“Who is that on the field?”

My friend Bev and I asked each other this question as we squinted from the baseball bleachers. We tried to make out the unknown player running in from the outfield. Although blending in with the other boys catching fly balls, we noted something was amiss on the baseball field.

“Is that Kim Schorg??”

Among the boys taking turns launching caught balls to the catcher was a blond-haired anomaly—a girl! Not only was she on the field, but she was taking her turn in the practice fielding order. Mid-chomp, Bev and I stopped our saltwater taffy enjoyment in complete dismay.

“What is Kim Schorg doing playing baseball with the boys??”

Our town’s baseball diamond was strategically placed next to the public swimming pool. It was common for us girls to dry off in the bleachers during the hourly 10-minute water breaks. This hot summer day in the 70s was no exception, with Bev and I taking in our concession candy as the boys (+ one girl) played ball.

Remsen, Iowa, was a mecca for baseball. It was a big deal, and rightfully so. Our little town produced State Championships and college baseball players. As a feeder to our top-notch high school team, we had a competitive boys’ Little League baseball program.

The boys' summer days were spent playing ball at the baseball field. The girls’ role was cheering them on while juggling pool time.

A girl playing baseball with a team of boys was a 1976 mind-blow. Bev and I watched in disbelief as Kim played legitimate baseball with our male classmates. As Kim placed a team cap on her head, we felt a tide of change was coming.

Kim didn’t miss a beat, skillfully running the bases after nailing a hit past a male counterpart. Obvious to us was that a girl was playing on a boys' team. Oblivious to us, Kim was recruited because of her insane athletic ability in baseball. But skill was not a prerequisite Bev and I considered as we wrapped our towels over still-wet swimsuits. Instead, we began choosing our uniform numbers for the next baseball season.

As the summer came and went, we watched our brothers, friends, and brothers’ friends (the boys) and Kim (the solo girl) finish a successful baseball season. As expected, Kim held her own. She was on the starting line-up and at the top of the batting order. The girls proudly watched, empowered with the idea that we, too, belonged on the field.

As was typical with small-town living in the 70s, information was shared via our local newspaper. In the spring of 1977 came the Remsen Bell announcement that registration was open for Little League Baseball. With visions of following Kim’s footsteps onto the field, Bev and I registered at city hall.

Although I wasn’t privy to the conversations at the time, I am aware of handwringing behind the scenes on allowing other girls to join the baseball rosters. But since Kim was allowed the year before, we would be allowed this year too.

In May 1977, the Remsen Little League Baseball team rosters were published in the Remsen Bell. With ninety-four total baseball players, nine girls were included on this roster. Kim was back for a second season with eight girls following her lead and distributed across the eight league teams.

With our victory of being uniformed and on the field fading, I was quickly indoctrinated into playing the sport. It was hard. The balls were hard. The pitches were hard. And unlike Kim, I wasn’t a naturally good player. In fact, I was really bad.

My team’s coach was a young high school teacher. He was handsome and patient. He tried to work with me and often tossed the ball to me separately during game warm-ups. At the time, I thought this was special attention. I now realize he kept me safe from the hard-thrown ball of which I would wince.

Once, while he and I tossed the baseball, Coach’s girlfriend stood beside him, playfully engaging in conversation. Admiring her bell-bottom pants and Abba-like hair, I accidentally aimed my thrown ball at her head. Coach caught it in the seconds before contact, saving her pretty face. Conversations among coaches on the safety of girls playing with boys likely soon followed.

Although the nine girls filling the roster had varying athletic skills, many of us spent our time getting out of the way of fastballs and tossing errant throws. I remember hearing audible sighs of relief from the coach when my at-bat was up with either a strike-out or a walk (typically the former).

In defense of the male coaches and players, they were good sports with our female invasion. The Little League boys were likely wondering how they got dealt this hand. What should have been their glory days of competitive summer ball turned into a lesson in how not to hurt the girls.

At the end of the 1977 baseball season, the Remsen Women’s Lioness Club came to the plate. What they saw was not a failed pilot but an opportunity.

The Remsen girls needed a league of their own. The Lady Lionesses were the group responsible for sponsoring and organizing Little League Softball for the girls of Remsen. Through the fall of 1977 into the spring of 1978, the Remsen Bell reported on the Lioness Club’s progress in the published meeting minutes.

Following the initial softball registration in April of 1978, it was reported that eighty girls had signed up for the new league. Six teams with ages 8-13 would kick off the inaugural season. Six of the nine girls who had played in the baseball league the year before, including Kim, were now playing softball coached by moms and female volunteers.

Throughout these two childhood summers, I learned how girls ruled. This wasn’t a lesson in overcoming oppression but one in resilience and betterment. We courageously joined the boys' team, and even when missing our bleacher seats, we didn’t quit.

The Lionesses showed us that there was a place on the ballfield that included us. Under their tireless leadership, the Remsen girls, coaches, and volunteers showed up in force and began a league of their own.

By 1980, our league had progressed to taking team photos. I was a LiveWire this year. Three of us on this team were part of the original nine who played with the boys that memorable summer of 1977 (me and Beth & Rocky (seated in the front of the group shot)). And, yes, we wore jeans!