Goodbye, Unlikely Muse
Bob Peterson
August 23, 2019- Today we buried the remains of my father-in-law, Anna’s dad, Bob Peterson. Bob lived his entire life in the Chicagoland area and was buried at Norwood Park Home Cemetery in the neighborhood of Niles. Norwood is cared for under the auspices of the adjacent St. Adalbert’s and is intended for those who prefer to not be buried in a Catholic cemetery. As is often the case when visiting a deceased loved one, when we arrived at the cemetery I immediately began thinking about baseball, an occupational hazard that I have spread to my children. Vi was the first to blurt out loud, “Hey! I wonder if there’s a baseball player buried here.”
A cursory search of Find A Grave shows that there aren’t any buried at Norwood, but there is one across the street at St. Adalbert’s. Bill Lelivelt was born in Amsterdam in 1884, and his family immigrated to Chicago in 1887. Bill and his younger brother Jack grew up in the shadow of the first West Side Park, then the home of the Chicago White Stockings, who later became the Colts, and then the Orphans, before settling on the more familiar moniker of Cubs. The boys became avid baseball fans and, as they grew, both pursued professional careers in the game.
They each made their big league debut in 1909, Jack beating his older brother to the show by about three weeks. Jack, an outfielder who also manned first base, was the more successful of the two, appearing in 384 games over six seasons. Bill, a pitcher, appeared in five games for Detroit between 1909 and 1910, before being sent back to the minors. He toiled there for another four seasons before hanging up his spikes and getting a job as a truck driver and, later, an engineer for the city of Chicago. A more detailed bio can be read here, as part the SABR BioProject. Jack and Bill were the fourth and fifth Nederlanders to play major league baseball. The next would not make his big league debut for another 61 years. Who was that sixth Dutchman? Hall of Famer, Bert Blyleven. To this day, only twelve people from Amsterdam have played in the majors, including current Yankees star Didi Gregorius.
I also stumbled across the stone of John F. Kania. He was a candy maker for almost four decades who, upon his death, left behind a son and two daughters, as well as nine grandchildren. He was also, most likely, a Cubs fan. How do I know? The strategic placement of the weathered and torn 2016 World Series sticker that was affixed to his stone seemed to be more purposeful than just random vandalism. Born in 1911, John never saw a Cubs championship before his death in 1997. But, he was a dedicated enough fan that nearly twenty years after his death, one of his kin wanted him to be a part of the celebration of the long-awaited victory.
I mention all of this as a precursor to the real reason I am posting this blog today. Anna’s father was never really a big baseball fan. Her mom, Laurie, is far more dedicated to her White Sox than Bob ever was. Bob had different interests, including technology, cooking, and painting. He was also deeply curious about genealogy. It was ten years ago this upcoming Christmas that Bob gave Anna and I a small book he had compiled on his family history, which showed a lineage that included such luminaries as Plymouth Rock governor William Bradford, as well as no less a personage than William Shakespeare.
That gift woke something in me and I soon became obsessed with researching my own family line. I spent the first three or four months mining the depths of Ancestry.com before the spring thaw gave me a chance to do some hands-on research. I started by exploring the cemeteries of northern New Jersey, where the offspring of my American progenitor, Thomas Carhart, were buried. These were the unexpected first steps in what has become a now-decade-old passion in me. It is a love that, one quiet July evening in 2010, brought me to Lakewood Cemetery in Cooperstown. That was the night Anna found the stone of Abner Doubleday, grandfather of the game’s mythical creator. It is also the night that I consider to be the conception date of The Hall Ball, which would become fully born just a month later when I took the picture of Sol White.
It is no exaggeration to say that I owe the existence of The Hall Ball to Bob. He opened up something new in me that ultimately led to the life path I currently tread. My debt to him far exceeds my appreciation of cemeteries, however. I also owe him for instilling his daughter with the same passion for pursuing one’s dreams by which he lived his own life. I make sure to mention Anna in nearly every interview or conversation I have about the project because it would not have been possible without her. The support she gave me throughout was vital, and that encouragement was a direct result of the adventurous spirit that was instilled in her by her dreamer of a father.
Thank you, Bob, for waking up a piece of me I never knew existed and for fathering a partner for me to share it all with. You are missed, but I hope that your spirit rests comfortably in the knowledge that your legacy lives on in your daughter and her children. And, in a weathered, old baseball.
