My off-season as a St. Louis Cardinals fan has been productive. In October, a Fontana couple gave me a 1982 bottle of Coca-Cola, still capped and filled, that commemorates the Cardinals’ World Series victory that year over the Milwaukee Brewers.
And on Sunday, after I’d wrapped up a talk to a men’s group at Temple Beth Israel in Pomona, a member who is a devoted reader of these columns approached to present me with another piece of memorabilia.
In a clear plastic box was a baseball signed by Lou Brock.
To fans of the right age, this name should be instantly recognizable.
Lou Brock was the stolen-base king of the 1960s and 1970s, leading the National League in that category eight times. His career mark of 938 stolen bases set a record.
To steal a base, you have to already be on base. Brock, a leadoff hitter, was excellent at getting on base, at various points leading the league in singles, doubles and triples.
Lou Brock of the St. Louis Cardinals poses in 1965. By the time of his 1979 retirement, the left fielder, leadoff hitter and base stealer had helped his team win three pennants and three World Series titles. (AP Photo)
Brock played 15 seasons in St. Louis, 1964 to 1979, ending his career with 3,023 hits and a .293 batting average.
Growing up in southern Illinois, due east of St. Louis, I became aware of baseball in the early 1970s. My Cardinals-fan cousins were talking incessantly about a certain player. They kept calling him by his full name, run together.
Finally I had to stop them to clarify matters.
“What is his name?” I demanded. “Is it Lube Rock or Lou Brock?”
With that settled, it wasn’t long before I started following the Cardinals, with Brock, one of the team’s superstars, being a focus. In 1974, he set a single-season record of 118 stolen bases. A fleet-footed runner is just the thing to capture your attention.
In 1979, his age-40 season, in which he played 120 games, he hit .304, then retired. He was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1985, his first eligible year.
Lou Brock slides head first into third for his second stolen base in the same inning. The scene was the decisive seventh game of the 1967 World Series against the Boston Red Sox. St. Louis won. To quote the original photo caption: “Larcenous Lou set a Series record with seven swipes.” (New York Daily News)
And here I was holding a baseball he’d signed. Well, a Lucite holder containing a baseball he’d signed. Outwardly I remained calm. My inner child was jumping up and down.
The gift giver was Phil Paleg of Upland.
A reader who belongs to the synagogue, Paleg has lived on the East Coast, the Midwest and the West Coast. He called St. Louis home for eight years ending in the early 1990s. He told me Brock had signed the ball for him at a memorabilia event in the mid-1980s.
Recently, Paleg reasoned that as a Mets fan he doesn’t need to hang onto a ball signed by a Cardinal. Why not perform a mitzvah — a good deed — and pass it along?
He decided that the only Cardinal fan he knows, if only through the newspaper, was the person likeliest to appreciate it. And I do. My gosh, my very own signed Lou Brock baseball.
It will occupy a place of honor in my household, next to a 1982 commemorative Coke.
Also, if I ever need a porn star name, it will be Lube Rock.
More temple
Temple Beth Israel’s men’s group, Brotherhood, had invited me to speak about my work. To establish a bond, I read a 2022 column aloud. It involved lunch at a restaurant in Glendora, one that has some Jewish deli items, with several members of the synagogue.
As recounted therein, member Jerry Fenning told me he’d consulted with his rabbi and come to an agreement. This goy was therefore declared to be an MOT, a Member of the Tribe. Someone at lunch then jokingly brought up the idea of a bar mitzvah.
After I’d finished reading the column, Brotherhood president Chuck Fisher, who was seated a few feet away, asked: “Do we need to talk about a circumcision?”
I replied: “That’s been handled, thanks.”
Thin gruel
My item here Dec. 21 about the theater marquee in Hemet that advertised concerts by the Rolling Stones, Neil Diamond and (the late) Luther Vandross, all actually tribute acts to those musicians rather than the real thing, prompted a note from Dwight Tate of Riverside.
Tate remembers years ago when the Dickens Festival put on the stage version of Charles Dickens’ novel “David Copperfield,” dutifully advertised on banners outside the Life Arts Center auditorium.
“A young couple came up and purchased two tickets at $4 each,” Tate recounts.
They were soon back at the box office.
Says Tate: “They were extremely disappointed that it was not the magician who routinely sells out in Las Vegas and demanded their $8 back.” The refund, he adds, was cheerfully granted.
The festival folks should have turned their pockets inside out and, a la the magician, claimed the $8 had vanished.
Get thee to Ontario
Nuns from a retirement community in Duarte visit the Euclid Avenue Nativity scenes in Ontario on Dec. 30. (Courtesy Mark Kendall)
Rudolph Vargas sculpted the Nativity scenes that have been an annual tradition on Ontario’s Euclid Avenue since 1959. Just before the new year, four nuns from Santa Teresita, a Catholic assisted living community in Duarte, made a field trip to the scenes. Some had known Vargas, who died in 1986.
“They were excited to see the scenes,” relates Mark Kendall, who was present, “particularly Sister Mary James, who has a Harley decal on her mobility scooter.”
Incidentally, Kendall, a writer and former journalist, is looking for people with long-ago memories of the scenes and of Vargas. Contact him at kendallwords@gmail.com and tell ‘im a Wise Guy sent you.
David Allen scoots into print Friday, Sunday and Wednesday. Email dallen@scng.com, phone 909-483-9339, and follow davidallencolumnist on Facebook or Instagram, @davidallen909 on X or @davidallen909.bsky.social on Bluesky.