players in the sport my daddy loved, Major League Baseball? My father’s many years of kindness to George Scott’s momma, and many others, was returned in the form of a World Series souvenir pennant.
Boomer Scott pictured with fellow Mississippi Sports and Boston Red Sox Hall of Famer Boo Ferriss.
Daddy always said that George Scott’s Momma was a fine lady and that George was a good guy. Alone in Kansas City awaiting the start of the Red Sox-Royals game that evening, I had taken a chance on my Daddy’s assessment and made the call to the Red Sox hotel. Somewhat surprised that a big league ball player would take my call I hastened to identify myself. George didn’t know me, but he knew my daddy.
As we spoke on the phone George was watching the Saturday afternoon “Game of the Week.” The game featured an aging Willie Mays, late in his career, attempting to play first base for the San Francisco Giants. A legendary centerfielder, Mays was obviously uncomfortable at first base. I stood at a highway phone booth as George began a running commentary on Mays “He should be playing behind the runner.” “He’s not guarding the line.” “Man, he looks lost out there.” |
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He then launched a litany of questions. Did I have a ticket? Could I get to the stadium by 4? Did I know where the visiting team clubhouse was?
“Boomer” was given his nickname by Red Sox teammate Joe Foy.
Before I had time to contemplate meeting a major league player at the ballpark I was curb-side as the Red Sox bus pulled into the parking lot of Municipal Stadium. Out stepped George “Boomer” Scott. I was a 24-year old graduate student R. O. T. C. cadet. George was the 27 year old outstanding first baseman in the American League.
I grew-up on baseball bubble gum cards, lack and white images of Yankee Stadium, Harry Carey and the Cardinals on KMOX radio in St. Louis, and “Willie, Mickey and the Duke.” George might have been only three years older than I was but I sensed light years of difference in us. He was a big league star and I was a star-struck kid.
George currently runs this barbeque
restaurant in Greenville, MS.
We talked about Greenville, his momma, my daddy, fellow Greenvillian Bobby Etheridge, the Vietnam War, Coleman High School, Tony Conigliaro’s comeback attempt, the Sox ’67 pennant, hitting against Bob Gibson, hippies in California, the Army and R. O. T. C. Fans seeking autographs were graciously accommodated, but intrusive sports writers were shunned. “Man, I’m talking to my homeboy. Catch me later.”
Rico Petrocelli, the BoSox third baseman, saw us in the stands. He scolded Scott in a northern brogue with a terminology that eluded me. Apparently George understood. The essence of Petrocelli’s comment was that George could be fined by the team for consorting with a fan. In no uncertain terms George told the young third sacker what he could do with his “fine.” George’s gruff retort has long since lapsed in my memory apart from his indication to Petrocelli that I was, “. . . his friend from Greenville.”
My bask in the reflected glory of “. . . friend from home” to a major league star came to quickly to an end as batting practice ended and late afternoon gave way to game time. All too soon I was back on the interstate for a return to the barracks of Fort Riley.
Thirty six summers have passed since my R.O.T.C. Camp. George Scott’s playing days have ended as has my military obligation. Much has changed. Thankfully,some things do not.
As affable as he had been thirty some summers ago in Kansas City, George and I sat together at his newly opened barbeque stand on Highway 61 South, across from Delta Medical Center and only a stones throw from the Coleman High School playing fields of his youth. With sauce dripping from my fingers as I savored the hickory smoked delicacy my daddy loved so well, George and I talked about his momma, The Greenville 5 & 10 Cents Store, the ’67 Red Sox, and, about Greenville.
“I’m proud of my accomplishments, proud of what I’ve done. But that’s not the important thing. The young people of Greenville are important.”
Over George’s shoulder a sign read:
DON’T EXPECT NOTHING
BLAME NO ONE
AND DO SOMETHING
“I’d like to put that sign in every school room in Greenville. That’s what my momma taught me. That’s what we need to impress on our young people.”
Laughing about old times, great games and players long past but fondly remembered, George chuckled in reminiscence, “I could hit the fastball --- don’t throw me a fastball.”
With a twinkle in his eye and a sly smile George said, “You haven’t changed in thirty years, big guy.” No George, I haven’t changed. I’m still a fan. And you haven’t changed; you’re still a great guy.
In July 2007, George “Boomer” Scott was inducted in the Mississippi Sports Hall of Fame. He was inducted into the Boston Red Sox Hall of Fame in November 2006. Doug Adams still works in Greenville, MS. |
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