Born in 1919 in Middleport, down the road from Lockport in Niagara County, he graduated from Little Seminary High School in Buffalo and then studied at Niagara University.

Starting in 1946 after a wartime stint in the U. S. Army, he worked in the front offices of the Syracuse Nationals and Tri-City Blackhawks in the league that would soon become the National Basketball Association.

In baseball, he was hired by the Buffalo Bisons of the International League, as well as the Olean, Lockport and Jamestown franchises in the old PONY League which became the New York-Penn League.

He would work for the baseball teams in the summer and the basketball teams in the winter.

MARK HAMMOND

His part-time jobs began with business manager and finally reached the pinnacle, general manager.

He would tell fascinating stories featuring, among others, baseball legend Don Zimmer, Philadelphia Phillies manager and general manager Paul Owens and NBA great Dolph Schayes.

Then starting in 1950, he and his wife, the former Jean Schrantz, had four children in a span of four years and three days. His traveling days in pro sports management were over.

He had bills to pay that his seasonal jobs simply could not cover. He needed a full-time job to take care of his new family of six.

It didn’t help that his first-born had a series of birth defects and allergies that kept me and my registered nurse mom in doctors’ offices all across WNY throughout my childhood.

I spent the better part of four years through second grade on crutches thanks to Perthes Disease, the cause of which remains elusive to medical science even today. It involves a mysterious lack of blood flow to the hip’s ball joint, resulting in necrosis (tissue death).

Brother Tom came down with the same disease, but fortunately recovered within a year.

Doctors told us we were the first known siblings to be diagnosed with the disease and would be featured in medical journals. Lucky us. Small consolation for putting our budding athletic careers on hold.

The lone benefit for me, thanks to those many pairs of wooden crutches, was a set of broad, powerful shoulder muscles.

Once he gave up his dream of being a major league sports executive, my dad started working at the Ford Stamping Plant in Woodlawn, a Buffalo suburb. He was a payroll clerk and hated it.

He stayed active in sports by officiating football, basketball and baseball games after driving an hour to get home from work.

And he was a Major League Baseball scout over the years for the Washington Senators, Cleveland Indians, Kansas City Athletics and Cincinnati Reds, plus a college basketball scout for the Philadelphia 76ers of the NBA.

He also started the Hammond Scouting Service. It provided detailed reports on Division I basketball teams he would watch in Buffalo’s hallowed War Memorial Auditorium (The Aud), and at universities in Syracuse, Olean and Niagara to opposing coaches for a modest fee. He was there so often he seemingly knew all of the ushers by first name.

He was also a part-time promoter, negotiating deals to bring sports performers like pitching legend Eddie Feigner and his “The King and His Court” fast-pitch softball quartet and the House of David, an Israeli bearded basketball team, and other sports performers to area venues.

He even served on our city’s Recreation Commission for many years, spent time as a local radio sportscaster, and emceed countless sports banquets.

As you can see, he was a very busy, driven guy. He wasn’t home that much, but seemed to always find time to play catch in our backyard infield on Robin Street in Dunkirk.

Yet, if you asked my mom if he played favorites, younger sisters Kathy and Mary would invariably be her answer.

When Tom and I grew older, he coached some of our baseball and basketball teams, winning one state championship along the way.

But that’s a story for another day of the man who gave up a budding career in the lucrative field of pro sports for a grateful family.

He spent his golden years on my sportswriting staff at the EVENING OBSERVER. Unsurprisingly, he was great at that, too.

Bless his damaged heart, which never fully recovered from a childhood battle with rheumatic fever.

He was just 70 when he died after his heart and implanted pacemaker finally gave out.

Happy Father’s Day, dad. You are missed daily.

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DO YOU have a favorite, funny, weird, best or worst memory of amateur sports refereeing, playing or spectating? Drop me a line at mandpp@hotmail.com and let’s reminisce.

Bill Hammond is a former EVENING OBSERVER sports editor.