By David Heiller
A stop at Bissenís Tavern the other day made my old brain click into action.

The Minnesota Twins had just lost another one-run game, and the answer, at least a partial one, sat right there in front of me.

Gale Kletzke.

If you grew up in Brownsville in the 1950s and 1960s, you are starting to tremble right now.

Gale was a softball force then, and I have no doubt he could still put wobble legs on a Major League pitcher.

He batted left handed, which gave him an advantage on the Brownsville School softball field. For one thing, he could knock the ball into the maple trees that grew there. More often though, he just knocked them onto Main Street and past Erma Bissenís pump. Gale would lumber around the bases, head down. No showboating in those days.

Once in a while, he would get that Kletzke look, a glint in the eye, a bit of a smile that tigers have when they eat raw meat. Then the Colleran house was fair game. Kids sitting along the first base line would scramble behind the backstop, and Mrs. Colleran would come onto her front porch in the vain hope that Gale would change his mind. Then a missile would streak through the air and into her bushes or living room.

OK Gardy, remember that name. Kletzke. Just the sound of it should be enough to score a few runs.

But thatís not all. I have three more suggestions.

ï Pete Scanlan: Pete was all muscle. A slugger like his cousin, Gale. He looked like the proverbial brick outhouse. And he was fearless on the basepaths. I remember one time, Pete hit the ball in the infield, and there was a close play at first. My brother, Danny, was playing there, and he made the mistake of not stepping out of Peteís way. Boom! Danny flew threw the air and landed on his back. He sat up, and for a tense second we didnít know what would happen. Softball games could get pretty competitive, and no one had ever been dumb enough to get in Peteís way before. Then Danny fell backward, arms outstretched, like he was dead. It was funny, and a rare smile crept onto Peteís face. It was a lesson Iíve always remembered: a little humor can go along way.

ï Larry Boesen: Gardy, this guy is probably eight feet tall by now. He was a foot bigger than everyone in his eighth grade class back in 1963. He had a little hitch in his step, and he looked like Walter Brennan when he ran the basepaths. But once he got a head of steam, he was like a freight train.

ï Shirley Ideker: I hate to say this, because Shirley played for the German Ridge school, and they were our arch rivals. But she was good! Big, muscular, solid. In other words, an Ideker. She threw like a boy and not like other girls, whose arms seemed to come out of their their shoulder sockets when they tried to throw a ball.

What I most remember about Shirley was how she played first base. That is the key position in softball, because so many throws go there. Shirley never missed a throw. If you hit the ball in the infield against the German Ridge team back then, you were out. Thwack! I can still hear the sound of the ball hitting her glove. A very discouraging sound.

And Shirley never aged. Every spring, we would look to see if Shirley was still on the team, and Shirley would be there. I think she got special permission throughout high school and college to return to Brownsville for those softball games.

So there you have it, Gardy. Boesen in center, Scanlan at third, Kletzke at DH, and Shirley Ideker at first. Problem solved. Go Twins!

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