Mapping the path

MID-ATLANTIC BASEBALL

Williamsport and Altoona

Dad and I continue west to Williamsport, Pennsylvania, home of the Little League World Series and historic Bowman Field. We continue to Altoona, where we visit a popular spot for rail enthusiasts, Horseshoe Curve.

On the morning of Saturday, August 27, 1977, I bounced from bed in an immediate state of excitement and more than a little bit of dread. That afternoon, on national television -- on freaking Wild World of Sports! -- my Little League's All-Star team, El Cajon Western, would be playing for the world championship. The dread came from their opponent: Taiwan. The country dominated the tournament in the 1970s and into the early 1980s, even with a one-year ban in 1975 against all international teams due to allegations of cheating. They would win 9 titles in 11 years in that stretch. Even as a hopeful 10-year-old, I knew Western would need a miracle.

They did not get one. They lost 7-2 and didn't look great doing it. But kids I played with and against -- and even my Little League manager -- were national champions. It was almost impossible to believe. (More on that team)

We parked to get an outfield look at Howard J. Lamade Stadium, which first hosted the Little league World Series in 1959 and has been renovated several times since. The ballpark seats 10,000 but can accommodate up to 40,000 using the large grass berms just below us. Unfortunately, our distant vantage point was as close as we could get. Preparations for the 2023 tournament were underway, and some international players had already arrived. Entry was tightly controlled.

We parked next door at the World of Little League Museum, which has hundreds of artifacts on display describing the teams, countries, and players who have made Williamsport a fabled spot in the minds of young fans since 1947. The two-week, double-elimination tournament involves 10 teams from the United States plus 10 from other countries, with kids aged 10 to 12. Teams from 28 different countries have participated in the event, with the U.S. winning 39 championships, Taiwan 17, and Japan 11. California has taken eight of the titles and would win one in 2023, with a team from El Segundo besting one from Willemstad, Curaçao, in the final.

Near the end of the route through the museum, we came across a video monitor with options to play highlights from any championship game. I scrolled to 1977 and the matchup between El Cajon Western and Kao Hsiung, on the southern tip of Taiwan.

My eyes took in images I hadn’t seen in 46 years. Friends of mine, under unthinkable pressure, battling it out against the giants of Little League. There were errors, passed balls, wild pitches. They never really had a foothold in the game. But they will always be national champions of Little League Baseball.

When we pulled up to the ballpark, we saw several large trucks and tents signifying some special event. Preparations were being made for MLB Little League Classic, an annual, nationally televised game between Major League teams in this smaller Williamsport venue. The game counts in the standings and is played just before the Little League World Series. This year, the Philadelphia Phillies would face the Washington Nationals.

Bowman Field opened in 1926 as the home of the New York-Penn League Williamsburg Grays, founded three years earlier, who also went by the Williamsport Billies, Tigers, and Athletics. They were affiliated with six different Major League clubs and played through 1962.

The Crosscutters arrived in 1994 when the Geneva Cubs moved from New York to Williamsport. In 2001, they were declared league co-champions with the Brooklyn Cyclones. Brooklyn won the first game of the three-game title series, just before the attacks of September 11, 2001. Williamsport won its only other championship outright in 2003.

After nearly three weeks of ballpark food, we decided to mix in some vegetables for lunch. We stopped in downtown Williamsport at Joy Thai Cuisine, a modest spot with good reviews. I had the wonderfully spicy Chicken Pad Prik Khing with bell peppers and green beans.

The small park at Horseshoe Curve features a funicular to help visitors bypass the nearly 200 steps to the grassy viewing area, but it wasn’t running on this day, so Dad stayed in the car while I puffed my way upstairs to see if I could catch a passing train.

There wasn’t much happening at the top of the hill at first. Two groups sat at picnic tables, using apps and flipping through reference books to try to determine when the next train would arrive, and what it might be. They spoke to each other in the language of train heads, rattling off engine types and numbers and cities, places where they had seen one train or another, and the machines they hoped to glimpse that day.

The sun bore down mercilessly. Twenty minutes passed. I called Dad to let him know I would give it just a few minutes more.

A rumble soon came from the southern side of the Curve. Two freight trains lumbered into view, pulling a seemingly endless string of oil cars. The cars kept emerging from the hillside, rolling slowly along, gradually expanding the parade of black cylinders from one end of the Curve to the other, until we were completely surrounded by perhaps a million gallons of oil.

Back on the ground level, I ducked inside the small museum covering the Curve. It included a display of pop culture references to the famous stretch of railroad — souvenirs, brands of local pretzels and beer, and that night’s home team, the Minor League Altoona Curve.

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