THE 45-52 ZULU GUN

THE 45-52 ZULU GUN

I pitched fast-pitch softball three to five times a week all over Southern California for almost twenty years.

In 1974, I pitched in a mostly Spanish league on Sunday mornings in East Los Angeles at Evergreen Park on the corner of 4th and Evergreen and then starting in 1976 some of my friends began playing in a mostly Black league in Watts at Hoover Park on the corner of Manchester and Hoover just west of the Harbor Freeway. For the first two years I pitched for the Compton A’s.

Hoover Park was large enough that four fast-pitch games could be played at the same time on diamonds located at all four corners of the park. All of the games started at 10 am and then after the games most of us gathered around under some trees on the first-base side of the diamond located on the northwest corner of the park and ate barbecued chicken, hot links and ribs. An enterprising man with the help of his teenagers, made some pretty good money selling barbecue and drinks.

Most of the guys stayed awhile and discussed what happened at the games on the other diamonds. That was the best part … all the joking and storytelling … ballplayers, fans, and old-timers all joining in to have a good time … It was great!

One older gentleman (I have since forgotten his name) always used to come to the games dressed in a suit. I guessed that he was stopping by after church. He would watch the games behind the backstop with some of his friends and then stay for the story telling afterwards. I looked forward to the times that he would show up. I enjoyed kidding with him and listening to his stories.

One time he told me a poem about a Zulu Gun. I couldn’t remember the whole thing. I would try to repeat it and beg for him to help me with a word or two but, no! The next time I saw him, I would pester him to tell me about the Zulu Gun. It would just drive me nuts because he would only tell it one time through and then that would be it. He would never repeat it. He would always say, “I’ll tell you again next time.”

Sometimes, I wouldn’t see him for months at a time and I used to worry that I might never see him again. I began to always carry a tape recorder inside a zip-lock bag in my game bag.

Finally, in 1982, I saw him for the last time and this time I told him that I wasn’t going to let him go without telling me about the Zulu Gun. I showed him the tape recorder and told him that I had a C-90 cassette.

After some barbecue, he said, “Let’s take a walk.” I let him do all the talking as we walked away from all the others and continued walking down the left field line toward the other diamond on the northeast corner, which was almost deserted. I sensed that he wanted to talk. He talked about his life and an assortment of topics. We quit walking, sat in the stands at the other diamond, and just talked about ball playing and life in general.

When the first side of the tape ran out, I flipped it over to the other side. We talked for a while longer and then he said, “Before your tape runs out, I’d better tell you about the Zulu Gun.” We started walking back to join the others when he began and as any good storyteller would do … he took his time.

“I want to tell you about the 45-52 Zulu Gun. It’s the most amazing gun you’ll ever see. You’d have to see it to believe it. It’s a 45-52 Zulu Gun built upon an automatic frame. It’ll shoot nine times before you can cock it and ten times before you can stop it. If you hold it on the left it says, “If you hold me square, I’ll shoot him fair.” If you hold it on the right it says, “If you hold me level, I’ll shoot the Devil.” Then he would move his hand in a snake-like fashion forward and back again when he said, “It shoots the bewitching cannon ball. If it goes by and misses you, it’ll back right up and hit you. Don’t allow you no chance at all!”

He was a good friend and I miss him.









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