James Humphrey’s Baseball Legacy

Editor's Note: This is the first of a series of poems we will be periodically posting by artist/poet James Humphrey (1939-2008). But first, a short introduction to Mr. Humphrey by his wife, Norma.

(Image: Self Portrait by James Humphrey)

Born to play baseball? Not quite. You see, Jimmie was a Miss America runner-up's unwanted child. Born in 1939, Jimmie was a beautiful boy with striking dark brown eyes. But his life was filled with wallops and severe punishments that included constant reminders of “you are no good” and “you’ll never amount to anything”. Not to take the acclaim away from Johnny Mize, but Jim became the youngest professional to join the St. Louis Cardinals when he was 15. His playing was brief due to the spinal pain he felt; he was only with them for part of a season before the major league honchos sent him to Rochester, New York to finish his abbreviated baseball career. James Humphrey left a huge legacy of writing and abstract art along with his “baseball poems”. Many of these poems are from his books, Paying the Price, In Pursuit of Honor, and Naked: Poems Selected and New, 1969-2006, which were inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame Library at Cooperstown.

How I Learned About Baseball
by James Humphrey

How many millions of years
has it been coming
to be here just this once--
never returning.
Robert Creeley

6 to 15 delivered
early morning big-city dailies.
Folding them with older carriers
around rusted 50-gallon oil drum
we kept fire in, I listened closely
to their excited, knowledgeable,
often prejudice talk, about how
their favorite major leaguers
had done the day before.

Players like Ted Williams, Duke Snider,
Gil Hodges, Jackie Robinson, Roy Campanella,
Satchel Paige, Warren Spahn, Stan Musial,
Phil Rizzuto, Joe DiMaggio.

The carriers helped me read the sports section
so I wouldn't interrupt them with
all my questions.
The better I became at reading about
great player's daily performances,
and playing midget league ball
beginning when 8,
intuitively knew I would become
a great home run slugger and outfielder.

Felt unusual certainty flourish
everywhere in my being
At 61, it still does!

Didn't want to be the best player
of my generation for glory of self.
Playing ball was what I did best.
Gave it EVERYTHING I had!

With the money I was going to build
a ranch in Iowa for young survivors.
Yelled that to the heavens when a
back porch screen door slammed,
startling me, when 8.

God!  How I wanted the children

to have that ranch!

4A Ballpark

Glittering ice palace

Single figure skater

Perfect infield ballet

Dreams of spring training

Stephen Stabler (01/24/47 - 12/15/11)

"I love signing autographs. I'll sign anything but veal cutlets. My ballpoint pen slips on veal cutlets". Casey Stengel

I first met Steve Stabler several decades ago, though for many years I didn’t really know him that well. He was always my hero. The reason he was my hero is because to me, Steve lived his life on his terms. He was a guy who knew what he liked and wanted, and was “reluctant”, shall we say, to conform to what society “expects” of us. As far as I know, he had maybe two “straight” jobs in his life (I helped get him one of them), and the rest of the time he cobbled together money from, well, I’m not exactly sure, but I think poker, pool hustling, fantasy baseball leagues (which he usually won) and inventing games were a part of it. He had the largest board game collection I’ve ever seen, a whole room filled with ‘em, and there were a lot of other types of amazing vintage toys and games in that room, too. Maybe he also made money selling some of his collection; I bought the Video Village board game from him at one point. He also had a spectacular pinball collection, about a half dozen beauties. If he didn’t like you, you knew it. He wasn’t one for meaningless chit-chat and he didn’t do things or go places just because he might be “expected” to. Pleasantries and platitudes weren’t for him; I got the feeling he didn’t suffer fools lightly. On the other hand, he was generous and compassionate, and a great listener. He was all about honesty and he had an amazing curiosity that took him to all kinds of interesting places. I don’t claim to have known him that well, but I knew a part of him, and I loved the part that I knew.

Shortly after Baseball Diary debuted in the 80’s, Steve periodically submitted articles and graphics. (As with most of BD, these will be posted in our Archive section.) They were delightful submissions, and even if he took on a “serious” topic, there was always a gleeful smile lurking under the surface. These were unique contributions, unlike anything else we printed. Steve was the consummate St. Louis fan (as you can see from that mid-80’s photo). In addition to his bitchin’ car with that amazing license plate, he had a shrine in his front room, just adjacent to where he kept the pinball machines, that was devoted to all things Cardinal. He was a stats machine, but he also knew the lore and peculiarities of the game, and I loved talking baseball with him. I think he was in on the ground floor with fantasy baseball; he would tell me about marathon sessions putting together the teams in his league, and of course about the Yahoo (the drink, not the corporation) celebrations at the end of the season.

It was after Susan (who I actually met first) and Steve got married (and had their amazing son Ezra) that he and I began working together at The Sacramento Bee newspaper, mid-90’s I think. This was where I really got to know him better. It was also where he inaugurated the Shrub League, his own version of fantasy baseball with only four stats to consider when picking a team. I ended up giving him money almost every July and October (there were two Shrub League seasons per year), as I was a perennial loser and he was almost always a winner. The thing is, I never felt bad about it – especially as these paydays (his) became the only couple of times a year I ended up seeing him after he left the newspaper. I treasured those times.

(BD Stengel cover by Steve Stabler)

I believe Steve first got throat cancer while he was working at The Bee. He faced it bravely and beat it. Of course, this kind of thing can return, but as far as I know he did very well for many years. When BD started its online incarnation lastyear, he told me he would be contributing, which thrilled the hell out of me. As the months progressed, I would periodically wonder when I would see something from him, but I never “pushed” him for a submission. After losing yet another Shrub League half season, I called him to arrange a “collections” meeting. He told me to come by anytime, that he was always home. Coming from Steve, this was perfectly normal.

I showed up on a Friday morning and Susan was there but not Steve. He had taken a rare trip to the store, and she told me about some very dire health challenges he had been dealing with for awhile. Of course, he hadn’t said anything to me about them. I gave her the money, and went on my way. Steve passed away last December 15. At the memorial, held at his house amongst his friends, relatives, pinball machines, board games, and Cardinal shrine, with Ezra playing actual vinyl records on a real “vintage” record player, there were some there who said that Steve could finally leave after the amazing St. Louis surge and World Series win at the end of last season. I don’t necessarily agree, but ya know, it wouldn’t surprise me a bit.

Steve, you are missed and will always be remembered. Go Cards!

Welcome to Baseball Diary Volume 12

Like the Megalith on its way to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, baseball has been slowly lumbering its way to 2012. When does the season start? Did it already start in Tokyo? I’ve lost track. Perhaps if I wasn’t viewing its arrival thru the viewfinder of the Dodgers, it wouldn’t look so abstract. The Guggenheim Group, or whatever they’re called, is of course a welcome new standard bearer after the McCourt/Rupert Murdoch years. And the wickedly spectacular irony of Murdoch/News Corp/Fox probably paying the Guggenheims 3 BILLION dollars to televise Dodger games (why else do you think you see so many Dodger games on Fox?) when Rupert sold McCourt the team in 2004 for 430 MILLION dollars is pleasing indeed. But will the Guggenheims deliver? Like the fools we forever are, I’m hoping so. But I can’t help but feel like there’s a huge bone crushing boulder careening down a concrete trough right over my head, and the shoddy workmanship on the track will start to show cracks anytime now.

Where have you gone, Walter O’Malley?

On the other hand: what do they say about eternal hope in April? Every team’s a contender, right?

Let’s get this party started. Anyone reading this blog is encouraged and invited to send in a personal and penetrating post (or comment) or two, be they written or visual or both, relating to baseball and/or art. I won’t say I’ll accept everything, but I encourage diversity and am pretty open to different points of view, writing styles, etc. Be forewarned: unfortunately, our pay rate is remaining the same as last year, i.e., there is none. Let the submissions begin!