Jack Stallard

On May 14, 1976, a young coach did what young coaches sometimes do and made a questionable decision during a key part of a game.

With his team holding a slim lead, the coach instructed his pitcher to intentionally walk the league’s best hitter to load the bases, electing instead to take his chances with a younger player who had yet to hit a home run in his career.

The younger player promptly launched a grand slam over the Brown’s True Value Hardware sign at the Erwin, Tennessee Little League baseball field, touching off a wild celebration in the NFS (Nuclear Fuel Services) dugout and sending shockwaves of disbelief across the field to the Clinchfield Railroad side.

The NFS celebration was a brief one, however, because Clinchfield rallied to win the game and earn the entire team a trip to Goober’s Drive-In for free milkshakes.

The up-and-coming power hitter did OK for himself that night. Not only did his dad treat him to a milkshake, the kid received a Silver Dollar from Draper and Darwin’s Shoe Store for hitting the first home run during a game broadcast by WEMB radio station.

If you haven’t guessed by now, I was the young hitter in this story.

The young coach? An article in this week’s newspaper back in Erwin, Tennessee, about him brought back a flood of memories.

The young coach, Grady Lingerfelt, isn’t young anymore. Heck. Neither is the young hitter.

Grady is 75 now, which would have made him around 27 that fateful May night. I was 10, but I remember everything that happened before and after I sent Calvin Hoilman’s first pitch over the fence.

I remember Craig Adkins, the kid Grady walked to pitch to me, pointing at me and saying, “Make them pay.”

I remember one of my coaches, Ronnie Davis, putting his arm around me to help me calm down.

I remember putting on the only batting helmet left — the entire league had four helmets, and three of them were covering the noggins of my teammates on the base paths.

I remember looking in the stands for my dad and seeing a huge cloud of smoke and a lit cigarette in each hand. Yes, youngsters, you could smoke in public without being hauled off to jail back then.

I remember swinging as hard as I could at Calvin’s first pitch and making solid contact, but I also remember the extra-large helmet sliding down and covering my eyes — leaving me with no idea where the ball was.

I remember Clinchfield first baseman Stacy Ervin reaching out to shake my hand as I got to first base — a signal that I had parked one beyond the fence.

Two days later, I remember talking to Stacy before school and saying “Junior (my coach) and Grady (his coach) are the two best coaches in the league.”

Stacy punched me square in the eye.

We were the two biggest kids in the class, so no one dared try and break up the ensuing fight. Once we finally grew tired of pounding on each other and went to the restroom to wash off the blood and assess the damage to our faces, I finally asked Stacy why he hit me.

“You said Grady was a son of …”

“No I didn’t. I said Grady and Junior were the best coaches.”

We both laughed and limped back to class.

My dad, Craig, Calvin, Ronnie and Stacy are all gone now, but I’m happy to report Grady is still around.

And, he never quit coaching — saying in the recent newspaper article he had “coached something for 52 straight years.”

He coached football at a couple of the elementary schools in town, and coached Little League baseball for 22 years.

He also coached the Unicoi County High School softball team for 18 years, winning more than 600 games and a state championship.

He “retired” a couple of years ago, but has coached the Unicoi County Middle School softball team — and his granddaughter — for the past two years.

He says he’s finished coaching for good now, and if that’s true, I hope he enjoys a well-earned retirement.

Congratulations, Grady. You were one of the best coaches ever.

And, I’ll fight anyone who says differently.