Schweitzer Stadium...Celebrating Paul

Most of us remember the pick-up football, baseball and soccer games we played as a kid.  Always in someone's back yard and everyone seemed to know where the meeting space was located.  The games (and rules) were often spontaneous and very competitive--teams were chosen quickly and somehow everyone knew when they were "over" without the aid of a time clock.....pure simplicity.

 

On the magical street where I was raised, we had a few different "stadiums"--we played kickball in our front yard where the route around the bases began at our cement front porch to the crab apple tree to the small slope by the street and finally  reaching third involved getting to a  corner of the drive way.  The Star Light, Moon Light game was always at the Van Cleave house and always started when the sun went down.  We circled their home late into the night until our moms hollered for us to come inside. 

Our dads used to laugh (or maybe I should say sigh) as they watched us wear a beaten path through their manicured lawns. We had great lawns. (When you’re eight years old you think this just happens.  When you’re a home owner, you know differently)    You could literally see an outline of the bases on our front lawn and I know we ruined more than one gutter over at Van Cleave's as we romped our way through the summers. The luscious green grass our dads so carefully watered and clipped each week, were victims of Keds tennis shoes and kick balls.   It was a great time in my life....

My boys were lucky enough to find one of these "stadiums" when we moved to Timber Lake.  It was a gorgeous stretch of soft, green grass and it was right in the middle of what I liked to call the Bermuda Triangle—from the Mettler house, to the White residence, to 401 C Street (our home).  You knew the kids were in that vicinity,  but you may not always find them right away!  The carefully-tended, beautifully-manicured lawn belonged to Paul and Joann Schweitzer. 

Now Paul and Joann were no strangers to kids playing on their lawn—they were veterans having brought eleven children into this world. They had children and grandchildren (and maybe even great-grandchildren) by the time we moved to Timber Lake.    They were busy and active and loving and kind.  Paul was a car salesman and loved to play cards.   Joann was an amazing cook and grandma-extraordinaire.  They were active in their parish and community and just two of the reasons Timber Lake will forever be “home” to us.   And they liked their nice green grass……

I noticed the game on my way home from school one day.  I had picked Scott up from daycare and noticed the Bermuda Triangle gang down the block.  An array of bikes (dropped randomly on Paul’s emerald carpet lawn-gasp!) and a vigorous game of football was in full force.  At least ten kids were running, rolling, and ripping up Paul’s lawn.  I drove by and took inventory of the damage these “football stars” were doing to the “field” and waited for Tate to run home soon.  Surely Paul or Joann would call the game and save this grass.  None of these future Panthers even shared his last name (uncommon in close-knit Timber Lake) It was just a random collection of kids, bikes, and a football tearing up his lawn.  

 Tate came home about forty five minutes later and verbally replayed the game in shades of local KOLY sportscaster Pat Morrison.  I smiled because I knew that feeling of playing for hours with my friends—just a ball, some buddies, and big, beautiful plot of green grass.  Then I mentioned to him that maybe they should find another spot to play because Mr. Schweitzer’s grass was so nice.  I asked him if they had asked permission to play in their yard.  He looked at me like I was nuts. (He was seven, in first grade—that wasn’t supposed to happen for at least a few more years, right?)  He said, “Mom, it’s like the best grass and he doesn’t even care if we play there.  Meagan (Mettler) said so.”  Well, come on Lynn-If third grade, athletic, awesome Meagan said so, then it must be true.  I mean, really, who was I to question the location of the game?

The games continued throughout the following weeks.  We were settling into our new community—learning names, routines, and meeting many amazing new families through our job at the school.  Girls basketball was still being played in the fall so Mark was busy coaching.  School events were very important in Timber Lake—a central hub of activity for the community.  Concerts, plays (extraordinary productions year after year—thank you Bobbi ), and ball games all brought people to town and provided hours of entertainment for those of us lucky enough to be in the stands.  About a month into our move I was sitting by one of Paul’s daughters, Patty, at a basketball game.  She had warmly welcomed us to town immediately, and had been helpful with our transition to town.  I told Patty that I was really feeling bad about the continuous NFL league that was tearing up her folks’ lawn each night after school.  She started laughing, almost choking on her soda.  She called over to her brother Steve as I sat laughing at her response to my apology.  Steve came over and she told him what I had said.  He smirked and said, “We’ve had more than a few laughs about that, Lynn.”  I repeated how I really should just go over and tell the “league” to move off the lawn, but I hadn’t and the lawn was continuing to be hammered on each night.   Patty said she and her siblings had laughed how they were pretty sure that Paul would have NEVER h let his own kids play on his beautiful lawn, but was fine with this group of ruffians running wild on his grass four to five nights a week.   Patty and Steve went on to tell me how he had gone so far to  readjust his automatic sprinkler timers so they didn’t go off in mid afternoon because he didn’t want the kids to have to play in wet grass OR have it accidentally go off during one of the “contests”.  We had a great laugh and discussed how grand children change parents.  Everything is fair game when a grandchild is involved.  I like to think Paul and Joann enjoyed the activity and action that the kids brought to their afternoons….the spirit and joy children bring our lives is often overlooked as we are raising them, but grand children —well they seem to be a reminder of everything good in the world.  And we all need that reminder from time to time.  

I was so sad to hear of Paul’s death this week.  He lost his battle with Alzheimer’s disease.  He had the love and support of his family and caregivers as he did battle and I can only imagine how difficult it was to watch someone you love trapped in the grip of this horrendous disease.  I pray as they begin to celebrate Paul’s life tomorrow they remember how much he loved them all.   I am also sad I will be unable to attend Paul’s funeral Mass at Holy Cross—another place graced by Paul each Saturday night for many years.  You see, the littlest guy to tear up Paul’s grass is on a college visit and I’m accompanying him.  I think Paul would be okay with this, but it doesn’t mean I won’t be thinking of his family as they begin to say goodbye. 

I’m not really sure when the games ended, but the lawn was a popular place for the Senftner boys for a majority of the time we lived in Timber Lake.  Scott begged Tate to let him tag along as he got older, and more often than not, the crew met at Schweitzer Field.  The games got rougher, the bikes bigger, and yet the grass was always a beautiful  emerald green.  That’s how I will always remember it.  And I will never forget the amazing “groundskeeper” that made it all possible.  God bless you Paul…..