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Lane Harris, the AFL web pages Graceville connection sent us this little article
about the Graceville Oilers, written by Ladon Brackin. Lane writes: « One of my
very best friends who graduated with me in 1959 is Ladon Brackin. He was
passionate about baseball and could tell you the statistics on every player in
the major leagues when
he was in school. He always dreamed of becoming
a baseball player. He was left-handed and a very good pitcher. He
really did thrive on the game. My dad, Sonny Harris (Graceville’s scorekeeper
& announcer) took a special interest in Ladon, and worked things out so
he could get in the games free. Ladon is a great human being and a wonderful preacher.
He works 3 jobs in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, and if anyone’s letter should be
shared for others to read and enjoy it’s Ladon Brackin’s letter.
Remembering the 1957 Graceville Oilers
As a 16 year old boy who « ate, drank, and dreamed » baseball 24 hours a day (according
to my father), I had the fantasy of my young life realized during the
summer of 1957. I got to watch the Graceville Oilers, co-champions of the Alabama-Florida
League that year play all of their home games from the best seat in
old Sportsmans Park–the press box up behind home plate! How did it happen? I
will explain later.
I watched the Oilers from my
lofty perch as they defeated other teams in the league with the powerful hitting
of player/manager Bob Wellman. I looked down on the playing field in awe as
he would come to bat with his huge bat in hand. He would stand as far back in the
batters box as he could get, dig in,and grip his bat as far down on the end
as he could. The opposing infield would automatically begin to back up towards
the edge of the outfield grass. Mr. Wellman was famous for hitting screaming
line drives. It was reported that the All-Star Shortstop that year (Pensacola’s
Jose Diaz) had said, « WHEN MR. WELLMAN COMES TO BAT, ME DIGA DA FOXHOLE! »
The
opposing team’s pitcher would hurl the ball towards home plate and Mr.
Wellman would take a mighty swing. A loud « CRACK » was heard— and you knew it
was gone! I watched line drives go over the shortstop’s head and still
seem to be climbing as they went over the left centerfield fence. Other balls
he hit straight up seem to literally go out of sight (at night games)
until we could see the ball a moment later fall into the trees beyond the centerfield
fence.
I watched Oiler pitchers, Bill
Beck and Bill Kakuske, pitch great games that year. Being a high school pitcher,
I studied their windups carefully and tried to copy some of their
techniques. Kakuske would loosen up, as I recall, throwing the ball
alongside third base to home plate, then move in to the normal distance from
pitchers mound to home plate. Beck would cock his head down towards third base
holding his glove close to his face before quickly coming around
with the ball steaming towards home plate. I studied the batting stance
of great hitters in the league such as Byrd Whigham, noticing how he would
always lift his bat above his head just as the pitcher released the ball, sometimes
waving his bat momentarily as an Indian would a tomahawk. I even noticed
how the umpires reacted when one of their calls was protested. I feared for the
safety of some of them until one night one of them, whom the Graceville
fans liked to call « Wormy, » came up to the press box to borrow the phone
before a game. As he stooped to enter the door, I noticed he was fully
six feet, four inches tall and had a barrell chest–without his chest protector!
Then as he picked up the phone I noticed his huge biceps and realized the authority
of this game was no wimp. Funny how small people can look when you are looking
down on them. I never worried about the League umpires after that.
How did I manage as a 16 year old to be in the press
box of old Sportsmans Park? Mr. Sonny Harris, Oilers Scorekeeper, PA announcer,
and Sports Radio personality, invited me to sit beside him and operate
the lights on the scoreboard during the games. That way I was able to get into
all the home games free and obtain invaluable Baseball knowledge as well. Mr.
Harris would often comment about an error a player had made and caution me not
to make the same error as a high school player. He would tell me about great
players in the league or point out things to watch out for so that I could
pick up on the finer points of the game. He introduced me to one of Graceville’s
own great players, Charlie Grant. I will be forever grateful for his
kindness to me. Along with the memory of a great Baseball team, the 1957
Graceville Oilers, stands a greater memory still–that of a great man who
made the dreams of a teenager come true one summer.
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