Missing You Big Luke - Salem-News.Com

"if you could clone him and bring him back, you'd have the greatest power hitter in baseball today, if not ever." - Baseball writer and statistician Bill James

(CLEVELAND) - Reading the history of the famous African-American baseball player Luke Easter, I keep finding major league connections between this legendary man who was a baseball pioneer in America, and our writer Luke Easter, who knew this famous man simply as 'dad'.

It is a tough thing to lose a parent when you are young, and it has to be far worse when you lose your treasured father to a criminal's gun.

That's right, Luke Easter was shot March 29, 1979, in the course of his job as chief union steward for TRW, Luke Easter was approached by two robbers while transporting $40,000 for the Aircraft Workers Alliance to the bank. He refused to turn over the funds, and was killed.

Wikipedia explains that Woodland Hills Park, in Cleveland's Mount Pleasant neighborhood, was renamed Luke Easter Park in his honor.

Easter was generally well-liked by teammates during his career, and most printed recollections by them refer to him as a good-natured practical joker. He owned and operated a sausage company while in Buffalo, and gave five pounds of sausage to every teammate who hit a home run. He was inducted into the Greater Buffalo Sports Hall of Fame in 1997, with that body citing his "grace and dignity on and off the field" and his "legacy as a friend to the community, a generous soul with plenty of time for any cause." He had already become the charter member of the Rochester Red Wings Hall of Fame in 1989.

In "The New Bill James Historical Baseball Abstract," baseball writer and statistician Bill James rated Easter as the second-best first baseman in the history of the Negro leagues, behind only Buck Leonard. He described Easter as "an amiable, fun-loving man who gambled, wasn't 100% honest, and had a temper," with "shoulders that crossed three lanes of traffic," but also claimed that "if you could clone him and bring him back, you'd have the greatest power hitter in baseball today, if not ever."

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Missing You Big Luke

Baseball you loved with all your heart,
Although it made mush of some body parts,
Seemed like that sport consumed you more,
Even long after it showed you the door.

Surely years on end and time after time,
You promoted the game on your own dime,
While less qualified others climbed the ladder,
You were happy for them instead of sadder.

A job you had to work for but not in that field,
Always for someone else you had to yield,
Still through it all with a smile on your face,
While they laughed for putting you in your place.

Smiling themselves all the way to the bank,
They never cared due to racial hate,
You were OK long as you could play,
Then came the day they sent you away.

Yet there was no bitterness in your heart,
You were very happy for the little small part,
Not having the juiced ball and steroids hour,
Setting your records with God given power.

June 23, 1950 four hundred seventy-seven feet,
Wow! What an awesome, magnificent treat,
Not on television as it was to far in the past,
Hal Lebovitz personally measured that blast.

But, oh hell no, a homerun record, this could not be,
We’ll take care of this mess, bam, fastball to the knee,
Now lets see you muster that power on just one wheel,
Not an intentional walk as forever they closed the deal.

Every now and then The Plain Dealer will carry a story,
About past baseball accomplishments and glory,
However, no matter how long or short the feature,
They still have to mention the name of Luke Easter.

It’s approaching thirty-two years since you passed,
Baseball broke your heart but you didn’t let it last,
On a day the .357 magnum bullet pierced your heart,
For the Cleveland Indians you were still doing your part.

Mogul corporations have taken over the deal,
All they can take plus whatever they can steal,
Fielding minor league in the major’s not so fast,
However, still charging the fans first class cash.

Now do not get me wrong there are still many greats in the game,
Some are satisfied with ho-hum performance just write my name,
Because I still get paid whether I’m playing or sitting on the bench,
And so those with attitude should get paid the smell of their stench.

Over 60 years ago you played a sport for love of the game,
Drugs, scandals, free agency, mediocre players, it’s not the same,
Don’t be upset dad because that’s not the worst part of all,
Would you believe they still have the nerve to call the game baseball?

Oops, hold your horses dad there’s still one thing more,
This sport called baseball is now bigger that ever before,
Yep, a lot has happened since you reined in your day,
And I’ll bet even knowing all this again you’d still play.

There is a lot of talk going around about honor but it’s not true,
From those who never experienced your walk in just one shoe,
Deep south Mississippi that fight from the first breath to the last,
It did not matter because you looked forward forgiving the past.

3/29/1979 Cleveland Trust Bank, armed robbers, under attack,
Refusing to hand over the money, as always you fought back,
You never ran away from anything and so you would not hide,
Life was a constant struggle so it’s fitting that’s how you died.

Some of the biggest, highest paid stars on occasion refuse to hustle,
And others rely on performance enhancing drugs instead of muscle,
Many sign a long-term contract & then decide it is too long to wait,
They whine and refuse to play unless management will renegotiate.

However, it’s not just baseball there is football and basketball too,
Where many of these guys will make more just by wearing a shoe,
A lot of them have to be called by something other than their name,
Whatever happened to playing sports for the, “Love of the Game?”

Luke Easter is a poet who writes about things that are very close to the heart of Salem-News.com. Another former U.S. Marine, Luke heals the world with an approach that reaches people on a different level, one known for centuries, yet too often forgotten in the one we live in.

We live in a world of social & economic injustice. The main reason for founding America in the first place was to relieve the oppression of the King of England. Patrick Henry said it best, “give me liberty or give me death.” And yet, all too often death seems to be the only way out. Why is there such a high suicide rate especially among teens, in the land of the free & the home of the brave? What makes headlines? Good news? Ha! More depressing stories than anything else. I feel poetry takes an edge off the hurt of bad news while still delivering it but in a, “glitzy” sort of way. Giving a different perspective. Kind of like slap in the face as opposed to a knife in the back. At least with the slap you’ll live to see another day and you will know whom it’s from. I wasn’t here for the beginning of the world but at 59, I just might be here for the end.

Even though it’s still a knife, rhyme poetry helps to dull the blade. And that’s my job. You can write to Luke Easter at: lyricsfromlucas@aol.com