A bite-sized story about Nolan Ryan’s time in Marion
Issue No. 6 (The leftovers edition)
A few years ago, I discovered a series of 300-word stories written by Brady Dennis, who had been a reporter at the St. Petersburg Times (now the Tampa Bay Times) in Florida. They all were compelling, and it was impressive to see a writer convey so much with such a limited amount of words.
I decided to give it a try, writing about overheard conversations at a gas station, a piano-playing anthropology professor, two middle school teachers after a long first day of school – “only 179 more to go,” one said – and a farmer’s solution for protecting his cattle from airplanes buzzing overhead: a shotgun, of course.
After my brief phone call with Nolan Ryan in January 2021, I wrote 300 words (approximately) about his time in Marion, from the moment he stepped off the bus to surviving the summer of ’65 and dreaming of a career in the major leagues.
I hope you enjoy it.
Nolan stepped off the bus from one small town and into another, chasing a dream, 1,091miles away from home.
His luggage overwhelmed the tall, lanky 18-year-old from Alvin, Texas. “I carried his suitcase for him because I was afraid it would break his arm in two.” That’s how Bob Garnett, the team president, remembered meeting his new pitcher, Nolan Ryan.
That was 57 years ago. Nolan had no idea what was ahead of him, what he would begin building in this small Virginia town — a 100 mph fastball and a devastating curve that would launch him into the major leagues where he would bewilder and befuddle batters. Four decades later, he earned an express trip to Cooperstown.
But in the moment, in the blistering summer of 1965, he was anxious, and eager to fit in with a mixture of college kids and recent high school graduates like himself. He shared an apartment with teammates. Drove a red Impala. Watched movies on off days.
But, Nolan was homesick. “Oh, very much so,” he admitted. He was away from family. Away from his girl. He missed her. She missed him, too, and so she drove those 1,091 miles to see him. “She came with her dad and a couple of her brothers,” Nolan said, “and a friend of mine.”
They watched Nolan pursue his baseball dreams, in a hand-me-down uniform, in a dimly-lit ballpark where the showers were a quarter-mile walk uphill. They heard stories of long trips on crowded busses to Wytheville, Salem, Johnson City and Harlan.
He dared to not yet dream of Cooperstown, striving only for a shot at the big leagues. “That’s what your hopes are, but you have no idea if you have the talent it takes,” he said with his Texas draw. “I certainly didn’t know what to expect when I got off that bus in Marion.”