Local sultans of swat evoke the day the Bambino came to town

On Sunday afternoon, a group of Spokane friends will stand, bats in hand, hard by the Sans Souci West Mobile Home Park on the banks of the Spokane River, smacking old baseballs as deep as they can.

Why?

Because that’s where Babe Ruth smacked a home run on Oct. 17, 1924.

For the past two years, Dave Jackson and five or six friends and neighbors have trekked down to the site of the old Natatorium Park. They write “Babe Ruth Day” on a handful of old baseballs and attempt to fungo them over the Spokane River, a feat they estimate as semi-equivalent to a Babe shot. Numerous splashes ensue.

“The balls are biodegradable, I hope, and we figure they’re almost like messages in a bottle,” said Jackson, a teacher at Lewis and Clark High School. “Somebody downstream might find one someday that says ‘Babe Ruth Day.’ ”

Jackson says he has a weakness for doing “goofy, funny stuff.” Also, toasts are involved.

“We raise a glass to the Babe,” said Jackson.

They’re also huge baseball fans who think this massive, historic feat should be commemorated.

Massive? Historic? Could it really have been such a big deal?

Oh, you can hardly imagine.

Here’s how The Spokesman-Review reporter put it the next day: “Babe Ruth and Bob Meusel were in town yesterday and circus day, Christmas and Thanksgiving paled in comparison.”

In 1924, Ruth was already the leading home run hitter of all time, having surpassed the record in 1921. In 1924, he had hit 46 home runs and batted .378. He was still three years away from his 60-home-run season in 1927, but he was already a legend and larger-than-life hero. Most Spokane kids had seen him on the newsreels but never in person.

To capitalize on that fame, he and fellow Yankees star Meusel went on a fall barnstorming tour. Their Spokane visit was typical. Two local captains picked teams made of local stars. Meusel played on one team and Ruth played on the other. Winning was hardly the point of the game. Watching them jolt balls over the fence, that was the point.

No wonder that the streetcars to Natatorium Park were jammed that afternoon. The crowd was estimated at 1,700, but that was vastly misleading. That counted only the lucky folks who crammed themselves into the grandstand. Thousands more gathered outside the fences – or atop the fences.

One Spokane police officer had the most thankless job of the day – trying to keep kids off of the outfield fence.

He walked along the warning track, yelling “Get off there!”

“The heads would disappear and he would walk on to another group,” wrote the reporter. “The heads would reappear.”

The crowd, he wrote, consisted of bank presidents, lawyers, hod-carriers and Fort Wright soldiers in olive-drab. Everybody “ate peanuts and cheered hoarsely.” And everywhere were “kids of the ragged variety,” many of whom gathered behind the right field wall, hoping to snag a home run ball.

Disappointment reigned for the first few innings. Meusel and Ruth hit some singles and doubles – small change. Then in the sixth, Meusel hit a homer.

That wasn’t enough. The crowd groaned when Ruth hit a towering shot to center – caught two feet from the wall by Meusel.

Finally, in the eighth inning, Ruth connected. A shot of Ruthian proportions (yeah, people were already using that term) sailed over the center-field sign.

“A man spilled his bag of peanuts and waved his hat,” observed the reporter. “A woman who graces social affairs stood and shouted at the top of her voice. … A kid with a torn sweater and dust-smudged face danced and grinned. All kids grinned. There was the light of heaven in their faces.”

The players made a half-hearted attempt to continue the game, but it was futile. The crowd ran onto the field and stopped play. Ruth was surrounded by kids shouting “Sign my baseball!” and “Sign this paper!”

“The champion batsman of the American league plied his pen,” wrote the reporter.

So dozens of lucky kids went home especially happy. They tumbled onto the streetcars, clutching autographs. The reporter predicted that those autographs would end up under their pillows that night.

So, yeah, it was a big deal.

And some big kids, who weren’t even born in 1924, still feel some of that magic. That’s why they’ll be there Sunday, with a bat, a ball and dreams of their own Ruthian shot.

“Nobody’s ever hit one over the river yet,” said Jackson. “Maybe this year.”