Our Arkansas ancestors endured two world wars, a pandemic, a historic flood, a devastating drought, and a Great Depression. Baseball was an escape, and they loved the game.

They attended their big-league baseball games on the radio. Although they had never seen Sportsman's Park in St. Louis, they imagined what it looked like. It was green and symmetrical, not unlike the converted pasture where they played on Sunday. Our ancestors had not seen Dizzy and Paul in person, but most knew someone who had. They sat on green benches on the courthouse lawn and talked about Stan Musial. In their playing days, they had tried to emulate his stance. He batted left-handed, hunched in an awkward slouch, with his bat pointed straight up. They had seen it on the radio. Most of our grandpas played. Many played better in their memories. Some told of playing pro baseball, and many of them actually did. The stories of those days in Arkansas baseball are faded and somewhat muddled in the retelling. But they remain not only stories about a game, but also about our heritage.