On The Run ... When Baseball Isn't Just Baseball

[Editor's Note -  In 1974 when I arrived at Boyertown Area Senior High and took over advising Cub, the student newspaper, I quickly discovered I had no student staff. I learned that the staff had quit because of a conflict with the administration over an article the previous school year. Fortunately, another English teacher said she would try to recruit a student or two for me and that was how I met Rowan Carter. 

A senior that year, Rowan wrote well and was an enthusiastic sports fan. Clearly, he had the right stuff to make a great sports editor. We decided that as part of his work on Cub, Rowan would write a sports column that would focus on an array of sports and related topics. Being an excellent student, class vice-president, avid sports fan, and Cub sports editor kept him quite busy, so "On The Run" seemed like a fitting name for his column.   

Now, 49 years later, Rowan has once again put ink on paper and is once again "On The Run," this time writing about the uniquely American sport: baseball. But Rowan reminds us that sometimes baseball is not just baseball.]  

by Rowan Carter

I recently went to Baltimore to enjoy an Orioles game. If you know me, you know that I am a frequent visitor to Oriole Park at Camden Yards and that the Orioles are my favorite baseball team, but what you probably don’t know is that the reason I am a long time Orioles fan is my dad.

Dad was and still is a major influence in my life. I spent most of my youth emulating him. As a result, whatever sports team dad liked, so did I.

Dad was a huge Frank Robinson fan. Robinson was traded to Baltimore from Cincinnati in 1966, so dad’s allegiance switched away from Cincinnati, and he became an Orioles fan. Wanting to follow in dad‘s footsteps, I became an Orioles fan too. Robinson had a monster of a year in 1966. He won the Triple Crown that year, leading the American League in batting average, home runs, and RBIs, and he led Baltimore to its first World Series title. Dad was thrilled and naturally, so was I.

Dad and I went to a number of Orioles games at Memorial Stadium during my youth, and we continued our tradition when the Orioles moved to their new stadium in 1992. We used to keep ourselves amused by using various modes of transportation to get to the stadium. We would take the Metro, light rail, or drive to Charm City.

Often while driving to Baltimore, we would sing. My dad favored Motown songs like Marvin Gaye or the Temptations and sometimes we would even team up with Johnny Cash on songs like “A Girl Named Sue,” when the radio dial settled there. We would also talk, and dad would offer me his pearls of wisdom. These “pearls” were wide- ranging and would present me with a blueprint of how I should lead my life. 

Rowan and his dad share a moment at Rowan's wedding.

Always wanting to follow in dad’s footsteps and seeing up close and personal how dad interacted with people and vice versa, how calm and cool dad was in responding to adverse situations, I knew that I should pay close attention to his advice, and I became a sponge. Things grew to the point where going to the games was secondary to spending time with dad and having him share his wealth of knowledge with me.

Dad grew up in the south during the Jim Crow era. He spent plenty of time at the back of the line, drinking from water fountains for colored people, sitting on the back of the bus, not being able to look a white person in the eye. Despite all that and the derogatory names he was called, dad was patient, tolerant, and forgiving. He would remind me to be the same way and to always treat the haters with kindness. I kept thinking that my dad was a hard-working, humble, generous, caring, kind, God fearing Army veteran and he was still treated like crap. How in the world could dad be so incredibly strong when the country he loved and fought for turned its back on him and treated him as a second-class citizen? The answer was quite simple Dad said. He believed and trusted in God and encouraged me to do the same.

My dad, Edward Carter, passed away in August of 2003 from Mesothelioma. He had 6 children with my mom, Roberta. I am the number 5 child, and I was Dad’s favorite. How do I know this to be true? Out of the 6 children, I was the one that he named. 

Twenty years after Dad’s passing, this man that he named, was back in Baltimore to watch a baseball game, wishing for another conversation, longing for more fatherly advice, not really caring who won the game.

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