In Remembrance
Matt Jenkins
There was only one thought bouncing around my immature brain the first time I met Ed Chmiel.
Please don't let him be the guy to pick me!
It was early spring in 1987 and Peabody Little League was holding its annual tryout for the major league division (ages 10-12). I was a tiny 10-year-old with no organized baseball experience, and Chmiel was a veteran Little League manager whose personality and exterior appearance reeked of a no-nonsense guy that could make a fun game of baseball feel like a job.
That was probably my first experience with jumping to a conclusion, or judging a book by its cover. But at the time, I was a frightened boy who felt insulted.
We were working through a fly ball drill and each time I settled under the ball — with my glove raised above my head and throwing hand resting comfortably by my side — Chmiel would call me "the million dollar man."
I had no idea what he was getting at.
The thought of him pointing out that I was not a professional baseball player (hence, the million dollar reference), and therefore should be using two hands to secure the catch, didn't initially occur to me.
As luck would have it, I got exactly what I didn't want.
Chmiel picked me to play for his Yankees. Quickly, I began figuring out that what I didn't want was exactly what I needed.
Chmiel simultaneously taught me the game of baseball and opened my eyes to how enjoyable it was to play. I never had more fun playing baseball than I did those three years wearing the pinstripes for Chmiel.
Sadly, Ed Chmiel, one of Peabody Little League's founding fathers, passed away Sunday night after a brief illness at the age of 88.
His teaching methods may have seemed a little peculiar, but they always got the job done.
It only took one or two "What are you, married to the base?" comments when a player didn't take a proper lead or didn't advance on a passed ball to cure baserunning problems.
I'm sure other coaches around the league secretly laughed about his "flat bat" technique (think Mickey Tettleton) to cure batters dropping their back shoulder and popping up. It was a method I used for three years; eventually, I developed a level swing that carried through my high school career.
Chmiel was old school before old school became a popular phrase.
He was a veteran of World War II and, like many men from that era who got involved, he was in youth sports for the right reason — to teach kids.
I'll always have an image burned in my brain of him pulling up to James St. Park in his yellow Jeep truck, wearing his black shoes and blue Dickies work pants. I'm sure he had precious little time between leaving his job as a mechanic at the Pioneer Garage in Peabody and the first pitch, but he always found time to stop at a store and pick up a few packs of Hubba Bubba or Bubblicious bubble gum for his players.
It was impossible to not like him.
Looking back on it, I wasn't "the million dollar man". Not even close.
But Ed Chmiel? He was about as close as you could get.
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Matt Jenkins is a staff writer at the Salem News. He can be reached by phone at 978-338-2648 or by e-mail at mjenkins@salemnews.com.
