One of my Hasty cousins found an old photo on Ebay that none of us had ever seen before, of my grandparents Bob and Wilma Hasty. He emailed it to me.After spending a lot of time gazing at it last night, I wanted to share it here, and give a little bit of background.
My grandfather, Bob Hasty, played for the Philadelphia Athletics [before they moved to Oakland] from 1919-1924. In 1923 he married my grandmother, Wilma Butler, in Marietta Georgia. This must have been made shortly after their marriage. She went to live with him in Philadelphia and went to all the games.
They were total opposites in personality. Papa was quiet, easygoing, meticulous. Mamaw was a debutante and came from a very proper and prominent family, but she was energetic and funny and quick. The complemented each other perfectly and were married for nearly 50 years.
Papa was 6'4 and Mamaw was 4'11. He called her "Doll" or "my little Doll." When I was small, he called me "Doll," a term of great affection.
After 1924 Papa's contract was sold to a team out on the Pacific Coast, which had what was called the Pacific Coast League in those days. He played several years out there, and my uncle Bob Hasty Jr. was born in Oakland in 1927. Papa pitched a no-hitter exhibition game for Los Angeles around 1926.
Mamaw always said she liked California but she missed the seasons. Georgia has 4 definite weather seasons every year. So in 1928 Papa got a job with the Birmingham Barons and they were able to come back to the South.
By the time the Depression hit, a lot of baseball teams were going under. In the 1930's, he went to work for several different companies who had baseball teams, and played on and managed their teams. When World War II hit, he figured the safest place for his family was a farm, and he became manager of a large farm in South Carolina.
After the war, the family came back to the Atlanta area.
This is the family in the early 1930's before my mom was born.
This was made when my mom was small, probably around 1937.Her brother Don is 4 years old, and Bobby was 6 years older.
This was made when I was small, probably about 1966.
This is a poster my cousin Michael Hasty designed a few years ago. Papaw was approached by autograph seekers all his life, and he was always gracious about signing scraps of paper, cards, even baseballs. Oftentimes fans would write to him, and he answered every letter personally, and sent out a lot of photos. Mom said when she was growing up it always ticked her off when they were out in public and he got approached by a fan, because she knew he would stand and talk, sign autographs, and be nice - always.
One time when he was playing there was an obnoxious drunk fan in the stands, and he kept shouting at Papa, and being a jerk. When the inning change came, Papa walked over and climbed up into the stands so he could look the guy in the face, and he said "I just want to tell you that nothing you're saying bothers me in the least. You paid your money to come here, and you're entitled to holler and carry on as much as you want. I don't pay any attention to it."
The man shut up and never said another word during the entire game.
There are lots of great stories about my grandfather. I miss him very much.
