I love LA.

Before the song, before the Dodgers slugged their last Brooklyn walkoff and left their trolleycars, before the Lakers shunned the Minnesotan tundra and made a fastbreak for the sun, before the Rams were sold to St.Louis by a showgirl, before the obsession of media and celebrity became the message of the place, I loved LA.

I was born at Hollywood Presbyterian Hospital. I would return there two years later, shuttling from Childrens Hospital of LA, as I was fully paralyzed with polio, headed for an iron lung. Instead I was being treated with experimental drugs and protocol developed by one Jonas Salk, obtained through my pediatrician, William Mapes, a golfing buddy of my Grandfather. Grandpa simply wouldn’t stop until he found a way, because he wouldn’t stand for the thought of me being unable to walk. It was simply unacceptable; we had a ballgame. We would always have a ballgame, Grandpa and me.

My Grandfather’s name was Cole. Jay Byron Cole.

Now, Grandpa would counsel and occasionally chastise, but he couldn’t change the fact that I didn’t like Dr. Mapes much at the time; he gave me a lot of shots. “Watch it, Buster” was one impertinance I recall issuing in his direction a few years later, as the shots never seemed to stop. He remembered.

Twenty-five years later I did walk into my former Pediatrician’s office at Childrens Hospital, this time as a consultant charged with reorganizing the board and top management of the Hospital. My Dr. Mapes was now the emeritus Chief of Staff, and knew that the two of us again had serious business to deal with. But that didn’t stop him from crying when he saw me stride in. Then he said, “watch it, Buster.”

My grandparents raised me, in a modest, comfortable home with a ubiquitous, southern colonial façade that was used so often in movies and television (home to Nanny and the Professor, the Hardy Boys) that it was rebuilt as a set about two miles away at 20th Century fox—down at the end of the street and over Rancho Park Golf Course, as the occasional seagull flies. Everything in LA is touched by the movies somehow (“in 1932 Clark Gable changed a tire at this intersection, while Claudia Colbert stopped traffic”).

That house was a movie star. It had a large front yard framed with a white picket fence and squared with a lawn split by a brick walk lined with rose bushes, two huge (to me) sycamores rooted in each half.

To Grandpa and me, that front yard became our first baseball diamond. He taught me to hit, (right handed at first, as I wanted to swing just like him). But he knew I was left handed and he taught me to throw and catch as a lefty. “You’ll need to learn how to pitch” he explained, “because lefties are always expected to pitch. You’ve been given a gift from God, and He expects you to use it.”

So I learned, throwing pitches over the roses lining the walk. He explained with a certain reverence how to throw an out-drop (“bread and butter to a southpaw”), and a screwball (“don’t use it until you’re grown or it’ll make your hand hang inside out”), and most importantly the fastball. I learned to throw a fastball all different ways, because with finger-pressure you can make it run in or fade away or drop or rise, which is important because a lefty isn’t going to pitch much if you can’t get righthanded batters out, so you need to work both sides of the plate, up and down. You can’t be scared to work inside, and you can’t worry about hitting the guy. He’ll live. What does he want to do to you? You need to beat that batter for your team. They expect you to be brave.

I learned later that he had once been a lefty too, but in a strict Quaker family and community, where it was considered “sinister”, a mark of the devil, and he was changed. He was required to write righthanded on the black board at the school hours each day after class, at first upside down and backwards as his brain processed this prejudicial re-wiring, until he lost awreness of that particular gift from God.

He talked about the days when he and his three brothers would roll up their gloves and stuff them in their hip pockets and ride their bikes, (or the cart pulled by the goat) over to the field in the park behind LA High School, and play ball all day long. They’d start with “one-a-cat” until the others came. When you got three outs and you headed in to bat you dropped your glove at your position for the guy on the other team, because you needed to share.

Later he would join the Army and train to join the doughboys under LA’s own General Blackjack Pershing in the trenches of France. The War to End All Wars ended before he was called, but he was ready, and he would be a Quaker no more. We were now good Presbyterians. He served on a quiet board of elders with Jimmy Stewart and Fred Mac Murray, and together he directed little church building projects (he was a homebuilder) that the two actors would fund, but only under strict anonymity.

In the center of Downtown LA, about three miles from Dodger Stadium, is Pershing Square. Grandpa liked to take me there and point out the names of his friends from L A High who didn’t return from France or Belgium.

In 1958 the Dodgers came to town. I had no sense of Brooklyn, what it was and why they would surrender a baseball team that was of immediate value to LA. Somewhere is a pennant I took home as a souvenir from the first regular season Dodger Game in LA, in the Coliseum, with the famed Chinese wall, actually an ugly screen hanging in left field. Eight teams made up the National League then, and you played each team 18 times. And Vin Scully would take you through each of them on the radio with an unsurpassed knowledge of the game, a storytellers magic and a grandfather’s heart, another LA institution who has millions of people who feel like they grew up with Vin in their kitchen or their car, his voice was everywhere, and you loved the Dodgers because you loved him. “That reminds me of a story…”

The next year, 1959, that team won the World Series vs the White Sox, and I saw the fourth game, Roger Craig vs. Early Wynn . Around the Diamond (rattling off the names from memory, just as you would do with your favorite teams—forgive any accuracies), John Roseboro, Gil Hodges, Charlie Neal, Maury Wills, Jim Gilliam, Wally Moon, Willie Davis, Duke Snider.

And on the mound, Sandy Koufax, Don Drysdale, Johnny Podres, Roger Craig and Stan Williams. In the bullpen, Larry Sherry, who may have been the first “closer,” although he never equalled his feats of that championship year. It was in the early 60’s that **** Radatz, Bob Lee and a few others began to define this role, moving the bullpen from a group of disenfranchised starters toward the current group of specialists. The Dodgers have always been a pitchers team.

Ordinarily I would begin talking about Sandy Koufax, and I would not be able to stop any time soon. Suffice to say that he was everything I wanted to be in baseball. He would pitch in ways that made it look easy. Dodger fans became used to the idea that other teams should get three hits and strike out twelve times a game, and that a starting pitcher can indeed go 24 and 3 with 16 complete games. And an ERA barely over two—and do it every year. And after Koufax, Drysdale was just as good. It spoiled us for real baseball, perhaps for real life.

Grandpa had a series of heart problems over the last dozen years of his life, and we lost him in 1983, after a courageous fight he endured so that he could meet his first great granddaughter, Cole’s sister Olivia, Cole was born three years later, and never met his namesake.

When I watch Cole come in for Rice these days, now that he is feeling himself again, the events are surreal. Everything in the game changes. He enters often with the team behind, but when he comes in the team soon begins to score—I can’t justify causality in these events, but they do correlate. Things are under control. Three up, three down, this is how the game is played. And it does remind me in that narrow way of those hallowed days with Sandy.

So now, here I am, watching my grandfather’s namesake perform in his final days at Reckling, which has been his literal home for four years, and symbolically the place where he entered as the greenest of rookies in 2004, and leaves as someone whom WG describes as “Cole was Cole.” As a parent it is humbling, the stuff of dreams and the hand of God. And the hand of Grandpa.

Cole heard everything my grandfather taught me, and now has taken it for himself. He has achieved more than I dared envision for him, and Cole doubtless will remember his college baseball years as the most deeply moving of his life (as most major leaguers who have experienced Omaha say for themselves).

And now, he will look to the Dodgers for teaching. My Dodgers are now his Dodgers, an LA institution (apologies to Brooklyn). Southern California sires more major league ballplayers than anywhere, and I can tell you most young talents there are thinking about playing for the Dodgers. This gives the team a sense of unattainability, as if you could spend your major lague career working your way back to the Dodgers.

But Cole just begins there; He is a Dodger. It is both incomprehensible and the threshold of a Dream.

A dream of my grandfather, fulfilled

What a wonderful way to start a Sunday morning. Thanks so much for sharing Cole with us for the past four years and for your heartfelt emotions concerning your family.

Awesome story.

regarding your point about Rice scoring when Cole comes in, I feel that he brings such a mental relief to the team, because they know that he'll hold the opponent down, giving Rice a chance to come back or take a lead. It's a big boost.

Beautifully told and from the heart. Thanks for sharing that with us.

What a fabulous, heartwarming essay! Thank you, FOO .... and best wishes to Cole for a long and successful career as a Dodger.

As the eyes begin to well up... Who said there's no crying in baseball (at least for the baseball fan)? Tom Hanks had it all wrong.

FOO, one thing you did not have entirely correct...

Quote:But Cole just begins there; He is a Dodger.

...He may be a Dodger now professionally, but he will ALWAYS be a Rice Owl...and one of the greatest to ever wear the baseball uniform.

I don't know if you've seen MK blog entries and comments from yesterday's game, but he poses the question regarding whether Cole has distinguished himself as the best ever closer in Rice history (it's the third blog entry from the top, and I believe there have already been 6 comments made to that entry). The consensus is that the point is no longer even debatable. Aside from the unique versatility that Cole brought to the table in that he could go 3,4 or 5+ innings, if necessary, to get out of an immediate jam and then close the game out, and do so on a regular basis, he brought a confidence and calm with him to the mound. Couple that with his unmatch intensity and fierce competitiveness, and Cole is simply one of a kind...and we're simply blessed to have had him in our lives the past four years.

Wonderful.
Thank you for sharing with us.
GO OWLS! BEAT AGGIE AGAIN!

Wonderful story

Great story. But do yourself a favor - don't repeat it to the Dodgers (in fact you might want me to delete it). Your beloved Dodgers get ahold of the story and they'll short-change Cole on his contract

I lived in LA for almost a decade (1977-1986) and apart from Vin Scully, I never could get behind the Dodgers. I was more of an Angels guy living in Orange County despite the Dodgers having most of the stars during those days (Garvey, Lopes, Cey, Russell, and the pitchers). The Angels just had Reggie Jackson for a brief period.

But I do know the Dodgers have a great minor league system and always have had so. He'll be in great hands once he leaves Rice.

Here's to the pitcher who I think is Rice's best ever, and here's to us having seen him pitch his last game at Reckling Park!

That's beautiful.

Reading that touched me and brought tears to my eyes. Lute's playing days are over but the memories and joy I felt watching him give his all for such a fine University will be with me to the end. Rice was a blessing in the lives of our entire family and I would like to think that Lute was a blessing to Rice just like Cole.

GO OWLS

Gee, a great story! Would we expect anything different from the St. Clair family? I've said it many, many times but the reason we get great kids at Rice is because they have great parents.

I love talk about the old teams. I grew up with first the hated Brooklyn Dodgers and then the LA Dodgers. I played against Stan Williams in high school in Denver.
But that was simply a great recap of your growing up and so interesting to read. Thanks for sharing.

Quote:I would like to think that Lute was a blessing to Rice just like Cole.

Young men like Lute and Cole (actually they're boys when they get here, and we get the pleasure of watching them grow and turn into men before our eyes) ARE what make us so devoted to college sports -- the way Rice does it.

Young men like Lute and Cole (actually they're boys when they get here, and we get the pleasure of watching them grow and turn into men before our eyes) ARE what make us so devoted to college sports -- the way Rice does it.
[/quote]

EXACTLY right.

I remember reading on the previous incarnation of our Owl forum during the summer of 2004 a post from someone who just wanted to point out that Rice had picked up a late signee from So. Cal named Cole St. Clair. Other than the pure poetry of the new recruit's name, I was struck by the assuredness of the poster who confidently predicted that Cole would be something special.

HOW RIGHT HE WAS!

For whatever role you might have played in your son's decision to pick Rice over the other schools who expressed an interest in him, I extend my thanks for your gift. For four years, he has lived and played his way into the Rice Owls' legacy. He'll always be someone we will remember fondly, and with thanks for giving his all to the spirit that makes Rice so unique in today's world.

GO RICE! CWS 2008!!!!!!!!

that was lovely to read. thank you. i was proud to graduate from Sid with Cole and we're all more excited for him than we can say. Not that he's quite done being an Owl yet...Omaha here we come!

I just want to say - thank you. For the story, your son, your perseverance, and everything else.

I think we need a separate forum just to archive all of fightonowl's posts.

At Ease Wrote:I think we need a separate forum just to archive all of fightonowl's posts.

YES! Especially this one. A beautiful testimony. Thank you fightonowl.

Thank you for sharing this story with us. It is very moving! Thank you also for sharing Cole with us and letting us get to know him and his family better through your posts on this board!

I found out earlier this week that I will be going to LA for a conference in August, and I am sure your story will be in my mind while I am there.

Ditto what gsloth said. Beautiful. Thank you, for this and for everything.

Holy cow. Great post.

This should be printed in the Sallyport magazine. I'm totally serious.

Fighton, I finally got the long-awaited privilege of meeting you today, and now to get home and be able to read this. Thank you. As I said earlier today and many others have said before me, please stick around this forum.

Barrett Wrote:Holy cow. Great post.

This should be printed in the Sallyport magazine. I'm totally serious.

Excellent idea.

Thank you all for your kind thoughts and words. This piece came in a rush, a hole in the dike of memory opened by the draft. Obviously my grandfather was a very special person.
Cole fell to the 7th because he was on the “injury reject” pile of many teams. That was not true, and never should have happened, but he did not throw above 92 this season, and although he had hit 93 in Omaha last summer, the decline was enough for an obsessively risk averse scouting system to paint him as damaged.
But all things work together for good. When Cole was coming out of Team USA and his draft projections were in the top ten (for some), lets just say that you get on a lot of teams that would not cause the same level of excitement.
FBO, thanks for thinking about his negotiating position, which is somewhat reduced by being #217, but there is still a little to talk about. We’ll just have to see what the Dodgers do at the table, and that can’t start while he’s still playing as an Owl. Cole wants to take a little time (weeks), and then get to his minor league team and start his next career. So we will all just be rabid amateurs for another round at Omaha. Cole is very aware of how rare it is to have 4 super regionals and 3 world series’ under his belt during his college career. I would imagine that list would be on one hand outside of Cole, Bobby and a few others (?) on this team. I remember clearly how those two were the core of the bullpen when they were freshmen, and how great to see them pairing so effectively still today.
And Walt it is important to hold on to one’s Owl identity, because that stays when all other affiliations may change. Talking to the Aardsma’s this weekend about David’s travels underscores how relief pitchers are particularly prone to trades. But David is in a great spot with the Bosox now, and he is pitching very well. Cole would also love to make it to the bigs as quickly as David did for SF, but sometimes that isn’t the best result.
Koufax never pitched a day in the minors, if I recall correctly. But he sure walked a lot of people early in his career.
Lute is a part of the Rice player community, which is a strong bond and getting stronger with Steve Herce’s leadership and a growing list of players that this new fan following have rooted for in crucial games played at Reckling. The change in the volume and intensity of crowd support at the park is night and day from Cole’s rookie year. The UT and A$M fans had no idea what to do with the counter-attacks when the went into their little routines; they had always had their way before, but no longer. You have to keep your home turf yours, Owls, and it falls to the fans in Houston to make that happen. And, may I say, the students. We need to see more students at the games, albeit they had all gone home by tournament time.
Stomp, you guys at Sid have built a special place there, and it’s wonderful for those of you who can venture into the non-student Rice community while you are still in school, it builds great strength and understanding. And thanks for all your voting—that goes to all of you !

Gotta get to the airport; more later.

Terrific post, FOO. Mark me down as a new fan of the Dodgers, or whichever team CSC is playing for.

Jay: I was too nervous yesterday to respond, but today is totally different. How exciting to be headed to Omaha!

I want to thank you for the astute, clever way that you have introduced yourself, given us some background on Cole and the team in a way that is interesting and respectful of everyone's privacy at the same time. The rest of the Parliament can be emotional and opinionated and whatever as we wish. You have created a unique place for yourself. Years from now, in the long space between series, we'll be in our "Waiting for Guffman" mode hoping to hear from Corky St. Clair.

I had to wait until this morning to read your post because I knew I had to spend a little time with it. It was worth the wait! Thanks to you, Cole, and all the OWLS for another memorable year. Let's keep it going!!!!

Can this thread be moved to the "Important Threads" section?

It certainly should be preserved in a Hall of Fame ... or "Great Threads of the Western World" category.

We have an Archive. I don't know the process for nomination though.