Baseball was always my first love as a kid. And it also was the same for all of us boys. Every noon hour that we could my brother Kenny and I and sometimes my brother Roger would eat fast and then run out to the grove in front of the house. I was always the pitcher and Kenny the batter.

Kenny owed his reputation as a hitter to me because I was his personal batting practice pitcher. Unfortunately for me, Kenny was a whole lot better hitter than I was pitcher. So, as a result, I spent most of my time chasing down his hits, gasping for air, and foaming at the mouth.

I can remember when Roger took up golf (I wasn't interested in golf at that time). Roger would take his clubs and a bag of balls out to the grove. I also ended up being his retriever. He would hit the golf balls and I would run and catch them with my baseball glove. It gave Roger lots of practice time, and eventually paid off for him, because he became the golfer in the Weber family.

If Kenny and Roger would have had to chase all their balls themselves they probably would have given up their sports and I probably would weigh at least another 50 to 75 pounds.

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Squirrel Tales: In 1944 the Weber family moved to the Cooksville farm north of the Mackinaw River. It was owned by Mr. and Mrs. Johnson who were about in their 60s at that time. They were wonderful people and very good to Dad and Mom and also to us children.

Mr. Johnson had very few rules about the farm but one was that no squirrels were to be killed. Mr. Johnson loved squirrels and trees. I remember him planting lots of trees on the farm when we lived there. In his own way he was providing shelter for his friends the squirrels.

It was up to Dad to makes sure Mr. Johnson's wishes were carried out regarding the squirrels. We boys never shot a squirrel all the time we lived there. Mr. Johnson's feelings never changed in spite of the fact that the squirrels would sometimes eat holes in the roof of the corncrib to get at the corn.

The "no kill squirrel" policy resulted in an overabundance of fat, brazen, squirrels and several of the Weber family dogs with severe, untreatable neurological problems.

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 All In A Day's Work: Life on the farm was lots of hard work from early morning to evening. This was particularly true in planting and harvesting seasons. In addition to the fieldwork, of course, there were always lots of livestock for us to take care of and watch over. There were not many times during the week or day when there weren't things needing to be done.

One of the very early spring planting chores was sowing oats. This was typically done in mid to late March each year.

One of my very first memories of this task was sowing the oats from a wagon pulled by a team of horses. The wagon had low sideboards that stood about two to three feet high. The seeder was at the rear of the wagon and operated by a chain that ran from the rear axle of the wagon wheel to a gear that was part of the seeder. The seeder held two to three bushel of oats that you filled with buckets or a with a scoop shovel from the seed oats at the front of the wagon.

As the wagon wheels turned the chain connected to the seeder would cause a rotary blade to spin around throwing the seed about 20 feet to each side of the wagon. We would start at one end of the field and go to the other. Each lap would cover about a 40-foot swath across the field.

Oat seeding was one of the coldest jobs on the farm. In early spring with the wind blowing and no shelter in the open wagon you could almost freeze to death. I was always happy when the oats had been sown!

My favorite job on the farm was working in the fields on the tractor early in the morning preparing for crop planting. The fieldwork I disliked most was cultivating the corn. This was probably the most stressful of all the field work jobs, because you knew any steering blunders would plow out four rows of corn. I'd always end up with a stiff neck and bad headache every time I cultivated. I've never known anyone who loved all aspects of farming more than Dad and Kenny. I could also say I've never known any two farmers who worked harder than they did.

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The Encore: I began taking music lessons at about age 7 when we still lived at Yuton. I've never known why but the lessons were on the accordion. Once a week Mom or Dad would take me to Miller Music on Main St. in downtown Bloomington. I took lessons there for 2 to 3 years.

My musical career was highlighted by my one and only public appearance at a potluck dinner in the Merna Town Hall, just north and across the street from the original Catholic Church. This was about 1941 or 42 and after we had moved from Yuton to near Cooksville.

I played to a packed house. The accordion was a small model, but still so heavy for me that I had to sit down when I played. I was seated on the hall stage. My first selection was the 'Blue Lady Waltz' (one of the great all time favorites). The people loved it and applauded wildly and, much to their dismay, I played it a second time. After still more applause and urging I played it still a third time. If you haven't already guessed, it was the only song in my repertoire.

Soon after my performance, the folks decided they had made a terrible mistake and that their money could better be spent on other things, like clothes and food. That ended my accordion playing and my lessons. (Actually when we moved to Cooksville, it was a long trip for the lessons, and they really didn't have the money or the time. It is all kind of sad, however, because I think I could have been another Dick Cantino and played on Lawrence Welk on Saturday nights. I could have put Dad to sleep faster than Lawrence himself.

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Gracie Shay, the daughter of Maggie Shay of Cooksville, was an excellent candidate for a mental hospital, but instead lived with her mother on a farm. She had strange looking eyes that could really spook kids. She also had a hint of a mustache; and while I wasn't much on legs at that age, she had very hairy ones. Add to this a strange smile and a habit of constantly ringing of her hands. It always seemed like she was ready to grab me. I stayed my distance, as did the other kids. We spent most of our time cowering behind Mom or Dad. A miracle did occur later in her life when she somehow met a man and they got married (I'm not sure it was a marriage made in heaven).

Dory Sawyer: Dory lived across the field north of the Weber homestead on Fort Jesse Road and he was a long time friend of the Weber's. I would guess he might have worked for the Webers at one time. He was a bachelor who spent most of his life helping repair equipment and tools for friends and neighbors. I don't ever remember seeing Dory in anything other than bib overalls.

His pride and joy was his truck garden. He raised lots of vegetables, most of which he gave away to friends. At least a few times each summer he would chug up our lane in his old car with the rumble seat open and filled with vegetables. It was always about 11:55 am on Sunday. Mom never felt the vegetables were quite worth one of her Sunday meals. After dinner, Dory would leave only to return at 11:55 on another Sunday.

Tom Powers was a railroad depot and telegraph operator who once ran the Cooksville depot (probably the second or third busiest in the state). I'm sure there were at least one or two trains daily. Tom was married to Bernice and they lived in Cooksville.

Tom was a great storyteller. He always had a big cigar sticking out of his mouth and the depot always smelled of cigar smoke. With the cigar in one side of his mouth, he had to speak out of the other side. He always reminded me of a Chicago gangster when he talked.

In between his many tasks at the depot, he also did income taxes on the side, and of course told stories. I'm sure most were embellished, but always interesting and funny. Generally they were about people living around Merna and Cooksville. Here's an example.

He told me one day when I was with Dad about Tim Shay who was a single man in his late 20s who lived south of Cooksville. He had a reputation as a lady's man and a drinker. Tom turned to me (I was about 10) and asked me if I had ever heard of the "funnel gang". I said no. He said there were some people in this world who couldn't drink alcohol fast enough from the bottle so they used a funnel. Without missing a beat, he would plunge into two or three more stories. Just a typical day in the life of Tom Powers and his hectic life style. He's deceased now, but I'll bet he didn't die from ulcers or any stress related illness.

Tom Holliger from Chicago was one of my best friends during my four years at St. Bede. Tom loved baseball and football, even though he hadn't played either sport very much when he was growing up. When he got to St. Bede, he went out for both sports and ended up being a starter in both during his junior year. Tom and I were both on the baseball team all four years. Tom was a catcher and I was a pitcher. I became a starting pitcher at the end of my sophomore year.

We had a new coach at the beginning of my junior year. He was newly graduated from Notre Dame and full of enthusiasm for coaching. He looked me up shortly after he arrived on campus. He said he was anxious to see me pitch because he heard I had a terrific knuckle ball.

In early spring the baseball pitchers and catchers would begin practicing in the gym because the weather was too cold and often too wet to practice outside. Our first day in the gym, coach called Tom over and told him to get his catchers mitt because he wanted to have him catch for me. After a few warm up pitches coach said 'OK Weber, I want to see that knuckle ball'. I should mention that a knuckle ball, when thrown properly, has little or no spin on it and because of that it often dips, dives and jumps all the way to the catcher. Indoors it's even more difficult to catch because there isn't any wind current.

I wound up and threw my first knuckle ball of the year. It 'danced' all the way to Tom and dove at the last second and hit Tom right in the chest. It sent him flat on his back right in front of coach who was standing behind him. When he got Tom to his feet, coach said, 'Tom, from now on even in practice, when Weber is pitching, I want you to wear your shin guards, your chest protector, and your mask.'

In second year Latin almost the entire year was spent translating Caesar. There was one section of the text that described a battle near a river where Caesar won the battle and captured a group of the enemy and marched them along a river. That really seemed to capture Tom's imagination because for the balance of the year every time he was called on to translate the daily assignment (which he could never do), he would include Caesar taking captives and marching them along the river. Fr. Boniface would turn red and begin to noticeably fidget and tremble like he was ready to explode while the entire class would laugh hysterically. Tom graduated, despite his shortcomings in Latin. He went on to get his college degree and became an executive with a large chemical firm. Apparently Latin was not a requirement for hiring at that company.

John Fitzgerald: John, a distant relative, lived just east of Cooksville on the edge of town (everyone who didn't live on Main St. in Cooksville lived on the edge of town). His folks were Wilbur and Loretta. They owned a farm; however, they really were not farmers because I don't honestly believe Wilbur ever did any farm work. He hired it all done by someone else. My friend John so much looked forward to following in his father's footsteps. John was 2 years older than me and attended St. Bede for two of the years I was there. John's father also managed the Cooksville baseball team and was the original organizer of the Corn Belt Sunday Baseball League. John wasn't really a good baseball player, but he was always our first baseman. (I know rank has its privileges, but being an heir is even better).

After my graduation from St. Bede I moved to Normal and lived at the same house as John and three other guys. The house was located at the corner of Church and University in Normal. It was a large two story brick house owned by John's aunt. Her name was Katherine Carson but we called her Kit. She was a perfect housemother. She was in her 80s, very feeble, and couldn't see or hear. Some might consider those disabilities, but for Kit, considering her role as housemother, they were probably a blessing and she probably lived a few more years because of them. John's college career covered about 7 years. One of his two claims to fame at ISNU was the fact that he was the only student in school history who attended 7 freshman mixers (maybe it just seemed that way). These were welcoming parties sponsored by the university each year to welcome new freshmen. The entire student body was invited, but most students were not still enrolled after 7 years.

John's second claim to fame was that he was one of the few students on campus who had his own car (purchased by his dad). As a result, John had lots of friends many of whom he had not yet met.

John, much to the consternation of his folks, went to school to have a good time. I can't remember John ever studying in the two years we lived together. Because John's lifestyle was to eat, drink and be merry, he went through lots of money. Every time his dad came by John would say 'Dad I need some money'. Wilbur would respond ' Damn John, I just gave you money… what do you do with it?' John always got another $50 and Wilbur, who weighed about 300 lbs., would get into his new Buick and drive off muttering to himself about John's incessant need for money.

John was best man at our wedding. He finally did graduate from ISU and after his 7 years looking over the student body, discovered a wonderful girl named Gloria. They were married. John ended up as a State Farm Claim Supt. in Florida. He died at the age of 48 from cancer of the liver and left behind Gloria and six children.

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