In some cases the name assigned a new born seems to mirror the little one’s slow ascent. Three Winds Winooski fell into this category.
“Where in the same hell and why in the cotton pickin’ world did ya pick a name like that? I never heard no Three Winds before?” screamed Three Winds Winooski.
“Ain’t got nothing to do with me,” explained his old man. “That was your momma’s doing, but now that she’s done disappeared, I reckon we’ll never know foh sure.
And so day turned to night turned to weeks and months and years and the patrons of Bar 27 grew to love Three Winds Winooski because that first name of his served them like medicine to heal the pain from lives lost at that ripe age of 27; especially Full Moon Marty the bartender …it endeared these beer drinkers because the wind felt “Caribbean easy” to them…. taking their minds off Full Moon’s passing and well, Three Winds was better than one wind, especially the every which way wind when you didn’t know if you was coming or going, just here and now.
Three Winds Winooski, like the Bar 27 crew grew to love his name, love any kind of breeze because it sent the balls he’d been throwing through an old eight pane window, sent each one up and down and east and west and all around. He called them pitches trailers, not because of the trailer parks where he grew up and learned how to build fires and enjoy barbecue cook ups and play guitar, singing old Woody Guthrie tunes, drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon and falling to good old cushiony mother earth face down drunk. No, he called them trailers because the ball trailed behind wind and did what the wind was doing.
Three Winds Winooski met Mary Woolridge out back, behind the armory during one of them spontaneous dancing hoedowns and there was all kinds of dancing and well, it was breezy and the church bells sounded and Three Winds Winooski got the gumption to mosey on over to the beauty brunette Mary Woolridge. He knew her from English class so he done known that she had good grammar and even a better face, them eyes of her’s were dark as can be and just looking at them got Three Winds Winooski lost as can be. He had one of those longings that wouldn’t leave like being nine and wanting to stay awake all night, extra innings and so off he went with an open hand and nothing needed to be said for Mary Woolridge knew what kind of effect she had on men and boys, but she never let it get to her head. She was waiting for Three Winds Winooski to make his move and not just an account of his trailer pitch that everyone knew west of that long running Mississippi River….no it was because Three Winds Winooski knew how to dance the Irish jig and the square dance and the polka and he could dance all the way till that sun dipped below the horizon and then some and so they danced and it was like destiny knew their name because that initial dance lingered into the future and this loosened Three Winds movements and his arm aligned with the wind like never before and this made his pitches move even more and oh sweet marmalade, his success took him across rivers and hills and big cities and small towns and everywhere he went from A ball to AA to AAA, Mary Woolridge rode along with him.
But as the good old grandfather clock spun its hands and as the MLB call-up neared, Three Winds Winooski had to endure all kinds of stares and hooooo haaaaaas directed at his damsel Mary Woolridge and that’s when the devil opened its palms and made an offer and Three Winds Winooski couldn’t refuse. He did like all them white haired politician people did for the constitution way back when; he signed and made a pact with the devil, that he’d give up his trailer pitch if the devil maimed and blinded all those hustling Mary Woolridge. The devil kept up his promise and so Three Winds Winooski lost his magic pitch, but wasn’t no big thing. He just picked up some lumber and took to new dreams, of becoming a hitter because he believed if he could be half as good a hitter as he was a pitcher, well, then, he might make it to the big leagues just like Rico Petrocelli. Three Winds Winooski loved that name because he knew Rico meant rich in Spanish even though Petrocelli was probably Italian. He knew there was nothing wrong in being rich and figured with a boat load of dough, he could buy a horse and buggy and ride around town with his lady smelling all the lilacs and loving the way tree branches reached up for the sky like they was done with this life and wanted heaven.
There came a day when Three Winds Winooski stood at the home plate and he done hit the ball far with an arc only the sun could beat and he progressed through the ranks, but then he got a taste of his own medicine, that damn devil snuck into a pitcher’s arm. Hack Cleveland, (he was the pitcher) delivered one of them trailer fastballs and Three Winds Winooski just stood there frozen, befuddled and bewildered and dumbfounded like looking up at Hank Williams in awe. He couldn’t swing and he watched three of em go by and he was out and word spread in the league and he became a whiffer way below Mendoza and it was only a matter of time, three weeks to be exact that he got stuck, wishing he woulda never made that deal with the devil because he knew he woulda made it all the way as a pitcher and he woulda had a baseball card with his photo and name on it and every time he’d look at that card, he’d remember his roots, his Three Winds name and recall the wind and eight pane windows and he’d be free to contemplate unknown galaxies and new kinds of pitches not yet born, but that ship had sailed and so he dragged the beautiful Mary Woolridge back home to bar 27 and one night after too many Pabst Blue Ribbons his head dropped on the rail and he done passed out cold like a cadaver and when he woke up Mary Woolridge was gone.
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