W.M. Hunt

 #somereallygoodones, #jeffwhetstone, #baseball, #scorecard 

I hate baseball.  In retrospect I blame my double vision.  I can’t catch. I never appreciated it.  Boring.

I do like this graphic by Jeff Whetstone, however;  It records baseball scoring, odd little Rosetta Stones with some alien language or hieroglyphics.  The image may not strike some as very photographic.  I would argue that it is at its essence mark making.  The artist writes “For a devotee of the game, scoring a game is like counting the Rosary. The process is a meditation on the tranquility of the baseball's rhythm, a rhythm that is occasionally interrupted by home runs”.*1 

For what it’s worth, my great-grandfather was Harry M. Stevens, and he created the hot dog.  He was the legendary food concessionaire who ultimately fed the masses at Yankee Stadium, Ebbets Field, The Polo Grounds, etc.   At the suggestion of one of his four sons, he famously married the frankfurter to the bun so they could offer warm food on cooler days.  It was always kosher too.  Cartoonist Tad Dorgan gave the “hot dog” its name because he couldn’t spell “dachshund” when illustrating wiener dogs.

The Stevens clan was מער גוי ווי גוי, “geven mer goyish vi goyish”, more gentile than gentile.  Harry M. was the American Dream manifest, a self made English immigrant who settled in Niles, Ohio where he was a steel puddler and itinerant book seller until he saw a good idea: selling baseball programs that were accurate and that he could sell advertising on (“You can’t tell the players without a scorecard!”) and bottles of cold soda pop, creating the necessity for the drinking straw so you wouldn’t miss any action.    

I grew up in Michigan.   I don’t think I met anyone Jewish until boarding school, but more than 30 years ago I took one home to meet my mother.  We’re still together, and he makes a mean kugel.

I lived on the St. Clair River.  Condoms floating downstream were called whitefish. 

Got it? I have come a long way but never past that.

Like many family-held companies, HMS Inc. faltered when it hit the fourth generation, and there was infighting.  I was brought on to the Board of Directors to represent a dissident faction of the family.  At the first meeting there was an envelop on the table for me.  It had a check in it and that was the money I used to become a more serious collector. 

Dumbo’s wallet.  

*1 Artist Statement “Bull City” https://www.jeffwhetstone.net

This essay was adapted from “Hot Dog”, commissioned for “Eating Delancey” by Aaron Rezny & Jordan Schaps, (powerHouse Books Nov. 25, 2014) © 2014 and “Bull City Summer: A Season at the Ball Park” written for L’Oeil de la Photographie 22 March 2014 ©2014

©2021

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