Editors Note: This love note strays a bit from the norm. It is not an ode to a place or an event, but rather to a Philly-specific . The pimple ball was popular in two cities — Philadelphia and Boston. The writer grew up in S. Philly, went to Central High School and UPENN, and has since moved on to Baltimore. Rather than choosing a particular place, he wrote this love letter to his childhood game.
Steve Grantz (Ex-pat files)
I Am: A Philly native living in Baltimore, which has similarities, but plenty of differences.
Current Home: Baltimore (Roland Park)
Years in Philly: Ages 0-21
My Love Note:
Dear pimple ball,
Even though I was young when I met you, I would like to think I was wise enough to know how special you were.
You did not have the fine golden hair of a tennis ball, or the smooth unblemished skin of a racquetball. You had rings around your surface, and those raised eponymous pimples that collected dirt over time and made you look worn and faded well before you lost your spring. And how fast that happened. It seemed like no time at all before all the bounce was gone, and you rebounded from walls and sawed off broomsticks with hardly any energy at all. But your white rubber was supple, and your feather weight let any child who held you feel confident, skilled, strong. While you had your spring, anyone could be Steve Carlton when throwing you, or Michael Jack Schmidt hitting you. It was glorious.
And you had those stars, those marvelous stars on your poles. I would stare at those stars. Spin you on one end and watch the arms whirl and blur then reappear again.
So I played with you, as did my friends, as our parents did before us. I felt the familiar ridges of your rings and the bumps of your pimples as I held you. I played with you until the moisture leeched out of your rubber skin, bringing cracks to your surface, and the familiar rattling sound of water inside you. And when all the bounce was gone, I did what my friends did, and what our parents did before us. Cut you in half and played with you some more.
Not that I treasured you and kept you under wraps. My friends and I did whip you around, and swing at you with sticks. When cut in half, we whizzed you side arm, and delighted at how far you could carry. Sometimes right to the rooftops. It happened so often there was an adjective for it: roofed. But a reunion was only a repair job away. It seemed not two weeks would go by before someone in the neighborhood would need a patch job, and the roofers were always good about tossing the roofed half balls back down to kids below.
I was still in grade school when I saw the article in the Daily News, announcing there would be no more pimple balls. The company that made them was going to stop production. I was glad I recognized how special you were when I had you.
I have missed you.
It turns out others have, too. Someone named Johnny Kodis has tracked down the molds from the Eagle Rubber company of Ohio, and is trying to arrange manufacturing again. I’m a lot older now, but I’d like to get together again. And I know some kids who might love you just as much as I do. They’ll feel like Roy Halladay throwing you, and Ryan Howard hitting you. And it will be glorious.
Love,
Steve
That’s a Strawbridge & Clothier overcoat by the way. Another part of Philly’s past.
When I was a kid in NYC, the Japanese kids had this white, dimpled rubber balls that they used to play baseball on blacktop surfaces. They were magical.
If memory serves, they were very similar to what gets used now in batting cages.
i am Steve’s dad and i did indeed use pimple balls before him, and with him and his brother John when they were young.
Roofed is also a verb: He roofed it!
Terrific article, Steve. Brings back wonderful memories. It gave me goose bumps, or goose “pimples”, if you will.
Steve you forgot the desirable task of putting make up on our lovely pimple ball and dolling her up..Holding a red felt tip magic marker and a blue ball point pen..Had to give her the patriotic glow..
Hi.
I am married to Steve’s brother. I am a teacher. I was so inspired by the post that I used it as part of my lesson, just now, to prompt my students to write descriptively using literary devices and more adjectives. My class has to choose an object from their life that is symbolic and write about it in their journal. Steve-here are some live comments from my students:
“Your writing inspired us to use Ms. Smith’s equation for descriptive writing.”
“You have great vocabulary.”
“We like how you thought deeply about your childhood.”
“The text is amazing, I feel like the ball is alive.”
“I feel like I had it when I was young too.”
“Your passage made me wish I lived there.”
“Thank you for sharing your passage with us.”
“Every time we read a sentence I could picture the pimple ball in my mind.”
“You write with so much detail that I feel like I’m right there with you.”
“Your story about the pimple ball shows a lot about your past.”
“I’m sad that they stopped making them.”
“You showed a lot of love for this pimple ball, it seemed like a third brother.”
Johnny Kodis stated to me in a phone conversation that he never did have the original mold.He has taken peoples money but has no product to give them .I received a refund from him but it only took about six phone calls and him yelling the whole time.Retro philly.com is having the ball made check out their site.
Pingback: Emma Fried-Cassorla, Philly Love Notes | 14th Street Oats