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put on his helmet. He looked deep into center field and quickly wiped a tear from his cheek. A camera caught it, and Curt Gowdy and Tony Kubek made sure the world saw that Joe Castle, standing alone on second base and alone in the record book, now a legend, was human enough to show emotion.



5
    A fter an hour on the flat, two-lane highways of northeastern Arkansas, I realize I am quite hungry. Outside the town of Parkin, I pull in to the gravel lot of a barbecue shack and hope for the best. To avoid potential conversation, I take a portion of my scrapbook to read during lunch. Over a pulled pork sandwich and a root beer, I flip through pages of press clippings I have not seen in decades.
    As soon as Joe arrived in the majors, I began visiting the library in White Plains to collect stories from the Chicago newspapers. Using a massive Xerox machine near the periodicals section, I made copies at five cents each. The July 15 Sunday editions of both the
Sun-Times
and the
Tribune
were packed with stories and photos of Saturday’s historic game. Joe was interviewed at length about the game, and it was obvious he was thoroughly enjoying the moment. Among many memorable quotes, he said such things as:
    “Well, if they keep me in the lineup, I’ll probably hit .750 for the season.”
    And, “Oh, sure, we have seventy-four games left. One home run per game is not out of the question.”
    And, “They’ll get me out eventually.”
    And, “The pennant? That’s already in the bag, man. We’re thinking about the World Series. I want to play the A’s.”
    In spite of these comments, it was clear he liked bantering with the press and much of what he said was tongue-in-cheek. The Chicago baseball reporters, a notoriously tough bunch, were in awe and described him as “cocky but not the least bit arrogant” and “at times obviously overwhelmed by what he had done.” His teammates were stunned but also realistic. One said, “He’ll cool off, but let’s hope it takes a few weeks. Right now we’ve won four in a row, and that’s all that matters.” Whitey Lockman, when asked if Joe would remain in the lineup, retorted, “What, are you crazy?”
    The postgame photos revealed a fresh-faced kid who looked all of twenty-one and was on top of the world. He was handsome, with deep-set blue eyes and curly, sandy hair, the kinds of looks that would soon attract women everywhere he went. He was single and had no significant female in his life, according to one story.
    Everyone was falling in love with Joe Castle.

    I had watched the Game of the Week with my mother in our den and afterward met Tom Sabbatini and Jamie Brooks at a sandlot where we tossed the ball around and talked nonstop about Joe. We took turns reenacting each of his at bats. On that glorious summer afternoon, there was no doubt that each of us would one day do something as dramatic as Joe Castle. We would play professional baseball, no question about that, the only unknown was for which team. Not surprisingly, the three of us decided that we would play for the Cubs, together, and for a long time.
    I was having dinner with my mother and Jill when the phone rang. It was my coach, and he began by explaining that the All-Star voting had taken place that morning. I had been selected for the twelve-player roster, the only eleven-year-old to make the team. I was dreaming of this, of course, but I figured it was a long shot. I was stunned and elated, and after squealing this news to Mom and Jill, I wanted desperately to tell my father. But he was in Atlanta with the Mets, at the ballpark for a 7:00 p.m. game, and I knew he would not call afterward. Mom suggested I wait until late Sunday morning and call his hotel.

    The sandwich is gone. I gather my scrapbook, pay the check, and continue my journey. Before long, I leave the rice and bean fields and enter hill country, then the Ozark Mountains,which are not really mountains but more like slightly larger hills. At Batesville,