Whispering Jack on what was once the centre of his universe ...

A HIGHWAY OF DEMONS by Whispering Jack

CHAPTER FOURTEEN - CATCH THE WIND 

Our world was defined by boundaries. The beach to the west, the railway line to the east and Dandenong Road, the northern-most point except when we went to school. Princes Park, where we played kick to kick footy in the winter, cricket in the summer and took girls there until the small grandstand burnt down, was the centre of our universe. We played the Beatles, argued whether the Stones were better, discovered Dylan and the beauty of Joan Baez and her voice. And we were always trying to catch the wind.

Then one day (it must have been fifty years ago) he died, his parents' only son and just sixteen years old. I still remember his face in faded monochrome; his sad eyes and mine confronting our mortality. The first-time vision of a small black chair sitting low to the floor. 

Life moved on. I saw little of his parents after that and, in time, the memory of Alex dimmed although I heard they had given birth to another son.

That might have been the end of it if not for the emergence years later of two skillful indigenous footballers from Mount Barker WA who became champions with North Melbourne. The fact that they coincidentally bore almost the same surname restored the old memories. Then some five or six years ago, I read of a young junior footballer at AJAX and wondered if this might be a relative of my long-forgotten friend.

Today, along with my firstborn son and his oldest boy - a school friend of that young junior's sister- we are going on a journey beyond the boundaries of my old world to Etihad Stadium to watch him play for the Dragons in the TAC Cup Grand Final. The connections are endless. My son was in the inaugural Dragons squad in 1992 until his shoulder dislocated. The club's headquarters and that of the AJAX juniors where my sons trained and played and my grandson now (and I hope more of my grandkids in the future) plays is located at Princes Park, the local ground that once was the centre of our universe. And there is so much more to this story that bubbles under the surface.

Sometimes on a warm summer day I go back to Princes Park and when I close my eyes I can still hear the crack of a ball hitting the willow of his bat, hooked high into the air. I run wildly in the direction of its whirring sound but when my eyes open, the only thing for me to catch is the wind.

Lovely piece, WJ.

I love The Stones and The Beatles

Dylan goes all right too.

North has had the 3 greatest Jewish footballers ever.

The Krackouers ,now Goldstein.

Zimmerman is more of a journeyman .

I'm guessing WJ was a mate of Krackouer senior ?

Very interesting story Jack.

Would love to  know more about him.

No ... not Krakauer Senior but his late brother.

I believe that Phil and Jimmy were named after whoever ran the station in the region of NW WA where their ancestors were born a couple of generations ago. That person probably came to Australia from Poland and possibly might have fathered a child or children by an indigenous woman. They are not related to the one I knew whose parents were survivors of the Holocaust. 

Krakauer Junior was great on Sunday but his role was limited. Two goals and a couple of assists in a premiership team is nothing to be sneezed at. 

Just researching and it seems the Krackouers descended from an English/Polish convict,Thadeus?

Probably before your time,just.

 The K brothers had a tough life before getting drafted,lost a couple of siblings one of which was your mate I assume.

They K bros were the best advertisement of the game at the time and I remember seeing them tear up The Swans at the SCG in the Barry Round era.

I was a young Sydney lad with little Vfl knowledge but I recognised them as a cut above .

Sad there weren't more of them to play at the highest level .

Edited September 27, 20169 yr by Biffen

I remember as a young boy imitating Jim and Phil when playing kick to kick on the street. Didn't like North much, but it was pretty hard not to be amazed with their skill and intuitive style of play regardless of who you supported. Widely admired, but saddened to hear of the racism they put up with on the ground and over the fence each week. Despite the fools like Eddie McGuire, we have come a long way.

I too grew up near Princes Park Caulfield, and remember the old grandstand. There was a hole in the wire fences on the north side and all us kids would sneak in free of charge. Dad would come through teh main gate, leave us to our own and go off for a few beers.  We moved to the country when I was ten and when I came back to work nearby in 2008 I was saddened to see the old grandstand gone. 

I also remember watching the VFA footy on channel 0 on a Sunday, with Clem Dimsey commentating with the biggest microphone you have ever seen. 

On 28 September 2016 at 2:11 PM, Maldonboy38 said:

I too grew up near Princes Park Caulfield, and remember the old grandstand. There was a hole in the wire fences on the north side and all us kids would sneak in free of charge. Dad would come through teh main gate, leave us to our own and go off for a few beers.  We moved to the country when I was ten and when I came back to work nearby in 2008 I was saddened to see the old grandstand gone. 

I also remember watching the VFA footy on channel 0 on a Sunday, with Clem Dimsey commentating with the biggest microphone you have ever seen. 

Some great memories Maldonboy38. Loved the wire fence with the thin pieces of wood that was supposed to prevent the non payers from watching games from outside the ground. Problem was that there were so many gaps that you could get a good view anyway.

The players rooms under the grandstand were something else. There was a no smoking sign up on the wall but if you went in at half time, there was a pall of smoke through the change rooms. Players, trainers, coaches etc. were all puffing away on their smokes. Another sign warned about the dangers of drinking alcohol and how bad it was for sportsmen to drink. Problem was nobody took any notice and a few of them were sipping away on an ale during the half time speech. No wonder they were such a lousy team in the early 60s.

Of course the lighting in the room left a lot to be desired with the few light bulbs having the minimum wattage so you were blinded if you were in there before going out to bat. 

They were mainly good times.

Congratulations to Bob Dylan on winning the Nobel Prize for Literature.

I bet nobody saw that coming fifty years ago.