Curious about what had been recorded, I called a dear friend who collected old radios and tape players and asked if I could use one of his machines.

"Return the garden spreader you borrowed three years ago and something can be arranged," he said. I agreed to his terms and made an appointment to listen to my discovery.

To my amazement, the tape contained the oral autobiography of my great- grandfather, Jacob Jeremiah. "Jake" Jeremiah played professional baseball at the beginning of the 20th century. I estimate that the recording dates back to 1960 or so. I never met my great-grandfather but had heard many stories about him. After listening to his recollections, I feel I know him better and understand his era more clearly.

What follows is a transcript of the tape. When finished, I hope you'll share my conviction that my great-grandfather's story beautifully capsulizes the days when "baseball was baseball."

"My name is Jacob Jeremiah and I used to play baseball. They called me 'Jake,' that's a nickname you know, and I was an infielder when I wasn't playing the outfield or catching. I even pitched a few times and once tossed against the great Cy Young. It was a scoreless battle until they came to the dish. Ha. Ha. Ha. Just a little joke there, to let you know we ballplayers have a sense of humor. We had to, the little bit of money they gave us to play. My first team was the Moulstown, PA Mosquitoes in the old Pigeon Hills League. I had to give the manager five bucks a month to be on the team!"

"I didn't mind; it was 1898 and I was glad to be playing ball and not sweating in the town shoe factory, cutting out tongues all day."

"The Mosquitoes were good; we played hard but weren't out for blood like some of the other fellows. Some of the other teams sharpened their spikes before each game. You had to be careful playing the infield back in those days."

"At one point, the Mosquitoes won 67 or 68 games in a row. We played double headers every day and two twin bills on Saturday. The pro teams started to notice and four of us ended up in the big leagues; me, Mordecai Wood, Rube Stolzfus and Dutch Germany. I broke in with the Philadelphia club."

"I was very grateful, you know, to get my monthly paycheck of ten dollars. I was making a third of that at the shoe factory and as a ballplayer we got all the baked beans and brown bread we could eat. Izzy, our team cook, stirred us up a batch every day and that's what we ate."

"On the road trips, sometimes they wouldn't have to coal-stoke the trains until we were half-way to St. Louis or Pittsburgh. The windows had three little screens to keep the coal ashes out but sometimes an ember would make its way in and burn you. As-a-matter-of-fact, you weren't considered part of the club until your clothes were set on fire. Most of the guys would help you put out the flames, and you didn't complain about a thing like that, you know? You were glad to be a ballplayer."

"I don't know if I should mention this, but I heard that Ty Cobb used to squirt FLIT on his teammates when they started to smolder. Could be just a rumor but I'm glad I never played for the Tigers."

"Today, all the players seem to be swinging for a homerun. Good night! I didn't see a ball go over the fence until I was 25 years old and that was during an exhibition game in Cuba in the middle of a hurricane!"

"Baseball was baseball then. In the old Philadelphia ballpark the left field fence was nothing but chicken wire and was 845 feet from home plate. Once, I saw Maxie Trone rip a long one to left that hit a wet spot and skidded under the wire. Then it rolled almost a quarter mile to Fairmont Park. Ground rules were kind of fuzzy back then, so that ball was in play. The outfielder hopped a passing trolley to make time. Maxie was a true old-timer and believed in real baseball and stopped at thirdbase, even though he could have circled the bags a dozen times. Baseball needs more Maxie Trones, fellows who keep the homerun in its rightful place."

"During my career, I played against many of the greats. I remember the day I met Honus Wagner. He was one of the nicest guys in baseball and had just accidentally plunked me in the back with a ball."

'Hey,' he said good-naturedly, 'don't walk between us when we're having a catch.'

'Busher!' his warm-up partner said. I smiled and picked up the ball.

'You mind if I keep this?' I asked. I wanted a souvenir for my grandchildren. With a twinkle in his eye, he walked up to me and placed his huge hands on my shoulders.

'Keep it, Slacker, and I'll rip out your esophagus,' he answered. We all had a nice chuckle and I gave him back the pill.'"

"My lifetime batting average was only .229 but I did manage to hit only one homerun in 17 years. That was back in the 'Dead Ball Era.' Once in Brooklyn, we were out of fresh balls and ended up borrowing some cannon balls from the local armory. Nobody noticed the difference although some of the fans were taken to hospitals."

"Because I wasn't much of a hitter, I tried to make up for it by being a whirlygig on the bases. I stole over 300 bases in my career. That was baseball! Get on base and steal! Sometimes, I'd even try to steal second base after striking out. Only one umpire worked the games back then, couldn't keep his eyes on everything, so I'd fly across the mound and dive headfirst into second base. Yep, those were the days!"

"Toward the end of my career, I got sold to Hackensack in the old Eastern Samolian League. That was the year the Great War broke out and President Wilson needed plenty of red-blooded American boys to fight the Kaiser. Players were scarce and we took anybody who had a glove and spikes. In Hackensack, our center fielder was named Leapy Lyons and he was all heart. You see, Leapy was confined to an iron lung and didn't catch many balls. But he sure was an inspiration!"

"When the war ended, the real baseball players started to come home, and I started to think about my future. Not having the soul to get back into the shoe business, I asked my manager for some advice."

"'Hey, Buck-a-roo,' I said. 'What should I do?' Since my average was down to .168, I thought it was a reasonable question."

"After telling me to never call him 'Buck-a-Roo' again, he shifted his wad of chewing tobacco from cheek to cheek and scratched his groin."

"'Jeremiah,' he said, spitting brown juice on my spikes. 'Your batting eye is gone, you can't run and you're losing your hair. You stink. There's only one thing for you to do. Become an umpire.'"

"Considering my declining skills and the fact that he had just ruined my only pair of spikes, it was good advice. The next spring I enrolled in Umpire's School. Money was tight, I hadn't saved a cent, so I learned my balls and strikes during the day and took a job teaching Braille to some of my colleagues in-blue at night. I umped for 20 years after that. In 1939, me and my guide dog, Queenie, retired with pension benefits."

"I've done a lot of fishing since. Mostly fresh water. Occasionally, I'll drive down to Philly and watch a game. It's nice but I wish they'd stop hitting so many balls over the fence."

"That's about it. All-in-all, I have had a good life and I'm mighty proud to have been a baseball player."

So, thus ends Jacob Jeremiah's recollections of baseball at the beginning of the 20th century. Great-grandpa Jake passed away in 1962, the unfortunate victim of a multiple car, bus and truck crash on his way to see the Phillies play the newly-minted New York Mets. Fortunately, he took time before leaving us to record his diamond experiences for posterity.

Thank you, Jacob Jeremiah and all the men who played baseball when it was ... BASEBALL.