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A baseball signed for Donald's mother by his teammates sits in a cabinet at the Howell home.
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Howell has a school-record 139 strikeouts for the Foxes this season.
Donald Howell (left) talks to his father, Roger, after a recent game. Roger taught his son how to pitch when he was 7.
Roger Howell (left) talks to his son Donald at the family's home in King George. |
THE BASEBALL PLAYERS stand on the grass as an early evening sun presses through thick clouds. It's senior night at King George High School. The boys hug their fathers and pin corsages on their mothers' shirts.
Donald Howell stands alone and fiddles with the purple flower that is wrapped with gold ribbon.
His parents aren't here.
The Foxes' star pitcher holds the corsage to his chest. He's thinking about his mother.
Goodness, he wants his mother to know how much he's thinking about her. That's why he had the entire team scrawl her initials on the backs of their caps. That's why there's a drawing of a yellow rose--his mother's favorite flower--beneath the brim of his hat.
But Sue Howell is resting on a small bed at the family's home a half-mile away. She's been battling brain cancer since October and hasn't walked since February.
Roger, her husband of 26 years, is by her side as always. When the couple's older son, Chris, returns home, Roger hurries to the baseball game.
The names of the last few seniors are called. The people on the metal bleachers applaud. The ceremony ends.
A few moments later, Roger jogs toward the field. He realizes he missed the moment, and he drops his camcorder to his side.
He wanted Sue to see the video of Donald, resplendent in his baseball uniform and holding that special flower.
Before he pitches the final game of the regular season, Donald takes the purple flower and places it safely on a shelf in the dugout. Then he takes a deep breath and jogs to the mound.
"Trying to concentrate on things is a lot harder now, because my mind is always worrying about my mom," Donald says. "It's tough, but I guess you have to keep going."
A chance meetingIn the mid-1970s, Roger Howell was a 6-foot-1, 225-pound high school student with a 91-mph fastball. Baseball was in his blood.
His grandfather Peter returned to America after fighting in World War I and signed with the Chicago White Sox. But he never reached the major leagues. Instead, he drilled oil wells and raised seven children in West Texas. His dream was unfulfilled.
Two generations later, Roger was recruited to play baseball for the University of Texas. But during a pickup game one afternoon during his freshman year, he tried to steal second base, slid toward the bag and went too far. He mangled his knee on the base like cheese on a grater. He left school and joined the Navy.
In 1979, Roger was working at a recruiting station in Odessa, Texas, when a pretty young woman walked in. Sue Crevier noticed the tall, dark-haired man behind the desk.
They got to talking, maybe even flirting a bit.
"I actually tried to keep her from joining," Roger says, smiling. "She was too nice to be in the Navy."
She joined. They exchanged addresses and went their separate ways--Sue to boot camp in Pensacola, Fla., and Roger to a battleship in Pearl Harbor.
But they wrote letters to each other. Sometimes they talked on the phone.
Somehow, Sue ended up at a radio control station in Wahiawa, Hawaii, just 20 miles north of Pearl Harbor.
On Jan. 30, 1980, Roger and Sue were married near a waterfall in Honolulu. They eventually moved to Virginia, got jobs in the defense industry and raised two sons. The younger boy fell in love with baseball.
Which brings us back to Donald, the skinny 18-year-old with a slingshot for an arm and a purple flower on the dugout shelf.
A rising fastballRoger Howell, 48, stands on a deck overlooking his backyard, which is surrounded by a rectangular wooden fence. He constantly apologizes for the clutter in the house and the unkempt grass in the yard. There is little time for chores anymore.
The father points to a small pitching rubber that sits in the dirt. It's partly covered by grass and weeds now.
This is where Donald became a pitcher. This is where Roger taught Donald how to hold a ball.
Not too tight. Not too loose. There you go, son. That's it.
This is where he taught Donald to rock forward on his delivery, calm as an ocean breeze.
Don't over-stride, son, or you'll fall over. Perfect.
This is where he taught Donald a four-seam fastball and a change-up and a slider.
Wow, listen to that pop in the mitt. You hear that, son? That's what you want it to sound like.
When Donald played Little League, batters used to chuckle when they saw he was 4-foot-9 and weighed as much as a bag of groceries. Then they'd usually strike out.
"Even today I get a lot of, 'Oh, man, look at that little kid on the mound," says Donald, who's 5-foot-11 and 145 pounds. "They think I'm some junk-ball pitcher."
Donald's fastball has been clocked at 88 mph this season. Hitters have flailed at the righty's pitches as if they were swinging with spaghetti.
Heading into tomorrow's Battlefield District tournament first-round game against Courtland, Donald has a 1.99 ERA, 139 strikeouts and just 15 walks. The Virginia single-season high school record for strikeouts is 169.
"I'm surrounded by teenagers that like to use anything within their grasp as an excuse or reason not to do something," Foxes coach Ed McKinnon said. "Donald's taken it the other way. He's using his mother's situation as a source of motivation."
Donald has accepted a scholarship to play for Division II Bluefield College, a Christian liberal arts school in Southwest Virginia.
The Baltimore Orioles have a rookie-league team there. Donald bites his lip and smiles as he considers the chance to be seen by a scout. Like his great-grandfather was. Like his father could have been.
A great actThe fatigue crept up on Sue Howell last fall. She didn't know why she was so tired. Maybe that's just what happens when you get older.
No, this was different.
On a Friday afternoon in late October, Sue had a mild seizure. The next day she had two more. Roger rushed her to the hospital.
A CAT scan revealed a Grade 4 tumor--the most lethal--on Sue's brain. The doctors said it had grown quickly. They gave her about a year to live.
Radiation treatment went well for the first few months. Sue was still walking and felt strong. But then a second round of treatment caused a blood clot. Sue has been bedridden since February.
"I think my mom's always been a fighter," Donald says, his voice cracking. "I think she's doing great to be with us as long as she has."
Sue spends her days in the small bed in the small room near the front of her family's house. She watches "Jeopardy" and "Wheel of Fortune" on a television that sits beyond the foot of the bed. Her family and her 8-year-old golden retriever, Sabrina, keep her company. Nurses come to the home.
On Mother's Day, the Howell boys gave Sue cards and sat with her and ate steak and baked potatoes and green beans.
Donald often brings his dinner into his mother's room. He tells her about his day, how many batters he struck out.
How much he loves her.
When the boys were growing up, Sue was the only woman in a house where baseball is as important as breakfast. She wasn't exactly a baseball encyclopedia at first.
"Touchdown!" she'd yell when a home run was hit.
Then Roger would smile and explain that she'd mixed up her sports.
Sue never missed one of Donald's Little League games. She'd bring snacks. She'd run the video camera. She'd take pictures of Donald, then she'd take pictures of the other boys and give them to their parents.
Sue never again called a home run a touchdown. When Donald was invited to play in a national AAU tournament in Little Rock, Ark., Sue joined her baby boy on a mother-son trip.
"That was fun," Sue Howell says as she lays in her bed, her words slow and a struggle, her voice just a whisper. "That was nice."
After she was diagnosed with brain cancer in October, Sue made a list of things she wanted to live for. One of the most important was Donald's high school graduation, which is a month away.
"If she's still here when I graduate," Donald says, "that would be just awesome."
A day to rememberRegardless, Sue Howell's story will have a Hollywood ending. It's right there on the DVD in the family's video library, near copies of every baseball movie you can think of.
There, in the case, is a John Grisham film titled "Mickey." It stars Harry Connick Jr. and it's about a boy who lies about his age so he can play on a Little League team. But that's not important.
The important part is they had an open casting in the Richmond area six years ago. They needed a few boys who could field baseballs and they needed a few parents who could cheer for the boys.
In the movie, there is a shot of Donald fielding a ground ball and firing a bullet to first base. What you don't see is the take before that, when Donald's toss ripped off the first baseman's glove.
Take two, kid. Take two.
Soon after Donald's throw, there is a shot of Sue Howell sitting in the bleachers, smiling and clapping. She's healthy, young and vibrant. She's cheering for her son, and that scene will live forever.
"That was very nice," Sue Howell whispers, as her husband gently rubs her blanket-covered feet. "I was so happy."
A son's giftDonald doesn't have his best fastball on senior night. Though he chalks up 11 strikeouts, he also allows three home runs into the tall trees beyond the outfield, and the Foxes lose to Caroline, 9-4.
He says his arm isn't tired, even though he's pitched enough innings to turn it to jelly. On the night of his last home game, his thoughts are on his mother a bit more than usual.
After the game, Donald sits alone in the dugout with his hands on his cheeks. He takes a few deep breaths, then reaches to the shelf and pulls down the purple flower that is wrapped with gold ribbon.
"I wish she could have been here," he says quietly.
Then he straightens the edges of the flower, fluffs the gold ribbon and walks toward the school parking lot. There's still time to give a mother her corsage.
To reach ADAM HIMMELSBACH:
Email: ahimmelsbach@freelancestar.com
