This ‘Lefty’ Is Right on the Mark

Annabelle “Lefty” Lee is 76 years old. She is unhappy her white hair isn’t as thick and full as in the old days. Her shoulder is sore sometimes from the surgery a few years back and, truth be told, her memory isn’t always up to snuff.

But when Annabelle “Lefty” Lee tells you in no uncertain terms that baseball players today can’t execute the hook slide, absolutely can’t bunt and, by the way, the game is so expensive that fervent baseball fans like herself can’t afford the game, it’s best to listen.

Because she may be past her prime as a baseball player, but when she was in her prime Annabelle “Lefty” Lee could darn well hook slide.

Laying down a bunt? Elementary. And besides that, ask her today and if her left shoulder isn’t too sore, Annabelle “Lefty” Lee will throw her knuckleball. Honest.

On New Year’s Day Lee, who lives in a small Costa Mesa house she once shared with her husband, Lloyd Harmon, until he died in 1973, will be riding on the Edison International float, “The Great American Pastime,” in the Rose Parade.

The float will pay homage to baseball and besides having half a million flowers, 60,000 of which will be live roses, there will be figures of four baseball players representing the last 100 years of America’s pastime.

One will represent players from the turn of the century, when baseball was becoming part of the fabric of America. The others will represent players from the Negro leagues, the present day and women’s baseball.

There will be three live players too. Angel pitcher Shigetoshi Hasegawa will represent the players of today. Sweet Lou Johnson will represent the players of the Negro leagues. And Lee will be waving like crazy, the proud representative of all the players of the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League.

This is an honor that has put a perpetual smile onto Lee’s face. She has never even attended the parade, although she was born and raised in Southern California.

But she helped make history.

The All-American Girls Professional Baseball League was the organization portrayed in the movie “A League of Their Own,” which starred Geena Davis, Rosie O’Donnell, Madonna and Tom Hanks. (“It was about 70% accurate,” Lee says.)

The league was formed late in World War II, when major league baseball was a watered-down version of its former self, and proved to many women’s satisfaction that women could, indeed, play sports, any sports.

If Lee had her doubts about Madonna’s casting--”I was afraid she wouldn’t behave herself,” Lee says, “but she did”--Lee never had any doubts when she was tabbed as a potential player for the new league.

For she had grown up in a ball-playing family. Her father, Bill Lee, played for the Hollywood Stars in the Pacific Coast League. Her mother, Hazel, broke her leg as a 43-year-old sliding awkwardly into second base during a softball game. Her nephew, Bill Lee, pitched for the Boston Red Sox for 10 years.

In other words, Lee says, “Baseball was all I ever knew.”

She was playing in a Hollywood softball league when a representative of the fledgling women’s baseball league came to a game and asked Annabelle and a few other California girls to get on a train and go to a tryout in Peru, Ill.

“I’d never been out of California before,” Lee says now. “I had no idea what was going to happen, but I had no hesitation about packing up and leaving either.”

As a 5-foot-2 first baseman who happened to be able to throw a curve and the knuckler, Lee, the coaches decided, would become a pitcher. Which she was, for about six glorious seasons, during one of which she threw a perfect game.

In 1950, Lee came back to California and softball. The league went on for a few more years but Lee’s softball career continued for another seven or so until her husband politely requested that she spend some time at home . . . without a bat, glove and the need to hook slide.

Lee also went to work for electronics companies, that work providing her a comfortable enough life. She, of course, was never going to live off her baseball earnings. The salary had been $85 a week and it never went up.

There were no riches from her sport. When makers of the movie had a gathering of women who had played in the league, mostly to help the actors get a feel for their parts, no travel expenses were provided and Lee couldn’t afford to go.

Her favorite baseball player now is Cal Ripken Jr. and this doesn’t come as a surprise because Lee is adamant about how she wishes players today would be taught fundamentals.

“None of them are anymore,” she says. “You can see that in the game.”

She would go to Edison Field more often if she could afford it, but Lee says she goes only if someone invites her.

But there is no regret or bitterness. Lee doesn’t figure she is owed anything. She is happy to sit at a table in the Orange County Hall of Fame and show pictures of herself as a player. To show the tiny uniform, a dress, which meant that her legs were uncovered and rubbed raw during those hook slides. To remember the crazy days when players would do their own laundry and hang it out the hotel window to dry. Until the hotel manager ran upstairs and yelled at them to bring that stuff inside.

And Lee loves walking around the Hall of Fame, looking at pictures of famous athletes.

Lee’s picture isn’t anywhere to be seen, though. She has lived in Costa Mesa since 1963 and belongs to Orange County as much as Los Angeles.

It is a great honor, Lee says, to have been chosen to ride in this Rose Parade. As she talks, you can’t help but think that it would be nice if her picture found its way to this Hall of Fame. And that maybe an Angel season pass would find its way into her pocket.

And then she could teach a millionaire or two how to hook slide and when to bunt.

Diane Pucin can be reached at diane.pucin@latimes.com