A Guide for the Newbie Paralegal

When I became a paralegal I had no idea what to do, in a practical sense. My paralegal certificate didn't prepare me well at all. It took me many months to really learn what I needed to know to be efficient and effective, and there were no other paralegals helping me. 

So I wrote a book about the wisdom I've gained since I finished paralegal school in 1985, back when dinosaurs roamed the earth. The book is Paralegal 411: Tips, Tricks and Timesavers for the Litigation Paralegal.

Unlike most books for paralegals, it doesn't cost $20-$200. 

Fair warning: If you are interested in being a non-litigation paralegal, this may not be the book for you. I only know litigation.  

I started my first paralegal job in June of 1985, and I am still working today. I have worked for huge firms, medium-sized firms, sole practitioners, and in the corporate legal departments of big companies. I've seen my work evolve from a lot of paper pushing and phone calls to a completely computerized workspace and no paper. Those are HUGE changes, trust me. 

Paralegal schools have evolved, too. I know because when I was writing my book I did a lot of research. It's still frustrating to me today, however, to see that paralegal schools rarely teach anything really practical in school. Most classes are taught by attorneys, who know nothing about how to really function as a paralegal. 

Graduates still get hired and have to reinvent the wheel, unless they are at a firm with a good training and/or mentorship program.  

A big part of becoming a successful paralegal is learning good work habits and people skills. I address that in the book. When I got my first job I was 23 years old and I knew nothing. I was lucky because my father [a banker who headed up a department] worked right downstairs and was friends with all the attorneys in my firm. So he would take me out to lunch and we would discuss how to handle tricky interpersonal situations. His advice was always correct. 

Now, I've noticed lately on LinkedIn that there are a lot of paralegals starting their own businesses advising paralegals. I commented on one such posting the other day. The paralegal/entrepreneur who wrote the post advised paralegals to prepare a case for trial even if it was soon going to mediation, because mediation would likely fail. Maybe in a plaintiff's firm that would be okay but in a defense firm, where every hour has to be billed, that will likely get a paralegal in big trouble. Most insurance companies don't want to pay for trial prep right before a mediation. As a practical matter, never do trial prep unless or until your lawyer supervisor tells you to do it.

So buyer beware, when it comes to paralegal advice.  

Check out Paralegal 411: Tips, Tricks and Timesavers for the Litigation Paralegal. Worst case scenario, you buy the book and aren't satisfied, you only spent $12, not $92. 

Best case scenario: you get that first job and hit the ground running, ready to become an integral part of the team and prove your worth. 

#practicalparalegaladvice, #howtogetaparalegaljob, #howtobealitigationparalegal, #paralegalcareerguide 

 

Mourning My Brother

Grief is a weird thing. My son and I were watching an old movie the other night, Private Benjamin. Very funny but totally unrealistic.

A scene came on showing soldiers marching and singing -- the military term is "counting cadence" and here's an example. As I listened to the voices I felt my eyes well up with tears. 

In my mind's eye I saw my brother marching down that road. I heard my mother's voice describing the pride she felt watching her son walk in formation, singing, so many years ago.  

My brother gave a dozen years to the military including a tour in Iraq. I think he loved and hated the military in equal measure. He was never really happy with the authority over his life. However, he embraced some aspects of it.

We often watched movies that included scenes of soldiers and he would freely express disgust at how movies got things wrong. He hated Forrest Gump. He loved a movie called Fury.  (In contrast, I loved Forrest Gump and I didn't care for Fury at all, but then I have never been in the military.)

below, Bruce in his dress uniform as a young lieutenant, me when I was a college student 

Since I learned of my brother's death on November 10th I've survived the worst part of my grief journey. I don't cry every day now. I only feel quick stabs of pain when I think about him. 

I know from mourning my parents that every time we mourn someone we love deeply we have to let go of expectations about how that journey will go. Every death is different. Every grief journey is unique. 

The part that doesn't get discussed too often is that we never truly "let go." That's normal.

For the rest of my life I will see my brother's face when something reminds me of him -- a scene in a movie, a song, a scent, the sound of laughter. That's all right. He was an integral part of my life until a few months ago, even though we had a falling out a few years back because I was so worried about him. 

The last 5 years of his life weren't calm and peaceful. He was struggling with several enormous weights

1) Grief for our mom, who died in 2020 [he wouldn't even discuss her]

2) PTSD from his tour in Iraq [he would always change the subject when that topic came up, too]

3) Addiction to alcohol [something he had just started to deal with a few months before he died, one of his friends told me]

As a general rule, I can tell you this: topics that you cannot discuss are the ones that will break you.  

I wish my brother had been able to write. That's how I cope with big feelings. I write blogs, I journal, I write short stories, poems, even books. It's a release valve, reducing the pressure. Talking to a psychologist is similar; a way to pull feelings out from the recesses of our souls and examine them in a [hopefully] objective way. 

My parents were taught to not acknowledge grief or anxiety or other big emotions. They were taught to just forget those things, that time would make those feelings go away. I remember my dad telling me once during a family crisis "Just forget about what happened. Don't talk about it to anybody. Look ahead, not backwards." The problem is that if we don't have a release valve those big feelings can overwhelm us. 

Ignoring a problem doesn't solve it.

I am not a churchgoer or a traditionalist when it comes to matters of Faith. I do believe in an afterlife, though. I take great comfort in knowing my brother's life ended when it was supposed to end, and now he is in a place of peace. Despite the occasional tears I will shed in the coming years, I will try to remember that. 

People die. Love never does.

 

below, my brother and I at the lake, a happy place for us 

 #mourningabrother, #agriefjourney, #theimportanceofmanaginggrief, #deathandfaith

Putting Shame Away

When I was a little girl my mother belonged to a group that contributed money to a place called The Florence Crittendon Home. I overheard Mom talking about it to someone and asked her what it was, and she said something entirely dismissive and vague, like "It's a home for girls who get into trouble."

I was in 3rd or maybe 4th grade. I didn't know the facts of life yet. "What kind of trouble?" I asked. 

"Grownup trouble. Don't you have homework?" 

Eventually Mom explained to me about the Florence Crittenton Home, that it was a place for unmarried pregnant girls to go and have their babies, away from people who would gossip. You can read more about that organization here.  

Skip ahead a few years, to the late 1970's. I was in high school. I had heard a rumor about a girl I knew in 8th grade who got pregnant and dropped out of school. Such stories were really scandalous.  It was considered just flat out wrong to have a baby outside of marriage. Such pregnancies were considered shameful, problematic -- and best kept hidden. 

In 1984 I finished college and couldn't find a job, and went to work in a small bookstore. One day the manager's daughter came in, pushing a cute baby girl in a stroller. I admired the baby and went back to work. I later learned the daughter wasn't married! The baby was illegitimate! The manager had shown off her granddaughter and acted just like a normal grandmother, which astonished me. I knew in my heart my mother would have had a conniption fit if I had gotten pregnant and had my child without a husband in the picture. 

It's many years down the road from that day... Now I am an adoptive mom, and my son was born to a woman who was unmarried, and who didn't even know the father's identity.  There was no father's name on the birth certificate. Nobody bats an eyelash about it.

We have managed to erase much of the shame and public censure around unmarried women having and raising children, which is [overall] a very good thing, in my opinion.  

What prompted me to write this blog is that I am fascinated by genealogy and I belong to a couple of Facebook groups for people with similar interests.  People keep posting about their family members that show up [or not] on the popular testing sites like Ancestry and 23andMe and MyHeritage. They think there has been a mistake. 

[DNA doesn't lie! I want to holler. I restrain myself.] 

People under the age of 50 or so cannot comprehend that until about twenty or thirty years ago pregnancies outside of marriage were cause for great consternation and shame. Babies were passed off as belonging to fathers who weren't their biological fathers. Teenagers were sent to homes for unwed mothers and babies were taken away and put up for adoption --regardless of whether the young mother wanted that or not. There was a lot of heartbreak around illegitimate children. Secrecy and shame prevailed. 

I've watched many episodes of a wonderful show, Long Lost Family, always with a box of kleenex nearby because most of the time those people in the shows make me cry. So many women were forced to give up their parental rights because of shame, in the late 20th century. So many children grew up feeling they didn't quite fit into their adoptive families, despite often happy childhoods. 

I am not simply a disinterested observer. 

In the past few years I've helped several of my cousins figure out their connections to me, and it has been rewarding but also sad sometimes. My mom was close to one of her first cousins and he never knew he had a child from a relationship after he was divorced. The child [a daughter I'll call Ann] was born to our cousin's girlfriend, who had quickly married and told her daughter she was the child of the husband, not my cousin. Many years passed. Ann grew up, eventually got genetic testing done, and showed up in my list of DNA relatives. I was puzzled. I knew most of my second cousins. It made no sense. I got in touch with Ann and my cousin's son from his first marriage, and we figured it out. The lost daughter was welcomed into the family with open arms. Sadly, her dad had died shortly before we figured out the relationship. So the outcome was bittersweet, but overall very positive. I was thrilled to be able to facilitate a family expansion of such happiness for all involved.

Other efforts to help were not quite so successful. I've helped two of my more distant cousins to try and figure out their birth parents and in one case, birth grandparents. Results were less happy because in one case both birth parents were dead, and in the other case the family [not mine, bio family members in California] was not welcoming.  Even today, not all families welcome new members born outside of marriage.

Shortly after helping Ann figure out her relationship to us, I was inspired to write a novel called Dancing in the Wreckage, which touches on all aspects of unwed pregnancy and adoption. [It's not Ann's story, fyi, but solving DNA mysteries intrigued me.]

I am a big proponent of getting genetic testing done. You may discover unknown relatives, or like my friend Robert you may even discover that the man who raised you wasn't your biological father! Family secrets don't always need to be buried. I think most times it's better for everyone to open their arms to new family members, and bury the shame and secrecy of the past. Love and empathy accomplish more healing that shame ever could. 

 

 

 

Best Marriage Advice Ever

I am thinking about marriage this cold morning. I've never been married, but I've been blessed by being able to observe more than half a dozen strong, long-lasting marriages -- my four uncles and my grandparents. Today, (February 8th) is my parents' wedding anniversary. They were married for nearly 40 years, until my dad's death in 1996. 

My parents' marriage was pretty tumultuous, likely because they were complete opposites in personality and temperament, but Mom knew that laughter was the healing glue that held them together. She talked about it openly.

A few years ago I compiled her blogs into a book called Singing to the Cows, and here is a funny story about marriage:

This, then, is where we talk about laughter. How could one stand to live so closely with other people, without a sense of humor? I mean, let’s just be truthful here. Most naked people are just funny looking! Have a look in the mirror and tell me I’m wrong. I’m dead certain my parents wouldn’t have had such a long marriage nor would Tony and I, if we couldn’t laugh at most anything.

         One night around midnight, when my parents were visiting us, we heard a loud crash in the guest bathroom. We jumped out of bed, terrified at what we were going to find. When I threw open the door, my 6ft 4in dad, clad in his red striped pj’s, was climbing out of the bathtub. He said he’d tried to close the door before turning on the light, and when he reached for the light switch with his right hand, his entire body just kept going until he fell into the tub. Even with his arthritis, he was not hurt, and we all returned to bed. Then we heard him and Mother, the rascals. He would retell the story and they would just hoot. I went to sleep that night listening to them giggle, on the other side of the wall.

I've never pretended to know anything about marriage. I know my parents laughed often, though. So there's my best advice: find a way to laugh together.

below, Mom and Dad 

 #bestmarriageadvice, #laughterheals

Next Time You See a Fat Person

Except for some brief periods of my life, I've always been overweight. As a child I was called "chubby" and bullied and mocked or teased mercilessly. I look back now at the photos and realize, I was not horribly fat. I was actually just chubby, not grossly obese. 

Below, a photo of me with my mom and brother. I was 11. 

The bullying and taunting was deeply hurtful to me, although I tried not to show it. My mother's only advice was "Just ignore it and they'll leave you alone." She had been bullied for being chubby as a child but she had an incredible singing voice and she got a lot of respect and admiration for that, unlike me.

No, I was bullied mercilessly. In 6th grade, there was a group of boys who constantly barked at me and called me a dog [ugly]. They were in a different class from mine, but just down the hall. For all my middle school years, I would be walking down a hallway and when one of them spotted me he would start yelling insults and barking. 

It's bad enough being bullied for being fat, but also being bullied about being ugly, especially for a girl, was humiliating and depressing beyond measure. The teachers did almost nothing. 

That group of boys didn't stop until I was 14 years old, and one of the boys started bullying me on the school bus. My brother told him to shut up. He didn't. My brother punched him in the face. That ended the bullying, thank God. [FYI, my parents didn't punish my brother for taking up for me.]

Nowadays, obese children are common, unfortunately, because our diets are so unhealthy. I hope they don't experience the depressing bullying and taunts that I went through. 

I watched a late night show last night where there was a long series of jokes about fat people, and everyone laughed. This particular show has fat jokes in every episode. I don't think I will watch it any more. It's too painful. 

 

Why is it okay to belittle people who are overweight? We wouldn't belittle people who are a different race, or religion. Fat shaming is considered okay, though, by many. 

Before you say something rude and mean to a fat person or about a fat person, please consider this. 

My battle with my weight has nothing to do with me being a pig, a slob, or someone who doesn't care about good health. I actually eat a pretty healthy diet. I don't drink anything but water. I eat 3-5 servings of vegetables a day, plus plenty of lean protein. I avoid sugar and processed foods. Unlike many people my age I do not have high blood pressure or diabetes. I walk every day. 

The sad fact is, however, that I went through a lot of trauma in my childhood. I fight Depression daily. I fight anxiety daily. So do most of us. Food is an addiction and I fight it every day. Unlike most addictive substances [drugs, alcohol] I cannot cut it out of my life.

So next time you see an overweight person, please be compassionate. Please don't make jokes.  The fat lady you are belittling might be in a bad marriage, or maybe she was molested as a kid, or perhaps she is clinically Depressed for another reason. 

I guarantee you, she doesn't want to be fat. 

Just be kind. It costs you nothing.

 #stopfatshaming, #stopfatjokes

 

Bob Hasty

My maternal grandfather, Bob Hasty, pitched in the major leagues for 5 years until a scandal cost him his big league career. Sadly, the scandal outlives his memory and includes false accusations of racism. I've been trying to set the record straight for many years now. 

A couple of years ago I wrote up a formal biography of my maternal grandfather for a well-known baseball website. I spent a lot of time on it. The website refused to use it. After making a few edits, I've reproduced it below, so that anyone who Googles Bob Hasty will hopefully find it, and thus will have a good idea of the man I called Papa.

 

Bob Hasty 

My maternal grandfather, Robert Keller Hasty was born May 3, 1896 in Canton, Georgia, a small town about forty miles north of Atlanta. His father was a prosperous farmer and he grew up with seven siblings. His ancestry was mostly Scots-Irish although one great-grandmother was reportedly half Native American.

[Note: To me he was always Papa. So that’s how I will refer to him here.]

His early exposure to baseball is unknown, as he attended school in a rural one-room schoolhouse. One Hasty cousin recalls him “pitching” rocks at a tree, to get his arm in shape. His father took a dim view of baseball and didn’t encourage his son. Papa attended Berry College but did not graduate.

 above, Connie Mack, Slim Harris, and Bob Hasty

 

How It All Started

Papa was the right age to fight in the first world war, but he didn’t go overseas. In the summer and fall of 1918 he trained at Camp Gordon, outside Atlanta [it was later moved to a location just outside Augusta and became Fort Gordon]. At 6’4 and 220 lbs. he was far bigger than most of his fellow soldiers, and his arm was powerful. The higher ups quickly noticed that he had great skill as a pitcher, and he was promoted to the rank of sergeant, so he could have more time to practice. The war ended before he could be sent overseas. He was discharged in December 1918.

Camp Gordon was a turning point in Papa’s life. Sports were very popular at Camp Gordon. Papa pitched on the camp baseball team, and his talent was noticed by the higher ups and the local newspaper. It’s not surprising that while playing a baseball game in 1918 he was scouted by Charley Frank of the Atlanta Crackers.

Atlanta had no major league baseball team at that time. The Crackers were a popular team though, and Atlanta was the biggest city in the South. According to the New Georgia Encyclopedia:

The Atlanta Crackers were one of professional baseball’s most successful minor league franchises. From 1901 until 1965 they won seventeen league championships—more than any other team in organized baseball except the New York Yankees. National Baseball Hall of Fame inductees Luke Appling and Eddie Mathews started their careers with the Crackers, as did players Tommie Aaron, Tim McCarver, and Chuck Tanner, as well as announcers Skip Carey and Ernie Harwell.

After signing with the Crackers in 1919, Papa was loaned to Mobile, where he won his first six games playing for the Mobile Bears. The loan was a “gentlemen’s agreement” and not actually legal according to the league constitution. Charley Frank then wanted him returned to Atlanta before Mobile played Atlanta.

As one writer characterized it, “Hasty is a splendid pitcher and is being groomed for a trip ‘up.’” (Chattanooga Daily Times, July 24, 1919)

Mobile didn’t want to return him. Years later the Mobile manager, Bob Coleman, told the story: “I told Mr. Frank we had a gentlemen’s agreement and Mobile wasn’t going to give up Hasty.” (Newman, Zipp. “Dusting ‘Em Off: Four Years to Decide Gentleman’s Agreement,” The Birmingham News, December 12, 1948.) In a game against Atlanta on Memorial Day, Frank sent the sheriff to arrest Hasty, saying there is an injunction preventing Hasty from pitching against the Crackers. The arrest didn’t happen because the man sent to the ballgame to arrest Hasty didn’t have the injunction and could not get it because of the holiday, so Hasty pitched for Mobile and Mobile won the game. Another attempt to arrest Hasty was made at the train station as the Mobile team was leaving town the next day, but Coleman told Hasty to hide in the bathroom until the train pulled out. More injunctions come down from Frank – Hasty cannot pitch against Atlanta, can only play every four days, and cannot pitch in any double-headers. Soon, Hasty was called up to the majors, to pitch for the Philadelphia Athletics.

“The case goes before the National Association to determine whether Mobile gets half of the purchase price the Athletics paid for Hasty. I think it was $10,000 and that was a lot of money in 1917 (author’s note: it was actually 1919). Four years later the National Association ruled that Mobile was entitled to half of the purchase price.” (Newman, Zipp. “Dusting ‘Em Off: Four Years to Decide Gentleman’s Agreement,” The Birmingham News, December 12, 1948.)

 above, publicity shot of my grandparents made shortly after their 1923 marriage

 

The Big Leagues

The 1920 season was difficult for Papa, as he didn’t do well and was taken off the Athletics roster. Papa had never seen a major league baseball game until he pitched in one.

Connie Mack permitted Hasty to pitch for semi-pro teams in the Philadelphia area. Papa had to wait until he pitched the final game of the season to win a game, but the Athletics beat the Washington team 8-6. However, his batting average was .250 in 1920.

Hasty had more luck in his 1921, 1922, and 1923 seasons with the Philadelphia Athletics. In 1921 he was batting .294 and in 1922 he batted .200.

In the spring of 1923 Papa married Wilma Butler, daughter of a prominent businessman in Cobb County, Georgia. Connie Mack gave Hasty a few days off for a honeymoon.

His daughter Elva [my mother] recalled in her memoir: “Dad played for Connie Mack for 5 seasons, as part of the Philadelphia Athletics ballclub. Connie Mack made Dad take lots of dancing lessons as well as boxing lessons, to help such a big man learn to move more easily. I don’t remember his ever talking about the boxing but he dearly loved to dance.” (Singing to the Cows: A Memoir, by Elva Hasty Thompson, page 78).

On one memorable occasion, Papa was pitching in an afternoon game and a fan mercilessly heckled him, loudly shouting out insults every time he took to the mound to pitch. Finally, Papa called for a time out and walked over to stand directly in front of the loud obnoxious fan. “I know you’re having fun yelling at me this afternoon so I just wanted you to know it’s fine with me. You go right ahead and holler whatever you like, It doesn’t bother me a bit.” Papa walked back to the mound and the fan didn’t shout anything else the rest of the game.

 

Scandal

After the season ended, in November of 1923, Papa was home in the off season in Marietta, Georgia. He was arrested and accused of being part of a Klu Klux Klan mob that assaulted a young white woman and her date. Two of his brothers were also accused, and three other local men. Papa had an alibi for the evening in question and was released on payment of a $4,000 bond. He had recently come home for the off season and he and his wife were at her parents’ home that evening. A few weeks later, the first trial (of another defendant) resulted in a Not Guilty verdict, and the judge directed that all the other defendants be found Not Guilty (including Hasty). Unfortunately, incorrect information persists to the present day, in books and magazines, stating the Papa was a member of the Klan and he assaulted a black woman. Neither accusation was true. In fact, he was a well-known and outspoken opponent of The KKK.

The 1924 season for Philadelphia was dismal and Papa got very little playing time. Later that year, he was sent out to play for the Oregon Beavers as part of a trade. However, his overall numbers were impressive. In his major league career he earned 29 wins and had a .221 batting average. He played in 146 major league games and started in 94. In 1921, Hasty led all American League pitchers in fewest walks per 9 innings pitched, among qualified pitchers. 

 

 above, team photo of the Barons / below that, Papa and my grandmother with my uncles before my mother was born 

 

After the Majors

Papa’s career in the Pacific Coast League between 1925 and 1928 was respectable, though. At that time there was no major league baseball on the west coast. He split the 1925 season, playing half a year for the Portland Beavers and half a year for Seattle Indians. He continued with Seattle for 1926, then played for the Oakland Oaks in 1927 and 1928.

In 1926 he pitched a no-hit no-runs games against Seattle, while playing for the Oakland Oaks in Los Angeles. It was an exhibition game.

In 1927 his first child, Robert Hasty Jr., was born in Oakland, California.

From 1928 until 1932 Papa pitched for the Birmingham Barons. In 1931 the Barons won the Dixie Series, with Hasty pitching in game 7 against a young Dizzy Dean, the star of the Houston Texas team the Buffaloes, or “Buffs.”

In approximately 1929, his son Bob Hasty Jr. was kidnapped from the backyard of the family home, in Birmingham. Police searched all across the city for the missing 2-year-old. Just before sundown, the child came walking down the street. He had been released unharmed. The theory was that he was such a lively toddler the kidnappers didn’t want to take care of him.

In 1930 his second child, son Don Hasty, was born.

In 1931, while playing for the Barons, they won the Southern Association pennant in a series of games that included a young Dizzy Dean.

In July of 1932 Papa re-joined the Atlanta Crackers. A newspaper story noted: “Sixteen innings pitched – five games won! That is the amazing record which Keller Bob Hasty, the tall pitcher from Canton, Ga., and now a citizen of Marietta, has hung up since he joined the Crackers as a regular on July 17. Those 16 innings have been pitched in 11 days, to make the record all the more remarkable.” (McGill, Ralph. “Hasty Compiles Record for Boys to Shoot At,” The Constitution, July 29, 1932.)

In 1933, Papa traveled to New Jersey to play for the Jersey City minor league team but because of the Depression, the team folded. He returned home to Georgia and the family welcomed their third child, Elva, in December.

 

above, publicity shot for the 1928 Oakland Oaks

below that, the family [minus son Bobby] in New York in 1949 at the famous Billy Rose's Diamond Horseshoe, where all the waiters asked for autographed baseballs

 

Later Career

Papa spent the rest of the 1930’s in Georgia, playing and coaching company teams, which was very popular at the time. He coached the minor league Cordele (Georgia) Reds in 1938. The team had won the pennant in the Georgia-Florida League in 1937.

Everyone who knew him, knew that Papa was a true gentleman. “He did not drink or smoke or cuss or chew – and didn’t approve of other folks doing it. He had the notion that an athlete was a person young folks looked up to, so it was important to set a good example. He almost never raised his voice and seldom lost his temper, maybe once every few years. However, he could be stern and he expected his children to obey him. Mostly, he was a very kind and affectionate person, a wonderful listener, extremely patient. (Singing to the Cows: A Memoir, by Elva Hasty Thompson, page 78).

When World War II commenced, Papa moved his family to a farm in rural South Carolina because he felt like it would be safer there. Papa managed the farm, which was a large agribusiness, not a family farm. After the war, the family returned to Georgia and he lived in Atlanta the rest of his life. He continued to coach and play on teams for big companies like Atlantic Steel and Foremost Dairies.

In his final years, in Atlanta, Papa often received letters from fans, addressed simply to “Bob Hasty, Atlanta Georgia.” He always replied with an autographed card and was often approached in public and asked to chat, pose for photos, or sign autographs.

Mom recalled that “Especially in the south, we were accustomed to people coming up to Dad asking for his autograph and wanting to talk about baseball. It could be annoying to us, but never to him and he never refused or lost patience. People brought baseballs to him to sign and even mailed them to him.” (Singing to the Cows: A Memoir, by Elva Hasty Thompson, page 78).

She also recalled a memorable evening in 1949. “When I was 15 years old, Mother, Dad, Don, and I went to a then famous nightclub in New York, the Diamond Horseshoe. We did not have reservations and were seated way in the back where we could barely see the floorshow. A few minutes after we were seated, a waiter came to our table and asked Dad if he was Bob Hasty. Then another man came and escorted us to a ringside table up front. A few minutes later, men stopped at our table, one by one, with baseballs for Dad to autograph. Someone had made a quick trip to a sporting goods store and bought about a case of baseballs. Needless to say, that was great fun for a couple of teenagers.” (Singing to the Cows: A Memoir, by Elva Hasty Thompson, page 78).

In the 1950’s Papa completely changed careers. He went to work at Lockheed and designed and built airplanes. When he retired, three graduates of Georgia Tech were hired to replace him. He also became an enthusiastic golfer and was able to play the National in Augusta several times, thanks to his son-in-law Tony Thompson, my dad, who had friends who were members of the club.

In 1961, Papa heard that Ty Cobb was at Emory Hospital, dying. They were friends. Papa visited Cobb at the hospital, and Cobb told him to look under the bed. There was a suitcase full of stock certificates and cash, with a loaded pistol on the top. Papa called his son Bobby, and enlisted his help in getting the suitcase in a secure place. Bobby went to the hospital with his friend Marshall (who worked at a local bank), and they got the suitcase stored safely in the vault. Papa was one of the pallbearers at Ty Cobb’s funeral in Royston Georgia.

In 1966 when the Braves ballclub left Milwaukee and moved to Atlanta, Papa and my grandmother became dedicated fans. They joined the Braves 400 Club and went to spring practice every year. While there, Papa befriended a young Hank Aaron.

Papa’s final public appearances came in 1966 and 1967, during Braves games at Fulton County Stadium, when he went down on the field and was recognized on Old Timer’s Day. It was the only time his grandchildren ever saw him in uniform.

After surgery to repair his hip, a blood clot traveled to his heart and killed him. Papa died on May 28, 1972, in Dallas Georgia. He left behind his three children and eight grandchildren. His talent for baseball lives on, however. Two of his great-grandsons played baseball at the college level and as of this writing one of his great-great grandsons plays college level baseball.

In 2008, a young Georgian, Gerald “Buster” Posey was drafted to play for the San Francisco Giants, and he played until his 2021 retirement. Posey is a descendant of the Hasty family of North Georgia and is a distant cousin of my grandfather, Bob Hasty.

Although few outside of the world of baseball historians know about my grandfather, his story fascinates those of us who knew and loved him. He played baseball against Ty Cobb and Babe Ruth, and yet he was always humble. Papa was a gentle giant, his huge hands as skilled at diapering a baby or making a cake as they were at throwing a baseball. To all who knew him, he was an old-school gentleman whose love of baseball and love of family were his defining characteristics. He played an important role in my early life, and I still miss him.

 

Addendum: I was in my late twenties before I learned why Papa had left major league baseball. I was so fascinated by the story and the scandal that caused national headlines, that it inspired me to write a novel, Return to Marietta.

 

 

above, the last photo of my grandparents in 1971 / below, me and my brother with them about 1964

#bobhasty, #majorleaguebaseballplayersfromgeorgia, #baseballbobhasty, #baseballscandals, #abaseballdynasty 

NOTE: Grok has an extensive writeup on my grandfather and you can see it here: LINK. However, it's not entirely accurate. 

I only see one glaring error: it says after WWII he never played baseball again. He did, on company teams, as evidenced below.

He and my grandmother weren't close friends with Babe Ruth, either; they were just acquaintances. Papa didn't smoke or drink so he wouldn't have parties with Babe Ruth much..

It also says he returned to farming in Cherokee County but he never did. He managed two big farming companies in SC during WWII. 

 

 

Sources

Baseball-reference.com

MLB.com

Evans, Billy. “Last Game His First Win,” The Kansas City Star, April 6, 1921.

Jemison, Dick. “Fourth Regiment and Camp Teams Win Double Header,” Atlanta Constitution, Sept. 3, 1918

McGill, Ralph. “Hasty Compiles Record for Boys to Shoot At,” The Constitution, July 29, 1932.

“Men Indicted in Smyrna Flogging Case Will Face Trial Here Next Week,” Cobb County Times, November 22, 1923.

Newman, Zipp. “Dusting ‘Em Off: Four Years to Decide Gentleman’s Agreement,” The Birmingham News, December 12, 1948.

“Not Guilty” Declares Cobb Jury,” Cobb County Times, November 29, 1923.

“This Is Mr. Hasty, Center of Argument Between Crackers and Bears; He’ll Pitch Today Because Court Order Makes Him,” Chattanooga Daily Times, July 24, 1919.

Thompson, Elva Hasty. Singing to the Cows: A Memoir. (Amazon, 2021) pages 74-76, 78.