REMEMBER:
East Monbo's
Perfect Park
Those were the golden days of hasehall
in lredtkll County.
«I/
ItOBi'KT I,. WILLIAMS
When you go to a baseball park
nowadays you pay your admission as
much for the stadium and its attractions
as for the game itself. There are
Bleacher Creatures, Park Snarks.
Chickens, and such outrages as Philly
Phanalic: there are Indians. Pirates, and
an assortment of reprobates that would
do a Mississippi riverboat proud.
The playing fields come complete
with electronic scoreboards, instant
replays on the gigantic screen, organists
who feel a compulsion to hammer away
between pitches and innings, grand¬
stand cheerleaders, and every imagin¬
able club representative from batboy to
club owner w ho will make personal ap¬
pearances or perform.
And there are the give-away nights
during which you can gel a bat. au¬
tographed baseball, helmet, jacket, or
cyclotron, all in home team colors. The
stadium is domed and the grass is syn¬
thetic.
What these baseball promoters are
trying to do is simple: they want to cre¬
ate the perfect atmosphere for fans to
enjoy ball games and leave with the in¬
tense desire to return soon.
What they don't realize is that East
Monbo once had everything that a base¬
ball fan could desire, and there are still
a few of the fans around who recall the
inimitable games played at the only per¬
fect park in baseball history.
In Iredell County
East Monbo. for those who somehow
missed out on the terrific games played
there, is or was located in Iredell
County between Statesville and
Mooresville and a little west of Trout¬
man. The tiny village rested securely on
a high cliff above the Catawba River.
The winding road from the village to
the ball park was very steep and lined
w ith deep forests and incredibly thick
kud/.u. At the bottom of the hill there
was a huge cotton mill that jutted out
into the river, a dam with its eternal
waterfall pouring over the concrete, and
a parking area lined with immense
trees.
The playing field was situated in such
a way that the tiny grandstand was near
the mill and the outfield was limited by
a tall mountain that served as a fence.
The mountain, covered with an im¬
penetrable mat of trees, muscadine
vines, and wild flowers, curved so that
it bounded all three outfield areas. The
right field or first base foul line was
bordered by a steep hill, and the
Catawba River served as left field foul
line.
Games were played at five o'clock in
the afternoon during the week and one
o'clock on Saturdays, and in these
games fans were treated to a demonstra¬
tion of the skills of Smoky Joe McGee,
who played much of his local career at
Long Island, across the river. Joe
Harris. Frank Rowland. Johnny Wil¬
liams. Caber Gibson. Johnny Hender¬
son. and an endless list of people w ho
played the game for fun and who could
have earned big bucks if they were play¬
ing today since all of them had the skills
to be valued pro ball players. In fact,
many of the people who thrilled the
East Monbo fans did go on to play for
such teams as the Giants. Braves. Phil¬
lies. and Athletics, then in Philadelphia,
and others.
Work Was No Hindrance
The mill owners were at that time
members of what the press learned to
refer to as the paternalistic system, and
the term always carried a negative con¬
notation and hinted that the workers
were wage slaves and the bosses were
Simon Legree types. However, these
bosses had an incredible streak of hu¬
manity in them, and it was tacitly un¬
derstood that the workers could feel free
to bring the necessary fishing equip¬
ment. and it was not at all unusual to
see a person leaving the mill at the end
i*l Iris shift with a lunch pail in one hand
and a string of fish in the other. Anil it
was perfectly all right for the workers
to cast their lines into the water from
one of the mill windows, and the rod
and reel or the pole could then be situ¬
ated in such a way that the weaver or
knitter could tend his machines and
watch Iris fishing pole at the same time.
It was. of course, totally expected that
when a lunker was on the line the
worker was permitted to take a couple
of minutes of work time to land tomor¬
row's supper.
The workers were also permitted to
leave the mill and watch the ball game
as long as the machines were being
tended and the dye vats were in the
proper cycle. The bosses said that as
long as someone kept an eye on the
machines the wx>rkers could go outside
and watch the game.
The Game Was The Thing
And what games they were! There
was m* lighting in the stands or on the
field: umpires did not take their lives
into their hands if they dared call a third
strike on a home team hitter: pitchers
did not throw at heads of batters, and
base stealers did not slide into second
with sharpened spikes gleaming and
aimed at the flesh of the infielder. It was
understood that in every game there
would be a winner and a loser, unless
the game was rained out. was tied when
the game was called on account of dark¬
ness. or both of the game balls were hit
into the Catawba and were not recov¬
ered.
And the games were played with
great intensity despite the invariable
good sportsmanship. Cephas Sherrill
and John Price, two of the stalwart and
respected umpires, even rode home
from the games with players on the
visiting team.
Age was seldom a factor. Fuzzy-
chccked kids of fifteen played alongside
grizzled veterans who were often in
(Con limit'd on page 37)
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7
THE STATE. AUGUST 1986
