I wrote this piece about a month ago. The book I'm referring to is the book I tried to link to the right (and failed). "Baseball in Eau Claire" is a photographic history of, well, baseball in Eau Claire. It is my first and only book. And here is one of my favorite stories as a result of the book:
Carl Beilke is in my book.
At least, his picture is.
All sources listed his last name as “Bielke”. The notation on the back of the vintage picture I own says the same. So, my book has it spelled that way.
Interesting story about the picture. I picked it up on eBay several years ago. I had no aspirations of writing a book on baseball in Eau Claire. Certainly not a photographic history. I was in the infant stages of my Eau Claire baseball fandom, and I just thought the pictures would be neat.
I had no idea just how neat they were. Carl’s picture in particular.
As I page through the book now, I see a bunch of typos. I cringe at each and every one, wondering how in the world I could have missed THAT one. But Carl Beilke likely wouldn’t have even come to my attention were it not for a bizarre e-mail I received a few years ago. It was from one Art Pennington from outside of Chicago. He said he had been up to Hayward, Wisconsin and had picked up my book when he saw it. He knew his father-in-law had played baseball in Eau Claire, and was shocked to see his picture.
He informed me I misspelled Carl’s name.
But that wasn’t the good part of the e-mail. As it turns out, Carl, at the time, was in his 90’s but still active as can be and sharp as a tack. Golfed 18 holes three times a week. Carried his own bag. Said carts are for the invalids. This man, who played on Eau Claire’s 1934 Northern League squad, was a living link to baseball history.
After exchanging several e-mails, Art taped an interview he had with Carl. Carl remembered minute details as if that happened a minute ago. He told me about his teammates. He told me about the road trips. He told me just about everything I would want to know. And he didn’t know it. See, Art had secretly taped this conversation. Art also sent me some photos of some of Carl’s mementos, including a bat he received from H and B for his hitting prowess in 1934—which turned out to be his only season in professional baseball. An article in the Sporting News said doctors told him to quit playing baseball due to a heart condition. In truth, it was a thyroid that wreaked havoc with his body.
Art and I remained in fleeting contact with an occasional e-mail here and there. We exchanged cards at Christmas. But when I sent an invitation to Carl to come up to Eau Claire for a reunion event slated for the summer of 2006, I got the news that Carl wasn’t doing nearly as well any more. Time had finally remembered Carl. Art asked if there was a chance the reunion could be moved to Chicago. It couldn’t. Art then mentioned one of those things that a person will remember for the rest of their life. Art asked me to come to Chicago—to meet Carl before it was too late.
This took me aback. First of all, I’m not accustomed to making a big impact in a whole lot of lives. At least, outside of my family. Based on what Art wrote, which was based on his conversations with his family and his father in law, that’s exactly what I had done. My book had one picture and maybe a 75-word caption regarding Carl. But Carl didn’t look at it that way. He wondered why anyone would be interested enough in his brief baseball career to even mention him in a book. And with all of my follow up, he seems genuinely moved that I could take such an interest.
I mentioned the roads can get a little tricky in Wisconsin in the late winter/early spring, but I would arrange to come down in the summer some time. Art replied that he would gladly pay for a plane ticket and hotel, plus drive me around wherever I wanted to go. My taken aback went further…aback. I had the feeling the Carl was a little worse off than Art had let on. And suddenly, I had a decision to make.
I’m not a poor man, but I don’t really have the extra cash to go flying off to Chicago for a weekend. That said, I couldn’t expect Art to pay my way down there. He said he felt guilty because the cost was an absolute steal for him. He said me coming down to talk with Carl for just a little while was worth well more than the cost to get me there.
Instead of making a decision (I knew what I had to do), I just backed away for a bit. A month or so later, Art and I e-mailed again. He said Carl had some more problems. There was just no way I can wait much longer, I thought. I found a cheap flight for the weekend of April 15. Then later I found out the reason it was so cheap—that would be Easter. There was a chance I could drive down the week prior. We had made plans.
This is my “Tuesday’s With Morrie”. This is my link. This is my ultimate story. This is living history, but probably not for too much longer. To not go—I could never forgive myself. Art says I’m the important one. Touching, but untrue. Carl is the important one. This is a trip I have to take. A once in a lifetime opportunity. Something that can’t be missed. I’ve beaten myself up for ten years now because I didn’t interview Bill Bruton even through the mail before he passed away. I’m nervous about going. I don’t think I can live up to the level they have put me on. But I’m putting that aside. It’s a selfish attitude on my part, but I’m going on this trip for ME. I pray that it means even half as much to Carl as it does to me.
That's where my writing ended. Sadly, the trip was never made. The week before the hoped-for trip, I found out that Carl had taken a turn for the worse. There was a lot of hope that he would recover, so I rescheduled for the first weekend in May. The trip won't happen. Carl passed away on April 5th.
While getting published was always a dream of mine, I had no idea just how great the time AFTER the book has been. I've met so many wonderful people as a result--something I just didn't foresee. Baseball is a thread that binds all of us, my friends.
