The Montgomery Boys

Other than an underlying belief that man should use his resources wisely, Gabe Setter started the camp because he'd been a convict. And because he'd remembered the words of Linus Pauling, Nobel chemist: Every great person has at least one thing in common: He's learned to concentrate.

While Gabe served his time for armed robbery, he watched his fellow inmates closely. To see who to avoid, where he fit in, and even what he could get away with. Through the years patterns and combinations became apparent, the most obvious being that few men knew what to do with themselves. Also, they seemed to forget easily. And not only could most not focus, their lives didn't follow any rhyme or reason as they stumbled from one experience to the next.

Number 40716 was no psychologist or sociologist or any -gist, but inwardly he sensed that he, like his cell mates, could do better in life if both could learn to focus. Also, to have something that would hold their attention and keep them off the streets once they got out. He didn't know how he'd pull it off, but throughout his time at Montgomery State Prison he sensed that if he ever got his own life together he'd like to help others straighten out theirs. Once he got out, he spent the first six months watching a lot of baseball on TV. He feared he would lose sight of his

desire to help others. So he focused. That's when his camp plan hatched.

Many eyes were on Gabe Setter those early months. Not to see if he would fall back into his pre-prison life, but if he got a sudden windfall and his lifestyle changed drastically. You see, Mr. Setter had allegedly been part of a gang that had robbed four Brink's armored trucks that hauled off no less than eight million dollars. Not one penny had been recovered though twelve men had been imprisoned. The truth was that Gabe was not part of the group. He'd coincidentally held up one of the convoy trucks at the same moment the gang had attacked the other three. But the judge and jury could not believe that much coincidence. When Gabe was released from Montgomery, the money was still missing. Would Number 40716 lead the police, FBI, insurance companies, bankers, and the gang of eleven to the millions? Everyone watched, but nothing in Gabe's behavior indicated that he knew where the money was.

While the truth is being told, it should be noted that Mr. Setter did know where some of the money was: The part he had stolen. He lay low those first six months not because he didn't want to bring attention to himself or because he didn't want to catch up for the years he'd spent incarcerated. He didn't touch his two million because he wanted his baseball plan perfect before he put it into motion.

Gabe Setter truly had changed while in prison. And he convinced everyone that a person owes it to himself and mankind to use his abilities to the utmost. His plan was to incorporated the observations he'd made in jail with the words of scientist Pauling and all the TV he'd watched. The result was a comprehensive system to keep would-be youth offenders off the streets and simultaneously develop sound habits. Gabe Setter would use his misbegotten millions to create not just another baseball camp, but the most elaborate one for youth in the country.

Thus enter Tommy Reily, the meanest, baddist dude from the most vicious gang in the roughest neighborhood. His pre-adolescent crime history looked like a resume of a seasoned veteran. He knew how to use every weapon from a rock to a laser, every tool from a crowbar to a Cetyline torch, every method of distraction from tapping pick pocket victims to setting false alarms across the street. If it wasn't for Gabe's intervention, young Tommy would have become a perfect candidate for permanent Montgomery residence.

It is not necessary to record all that Tommy did once Gabe Setter and his baseball camp got hold of him any more than knowing the gory details of all his crimes. You can create both with the help of a moderate imagination and what kids can get into these days. What is important is that in the end, the third-generation Irish waif developed just as the philanthropic ex-convict had predicted. He substituted his adeptness with a club to become a powerful hitter, scoring many home runs and ranking highest in doubles. Instead of throwing rocks and bricks, he used his talents by throwing incredibly fast and accurate strikes. He used his well-developed thievery by leading the players in stolen bases. He channeled his aggressiveness by being particularly adept in knocking down the catcher when attacking home plate. He used his gang-leading abilities by rallying his fellow players to act as a ball team instead of a gang. Also, he exercised his pride by being the camp's first MVP.

Gabe's camp flourished because he jammed the two-weeks with activity. The boys practiced all morning, played two full games every afternoon, watched movies and videotapes of World Series games and tributes to the greats every evening. Each kid got to swing at one thousand balls a day. He played each position every day, including pitcher and catcher. He umpired at least one game, played base coach frequently,

and took turns keeping score. In their spare time, each boy received personalized, individual instruction at his best position.

The participants did all this on an Air Force landing field that had gone defunct. His probation-camp members tore up the cement and constructed eight diamonds, each with a pitching machine, full fence, ample equipment, lighted scoreboard, and grass infield. Gabe was determined to give the wayward boys maximum exposure to the game, and with the help of his ill-gotten money, he did.

A former Marine Corps Drill Instructor who'd become too diligent with his recruits and ended at Montgomery where he met Gabe, acted as the physical trainer. It could never be said that the boys had a single free moment or were not in shape when they left baseball camp. Nor that they left hungry, after leaving the mess hall run by a former lumberjack cook that Gabe had also met at Montgomery.

Tommy Reily's gang wasn't, of course, the only one at Camp, but even though the many kids had been former enemies, they all learned to tolerate, respect, even admire the uglies that they'd formerly rumbled with and bashed with chains and clubs. The baseball diamond was the battlefield; their truant selves were the enemy; the ball, bat, and mitts were weapons, while the coaches were good cops even though they dressed in black. The sneak-thief boys became more outward and confident, the vengeful paranoids became strategizers, the frustrated fisticuffers became baseball zealots.

Gabe Setter's prognosis had been correct: Give a lost soul a chance to use his resources, a scattered person something to focus on, get him involved to the max, and he will become a contributor, not a destroyer. At camp's first graduation ceremony and every succeeding celebration, Gabe Setter smiled broadly as he handed out an award to each boy. And it didn't

bother him one bit that he'd stolen the money to buy them. In his mind, he'd paid for them with his years at Montgomery.