By Rob Neff Jr.
I first learned what it meant to be from Crawford County when I was 12 years old. I was in Tiger Stadium in Detroit (the old one, since demolished) with a Little League teammate, his father and another friend.
We got there early enough for batting and fielding practice in a nearly empty stadium. Gates Brown, from Crestline, was in left field shagging fly balls. We three boys decided we needed to talk to him.
We charged down to the fence on the left field foul line just behind the bullpen dugout and starting yelling at Gates, loudly and persistently. He did his best to be professional. After all, this was the late ’60s, he was at work and at the height of his powers. He gave us a tip of the hat and continued to shag flies. We continued to yell.
Eventually, pitcher Pat Dobson stuck his head out of the dugout to ask us, in so many words, what was so important. We told him to tell Gates we were from Crawford County. He did. Gates immediately jogged over to talk to us…for about 10 minutes.
The conversation ended when my Little League teammate said, “How ’bout a ball, Gator?” Gates ran back to the field, resumed shagging flies, and put the balls in his back pocket. When he had 3, he came back over and gave them to us. None of us had a pen, and neither did he.
We returned home and shared our tale with anyone who would listen. We didn’t have any autographs, so they had to take it on faith. My dad told the story to a Telegraph-Forum sportswriter, who published a short story about our adventure. The story reported that Gates got permission before giving us the baseballs. I don’t know who chose to protect Gates, my dad or the reporter, but I don’t remember that part.
The ball spent the next 40 years in my sock drawer. Then, I learned that Gates was coming to Crestline to be honored by naming the ball field after him. At last, my chance to get the autograph! But tickets were hard to come by. Matter of fact, they were sold out. I called someone, who knew someone, who knew someone, and eventually spoke with a woman who worked at the drug store in Crestline. I regret that I cannot recall her name. When I told her the story, she promised to get me in. When I told her my wife and I would like to bring our son, she promised to get us all in. And she did.
This tale has at least three people who went out of their way for fellow Crawford Countians on matters of seemingly little significance. My experience over the past 18 years since returning home is that we still go out of our way for each other on matters big and small. When our son wanted to play the bassoon (who plays the bassoon?) a good friend, Arvine Kindinger (who, coincidentally was also from Crestline), found a teacher nearby. And not just any teacher, but Neil Miller: a bassoon major from, I hesitate to add, University of Michigan who was also a Scout Leader and who several years later helped our son mount brass plaques for his Eagle Scout project in the snow. And, when our son decided belatedly that he wanted to play electric bass in the X-Band, Arvine loaned him an instrument so he could cram for the audition.
Others did likewise. Mark Fiske and Greg Shifley were our son’s band directors. Band members looked up to them as mentors and kept them long after school and long after football games, just to talk. Their generosity of time and spirit gave our son, and others, a sense of belonging not to be found elsewhere. School psychologist Connie Faith sacrificed after school hours and the better part of a Saturday providing support services necessary to our son’s college application process. Jay Dennison took an active interest in our son’s academic success, first as an elementary principal, and later as a guidance counselor during the college application process.
There are many other instances involving many other people. I know of local school personnel who have driven parents of students to doctor’s appointments in Columbus on their own time because there was no other way. These are but a few examples, and I apologize to all I’ve failed to mention.
All I can say is that I’ve lived in the city, and there, this type of service to others is unusual and, therefore, truly extraordinary. In Crawford County, it’s more the norm. And that, in itself, is truly extraordinary.