Editor’s note: This is another column in Bill Boyd’s new series, “The Way It Was,” about growing up in Marysville. Bill continues to work with the Union County Historical Society to obtain information for his stories. With Marysville and Union County celebrating Bicentennial anniversaries in 2019 and 2020, respectively, these articles help depict what life was like in those early years.
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I had several paper routes when I was a kid during the 1940s. On one of them, I delivered the “Columbus Dispatch.” I picked up my papers every day at Bill Marsh’s house on Third Street. He lived right across the street from Merritt’s Grocery Store.
Bill had a helper, a boy named Hornbeck who helped him distribute the papers. He was maybe five or six years older than me. I think his first name was Dick, but I’m not sure. That’s because everyone used his nickname, “Piffel.” Isn’t that a great nickname? In all my life, he was the only Piffel I ever met.
Piffel Hornbeck was a big baseball fan. When I was folding my papers in Bill’s garage, I would hear him talking about all kinds of baseball stuff. He not only followed the Cincinnati Reds and the Cleveland Indians, but also followed the Columbus Redbirds.
He talked about batting averages, ERAs and other baseball trivia that I didn’t understand. Bill and he would occasionally go to a Redbirds game, and the next day they would talk about all the great things they had seen.
I think the Redbirds had a pretty good team that year, and an important game was coming up the following week. Bill told me that he and Piffel were going to Columbus to see it, and he asked if I would like to go along.
I really had very little interest in baseball, and no interest whatsoever in the Columbus Redbirds. It was a farm team for the St. Louis Cardinals. However, I had never seen a professional baseball game, so I thought it might be fun. I told Bill I would like to go with them. It was a night game, so he said he would pick me up around dinnertime.
Now let me switch to what was going on in my home life. For more than a week, my dad had been telling me to clean out the back stall in the barn behind our house. It was where we kept scrap lumber and things like that. He wanted me to straighten it up and sweep the floor. But I always seemed to find some reason to put it off until “tomorrow.”
My dad had given me an ultimatum on the day before that baseball game, but I had not yet done the work. So on the day of the game, maybe two hours before Bill was to pick me up, my dad said I could not go to the game. I told him Bill was going to pick me up in a couple hours, so he told me to call Bill and tell him I was not going to the game.
I did as he said. When Bill answered the phone, I didn’t waste time. I simply said, “Bill, something has come up, and I can’t go to the game. So you don’t need to pick me up.” Bill thanked me for calling, and he hung up.
Later, as we were eating dinner, a car pulled up in our driveway and honked the horn. I looked out the window and it was Bill Marsh driving the car. When I told that to my dad, he said, “I told you to call him and tell him you couldn’t go.” I told my dad that I did call him and told him.
Because Bill was sitting in our driveway waiting for me, my dad said I could go. So I ran out the door and jumped into Bill’s car. As we headed out of Marysville, I asked where Piffel was, and Bill told me that he wasn’t going with us. I thought to myself that it was a good thing my dad let me go or Bill would have had to go to the game by himself.
Much to my surprise, I really enjoyed the baseball game. As the last innings approached, they had something they called a “seventh inning stretch.” They played music and all the fans stood up to stretch their legs. As we were standing, I asked Bill why he came to pick me up after my phone call. “What phone call?” he asked.
I told him that I had called earlier to tell him that I could not go to the game. “Oh no,” he said. “I thought that was Piffel on the phone.” I had not told him who I was, and my voice must have sounded a lot like Piffel’s.
Poor Piffel. He was a big baseball fan, and he really wanted to see that Columbus Redbirds game. And where was Piffel while I was watching the game? He was walking up and down the sidewalk in front of his house waiting for Bill Marsh to pick him up.
It was just a giant mix-up, a quirk of fate. Piffel Hornbeck, one of Marysville’s most ardent baseball fans, was sitting on his front porch listening to the game on radio while I, who didn’t give a hoot about baseball, was watching the game in the Redbirds stadium.
Somehow, it just didn’t seem right, and I have always felt a little guilty about the whole thing. But over the years, I’m sure Piffel saw lots of baseball games, so I try not to think about it anymore.
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Editor’s note: Yes, indeed, Piffel Hornbeck’s first name is Richard. He is the longtime U.S. mail carrier, now retired, who has lived on Maple Street in Marysville since birth. He told me that his nickname, Piffel, was given to him by Charlie Diehl, twin brother of Frank Diehl, but he has no idea how Charlie came up with the name.