Lawrence, The Giants Killer

All of us remember the day he helped us defeat the dreaded Giants.

I grew up in Hackensack, New Jersey, a suburb of New York City, about eight miles from the George Washington Bridge. I played organized baseball in Hackensack from age seven until I graduated from high school. Beginning at age seven, I played Pee Wee League (ages 7-8), Little League (8-10), Babe Ruth League (13-15), Connie Mack, and American Legion ball (16-18), and high school varsity ball.

When I was seven or eight, our family began vacationing every summer in the Berkshires in western Massachusetts. My father, who worked in Manhattan, portioned out his vacation days through the summer. He would take Friday off every week, sometimes on Thursday and Friday. While my mother, older sister, and I stayed in the Berkshires all summer, my dad would drive up from New York City, sometimes on Wednesday nights or Thursday nights, to spend the long weekends with us.

Lake Garfield (photo courtesy Berskshiresoutside.org).

We stayed in a cottage in Monterey, which had a population of 500 the rest of the year but 5,000 in the summer due to vacationers enjoying Lake Garfield.

Monterey had a Little League team that played against teams from neighboring small towns such as Sheffield and Egremont. When my Hackensack Little League season was over in early June, our family left for the Berkshires, and I joined the Monterey Little League team. We were the Yankees.

The Monterey Little League schedule started and ended later than the Hackensack schedule. So when we arrived in Monterey each summer, the local team had already played several games, but many more remained.

I was a pitcher and shortstop in Hackensack and did the same for the Monterey team. The talent level was higher in Hackensack, a city of some 50,000 people, than in Monterey, so I was a big fish in a small pond.

One year, when our cottage was no longer rentable, my dad talked with the local minister, Reverend Daggett, about finding another cottage for us. Rev. Daggett put out the word, telling the locals they needed to find a cottage for the Siegers “because the team needed Matty!”

In my final year in Hackensack Little League, I went 7-2 as a pitcher, becoming the number one pitcher for the Monterey Yankees that summer. Even though the town had a huge summer population, I was the only non-native on the team. I remember one time when I pitched, a parent from the opposing team yelled, “Send him back to New York!!”

We scraped across a couple of runs, and I was holding the Giants scoreless. At one point, a Giant popped the ball up in foul territory halfway between home plate and third base. I ran at full speed, skidded on my knees, and caught the ball inches before it hit the ground, landing within a couple of feet of my mother, who was proudly watching.

Courtesy The Baseball Storyteller

Now let me tell you about Lawrence. Lawrence was a quiet but friendly kid and not the most gifted athlete. As with many Little League teams, the unfortunate fact is that the least talented player is often put in right field. Fewer balls are hit that way, as most batters are right-handed and hit to the left side. Lawrence was our right fielder. Lawrence also had the misfortune of being the son of a man who, even at my age, I deduced was the town drunk. Even though Lawrence didn’t have much going for him, we all loved him.

But then love was stretched a bit.

Right-handed slugger Cook came to the plate with men on base and two outs at one point in the game. I could throw my fastball past most of the Giants’ hitters, but Cook was another story. He always got a piece of the ball. This time, my pitch was fast enough that he didn’t pull it, but instead, he hit a high, lazy fly ball out to right field – Lawrence territory! We all turned our heads and watched with trepidation. If Lawrence dropped the ball, the runs would score.

He settled under the fly, pounded his mitt a few times, and splat! The ball settled right into his glove. “Cooker,” as his teammates called him, was out, and the threat was ended. All of us, including Coach Amidon, erupted in applause!

We went on to win the game 2-0, beating the hated Giants.

Coach Amidon took us all to Friendly’s, a great ice cream chain in New England, to celebrate. I had pitched the shutout, but Lawrence was the hero.

My family continued to spend summers in Monterey for a few more years, though I didn’t play any more organized ball there after Little League. By the time I was a sophomore in high school, I needed to spend the summers in Hackensack to play on the American Legion and Connie Mack teams. My sister had started college and had other summer plans. So our time in the Berkshires had ended.

I lost track of Lawrence and my other Monterey teammates. I hope his life turned out well. But I think all of us will remember the day he helped us defeat those dreaded Giants!