What I Say

Rites of Spring

By Frank Gruber

On most days I have no occasion to stand for the playing of the national anthem. Last Saturday I did it twice.

The first time was at Los Amigos Park, in the morning during the opening day ceremonies of the Santa Monica Pony League. My eleven-year-old son plays in the league, so naturally I was there. Last year my wife and Henry and I moved to a house directly across Sixth Street from Los Amigos, so I expect that Pony League opening day ceremonies will be part of my life long after Henry has achieved his dream of playing in the bigs.

In addition to the ball field, Los Amigos has basketball courts and a tennis court, which my wife and I have promised to use regularly, one of these days. During baseball games, the league runs the finest snack bar in Santa Monica. It's Henry's favorite restaurant and if we allowed he would eat there every evening and watch the game.

Our house is the urban version of a "country club home."

Pony League opening day ceremonies always start with a little demolition derby. Each team, beginning with the youngest (age 5), hurtles in from beyond the left field fence, charges down the third base line, skids around home, skids again around first, and comes to a dizzy halt somewhere in the infield.

Apparently the idea is to reduce the population of ballplayers to a more manageable number.

A color guard of cub scouts presented the colors and then one of the kids -- Tim Haynes, age 14 -- played a solo version of the Star Spangled Banner on his trumpet.

This week I have but one suggestion for City Council: it should drop the Pledge of Allegiance, and hire this Haynes kid to start their meetings with his trumpet and the national anthem.

Sometimes words get in the way of feeling, especially words that are repeated by rote, and that is what has happened with the Pledge of Allegiance. It is, after all, a pledge of allegiance to an inanimate object, the flag, rather than, for instance, the Constitution or even a "government of the people, by the people, and for the people."

As for the words of the "Star Spangled Banner" -- they were not written with much regard to the limitations of the average human voice.

But the "Star Spangled Banner" played on a trumpet! Guaranteed to induce patriotic thoughts. Music works in the mind at an abstract level, and what feeling should be more abstract than patriotism? The tune triggers all sorts of associations, and notwithstanding quibbles one may have about this or that historical calamity, one feels quite good about this country that has been a beacon of hope and all that for the tired, the poor, the tempest tossed, etc.

According to the lore of Los Amigos Park, baseball came to the little field decades ago -- at least 50 years ago, I am told, but no one seems exactly sure of the year -- when the local little league, segregated as most institutions were in those days, refused to allow a black child to play. A group of families received a charter from another organization and started a new, integrated program.

The details of this history by now are sketchy, at least to the league stalwarts I spoke to on Saturday. Perhaps a Lookout reader, or someone at one of our historical societies, can provide more of the facts.

(By the way, to commemorate Santa Monica's 125th anniversary the Santa Monica Historical Society is now exhibiting a wonderful collection of historical photographs in the lobby of the US Bank branch at Fourth and Santa Monica.)

One of the qualities of youth sports in Santa Monica that I, as a mere 18-year resident, appreciates, is the generational continuity. Many fathers of boys and girls who now play at Los Amigos themselves played there years ago, and it is great to hear their stories, even if they often end with a line like, "and that was the high point of my pitching career."

Saturday afternoon my son's team had its first game. What I love about kids baseball is all the unsolicited and contradictory advice the kids receive from their devoted fans, like: "Protect the plate!" and "Only swing at the good ones!"

Makes me sympathize more with politicians.

Unfortunately for my son's team, their first inning pitcher had some early season control problems and gave up more than a few runs, and they lost. These things happen. Let's face it, if pitching is 90 percent of the game, then 90 percent of that is getting the ball over the plate. That's the same at both Los Amigos Park and Dodger Stadium.

So what was my second occasion to stand for the national anthem?

That night my wife and I had tickets to the Philharmonic, and the program was part of their Stravinsky festival.

I am not particularly musical or, for that matter, particularly well educated in music. Growing up, I was the worst piano student in Philadelphia. I like opera, but I entered the cult from the dramatic side. But a few years ago, responding, I am embarrassed to say, to a telephone solicitation, I purchased a five concert subscription to the L.A. Phil. This turned out to be one of the better impulse buys of my life.

I cannot tell you what the composer did in a particular composition, or how he or she did it. I cannot tell you what chords are being used or why they have a certain effect. But I always feel better the morning after a concert. Again, it must be the abstraction, forcing the brain to do something different. There is something refreshing about sitting still and thinking useless thoughts.

Much like watching baseball.

In the 1940's, after Stravinsky fled Europe for Los Angeles, he orchestrated his own version of the "Star Spangled Banner" -- he called it "The Star Spangled Banner, Harmonized." Given that he was Stravinsky, he expected that Congress would adopt his version as the new official one. Given that this is America, when he premiered the piece, he was threatened with arrest for desecration.

(But just like the history of the Pony League, the details of this incident are vague. The L.A. Phil's concert notes said Stravinsky finished his composition in Los Angeles on July 4, 1941, and was later threatened with arrest in Boston. Various articles available on the web date this incident in 1940, 1941, 1944, or "after the war." One site says the incident happened in St. Louis, not Boston. What this country needs is more historians!)

In any case, if you were fortunate enough to attend any of the Stravinsky concerts you know that the Philharmonic opened all of them with a stirring rendition of Stravinsky's tribute to his adopted country.

Everyone stood. There were no hats to place over hearts, but if vendors sold peanuts and soda in the aisles of the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, I am sure they would have paused respectfully.

My ears did not notice much difference between Stravinsky's orchestration and whatever is normal, but it was great to hear the whole orchestra play the song.

Reminded me of Tim Haynes and his trumpet.

The views expressed in this column are those of Frank Gruber
and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of The Lookout.