Michael A. Langley

Lately, I have been feeling nostalgic. If you know my family, you know we are all about the bat and ball. Every year I fondly look forward to Opening Day of any baseball season not only the Major League. Every spring, this video plays in my mind and most likely includes a viewing of the complete movie. It took awhile, but Opening Day is here! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EBwhjAhNmKA

Baseball has marked the time of our nation like no other sport. It has also marked the time with the Langley family. Grandpa Roy played ball here in Grand Ronde as well as outside of Grand Ronde during the semi-pro era. He amazingly played ball up to the age of 50 before finally conceding to time like all athletes eventually do. The pictures above are from 1940 and 1939, ages 33 and 32 years old, respectively. He served on Tribal Council around that time and a picture of him and the others hang in the casino lodge hallway. He never quit serving as evidenced by another picture at one of the bake sale fundraisers for restoration efforts also hanging in that hallway.

I grew up in Tillamook, Oregon where my family and both sets of grandparents lived until their walking on. Quite a few of the televised games found their way to the 19-inch TV at Grandpa’s house, even if it was only being listened to in the background. There was a huge armchair that was a favorite spot of mine for viewing. It was big enough for two kids or for laying across. In addition to some great baseball moments, I fondly remember some of the old commercials such as this one. Advertising ditties worked then and now, my marketing friends will quickly note. However, notice the top of the list for the song. It is no coincidence. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zqweygy9K9Y

Summertime for the Langley family was mostly about All-Indian softball tournaments, including fast pitch, which is most definitely a different and challenging game. Our favorite was during the Pi-Ume-Sha Treaty Days Powwow in Warm Springs where some of my Uncles and family lived. Family there included one of the namesakes for my middle name, Allen Langley, more commonly known as Biff, and Jack Langley, my Dad’s brother. I recently had lunch with my cousins Maxine and husband Mike Clements which also contributed to this sense of nostalgia. Grandpa was a fixture at these tournaments and, having turned his attention to swinging golf clubs instead of bats, would most often be seen with a Frybread Open cap. He and my Dad, Leonard Langley had some success at golf tournaments and made the newspaper. Hayu masi to Aunt Beverly (McKnight) Cooney for holding on to this clipping received through a letter from Grandma Dee.

Likewise, from a young age a red hat was always on top of my head, or whatever team color I had to wear instead, everywhere I went, except when in my grandparents’ house. (Hats were not allowed in the house and I was told it would make me bald.) Now, when I go out in my jeans wearing my baseball hat people do not even recognize me until I say something to them which is strange to me and would be to my Tillamook friends.

These are pictures Grandpa or Grandma clipped of a very young me in the local Tillamook paper and an eight years later story from a high school varsity game my sophomore year. The young me displays a nice form on that swing, despite the miss, as well as me helping out the umpire – a trait that never ended. For the older me, I was a young team captain and lead off batter on that varsity team. We had no seniors, and this win represented one third of our win total that year. The second win was against the Nestucca Bobcats, another school a division below ours and mentioned in this same article as losing to Waldport. We struggled that year so my lessons quickly became about mental focus and getting better without the losses effecting the play. It is always about the next play in baseball or life for that matter.

He and my Dad, Leonard Langley came to all but one of my varsity games in high school, home and away. He was such a fixture for the team, when he did not show it felt like we were short a player. Teammates did not even believe me until he was not at the field when we took infield warmup. He always arrived in time for infield, so that is when everyone became believers. They were astonished. He was always there for us, even when we were losers, and now we were winning!

Since moving back here to Grand Ronde eleven years ago, I have learned of several other Tribal members who he followed in high school and college. It touches me that we share those connections. He was committed to playing ball, but also to the connections and reconnections every summer. We all were. I suppose that is what I am missing most this COVID-19 summer and is why these words found their way here. Connections in Indian country are about stories and the retellings of them. The title of this piece is one of those retellings.

From my earliest baseball days, I got the impression it was expected that all of us grandkids could somehow at least pass as a viable substitute at the shortstop position. It was Grandpa’s position and it was mine. No matter the position any of us played, we were taught a respect for the game itself is necessary to play it well. We were expected to know all the situations for each position and what the batter did in his last time(s) at bat. If tournament play, it included scouting opponents. Plays and moments in the game would be discussed after each game and that started from a young age. Of course, a shortstop loved these things.

We also had to know the history of the game and talked about the great players and how they played. One of Grandpa’s most favorite professional baseball players was Willie Mays. That always surprised me because I thought a shortstop would top the list. It must have been the passion for the game and making the spectacular play that he admired in Willie Mays.

It sometimes felt like the historical knowledge and respect for the game had no origin in our family and we were simply born with it. Around the time of the above picture of my youth, my grandfather decided on a greeting for me. He always had nicknames or something different to say to people. Here was mine although I did not know it on the first saying.

“Whaddaya say, Michael A.?” It most definitely was not, “What do you say, Michael A.?” and has to have the proper cadence and focus on the rhyming when naming the letter “A”.

I never really knew how to answer the question at the time or the next couple of instances. However, the first time he asked I remember not so confidently replying, “Say, hey.”

He giggled then and giggled every time I answered the same way afterwards. I say giggled, but that does not do his unique laugh justice. For those who do not know, Willie Mays’ nickname was the Say Hey, Kid. There was even a Say Hey song. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5abB64ISJo8

Like I said, genetically coded for baseball is the only way I can explain the perfect stumble into a response that pleased my Grandpa. It proved so successful I used it every time. Eventually, I even knew to say it with the same big smile that Willie Mays did.

Last year I had the privilege of throwing the “first pitch” at the Ducks-Beavers baseball game. I will admit to knowing this was sometimes asked of Tribal Council and shamelessly rushing like a fifth grader to be first in line. In truth, nobody else got in line and were good sports. Two years later I got the call. Luckily, my cousin Dana acted as my catcher for practice before the game day at the Grand Ronde field. She knows I appreciate it, since it is always different when the stands are full, and I wanted to do a full windup without embarrassing myself. No pictures of my practice throws, however, here is a picture from the field after the pitch. My pitch was over the plate and up high in the zone in case you are wondering.

My son Adam Alden Langley is pictured with me. He’s the one without a hat. He recently completed his student teaching and wants to eventually come home to Grand Ronde and teach locally, which is incredibly exciting to me. In today’s times, we must think more often about how we can serve each other. I am proud that he has chosen a life of service.

Adam also carries that genetic baseball respect in his DNA, a shortstop that would have made his Great-Grandpa proud. A lover of the game and its history and proof that he is properly named. When you see Adam out and about, you too, can mark the passage of time through baseball and the Langley family. Adam’s name is a Grandpa Roy story. They never met since Grandpa walked on shortly after Adam’s birth. However, you can greet Adam for Grandpa. If you remember the giggle, you may even hear it faintly afterwards.

“Whaddaya say, Adam A.?” He knows the answer.