In a previous column I mentioned that, just out of the Air Corps after World War II and newly married, I headed up the New York-New England office of Thomas A Edison Inc. before moving over to headquarters in New Jersey where the world’s greatest inventor had done much of his most memorable work.

He had been dead 16 years and the company was headed by his eldest son by his second marriage, Charles Edison, who had previously been secretary of the Navy and governor of New Jersey. He was our chairman of the board.

 

Okay, that’s a bit of background. Here’s the story. One day one of my New York salesmen, Joe Poore, came to me and said, “Boss, some of us in sales and some of the service people (we sold dictating machines) have been playing softball in the afternoons and have a chance to get in an industrial league right here in Manhattan. Can you find $80 in the budget to buy us some special shirts and baseball caps?” I could and did.

 

I followed the team’s progress in conversations with Joe but, to my shame, never found the time to go out and watch them play. As a matter of fact, I’d never witnessed a softball game and didn’t realize the high degree of skill and athleticism it demands.

 

Anyway, N.Y. Edison ended up its first year in a respectable fourth place in an eight-team league. Without my being aware, at the headquarters and factory across the river in West Orangeburg, N.J., they had a team and had just finished their season acclaimed as the champions of the whole state of New Jersey!

 

(Can your intuition begin to sense, dear reader, how this plot is beginning to thicken?)

 

Well, the great champion team in New Jersey challenged the upstart team in Manhattan to a just-for-fun postseason game on a certain sunny Friday followed by a party at a neighboring New Jersey saloon. I accepted and my, as yet unseen by me, team was exhilarated. On the day in question I’d been in factory meetings, some with the governor, and he decided to attend the game.

So a group of higher-ups – treasurers, controllers, all that ilk – went along.

 

I got to the stands as the teams were warming up and walked over to Joe Poore, who was to play third base. I looked at the two pitchers loosening up on each side of the diamond and said to Joe, “Which is ours?” He pointed. I said, “I’ve never seen that guy.” “Shh!” Joe said, “He’s Joe Beladnik’s cousin.” We’ve paid him $50 to pitch. He’s probably the best pitcher in the world.”

 

My heart turned a somersault. “My God, Joe. Why didn’t you tell me. I’d have said, “No”! “That’s why I didn’t tell you,” rejoined Joe.

 

Well, I walked to the stands where Charles Edison had me sit beside him; my team against his.

 

We, the visitors, were up first and didn’t score. The great champions were next and were struck out one, two, three with maybe 12 pitches. They didn’t even get a foul. I don’t know how our catcher caught him. You could barely see the ball and he was incredibly accurate, right over the plate. By the end of the fifth inning, we were ahead 3-to-zilch and that’s when Charles Edison got up to leave. “That’s a helluva pitcher you’ve got, Austin,” he said over his shoulder. “He certainly is” was my brilliant reply.

 

By the end of the seventh inning the umpire called the game on account of darkness. We won 4-0. They never got a man to second base. At the friendly saloon I left early. The angry New Jerseyites crowded around our pitcher to ask him questions about our business. Joe Poore was pulling on him physically. The poor guy just wanted a few beers.

 

Not a word was ever said. All I know is that when I left Edison some years later to go with Magnavox, Charles Edison and I had a nice final talk and he sent me a check for a year’s salary, which was unheard of in those antediluvian days.

Attorney Austin Cunningham has been the president of five business companies and in 1988 was named Outstanding Elder Citizen of the Year for South Carolina.

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