The cause of much consternation as we returned from our summer break to resume classwork at Immaculate Conception School in 1954 was whether the bulk we’d acquired during vacation had magically slipped away. That was the time we returned as freshmen to the homeroom of Sister Mary Missa Massa.

The baby fat we thought we’d exchanged for muscle just wasn’t there. Here’s what happened:

The closing of West Las Vegas High School created a spillover on the east side. Sure, then-Las Vegas High could have accommodated the transfers from west, but I suspect most of the Westsiders preferred I.C., which offered new students a chance to beef up our anemic athletic programs. It’s true that we already had a few good players, especially in basketball, but the addition of several from west of the Gallinas was I.C.-ing on the cake.

One of the new students was Ken Ludi. He and a few others impressed us regulars because of their size. Several of us wondered whether something the kids drank, on the other side of the Gallinas, gave them growth spurts. Kenneth, a fellow freshman, born in April, was two days younger than I. Why, therefore is there such a difference in size? And the size paid off. We wondered why Ken was able to throw a baseball much harder than the rest of us, and run faster, and catch fly balls better, and grab grounders better, and pitch better.

But before we go into too much detail, let me explain that Las Vegas lost a stellar multi-sport athlete, one who somehow managed to do everything right — athletically. Ken Died last week at age 76 after a long illness. He’s probably “up there” giving batting tips or engaging in a celestial game of “catch.”

Of course, many of us envied the boy who made a big splash in four high school sports and later played with the Las Vegas Merchants, a group of older players. Our coach, Nick DiDomenico, also played for the Merchants, usually at centerfield. The transition from coach to teammate must have been interesting for Nick.

Ken was still in high school when he started drawing notice. Once, Kenneth smacked a seldom-seen homerun over the left-field fence at what was then Lopez Park. The next time he was up, his son Kirk recently explained, Ken stood on the other side of the plate and knocked a second home run, this time batting as a leftie.

At this point, let me disavow any notion of a close friendship between us. Yes, after graduation we occasionally got together for a beer, but I really was not part of his circle. We got along, I think mainly because he pursued my cousin Olivia Lucero, who also went to I.C. School and became the mother of three boys. I was close to Olivia.

As a Merchants starter, Kenneth drew the attention of scouts from the San Francisco Giants baseball team. He had a chance to make it to the big leagues. However, Kirk says of his father, family, fiscal and home obligations kept him in the Las Vegas area. But to have been that close to a hefty baseball contract would have been a thrill for any aspiring baseballer who could only dream of such a chance.

Kirk Ludi must have inherited some of Ken’s horsehide genes as well. As a member of the same Merchants team his dad much earlier played for, Kirk was followed by scouts from four major league teams: the Minnesota Twins, the Kansas City Royals, the Seattle Mariners and the Pittsburgh Pirates.

According to Kirk, the most plausible opportunity would have been to pitch and play centerfield with the Twins. Even while in high school, the middle son of Ken Ludi received calls and letters from Vern Brooks, a scout who followed the young man’s career through his college and semi-pro paths.

Why then isn’t Kirk a retired pro baseballer now? Kirk explained, “I was 22 or 23 at the time, a couple of years out of college.” He said that although he was assured he’d be selected in the 13th round of that year’s draft, he was “considered too old, compared to some of the 19-year-olds around.”

On the field, Kirk acquired the nickname “Looper,” “because I’d throw a big looping curve ball.” And how did Kirk develop some of his baseball skills? His father would take his “three sons out to a baseball field, hit us ground balls and pitch to us.” And Kenneth built a device through which Kirk and his brothers, Gary and Daryl, would throw baseballs. “That really helped me with my accuracy.”

During his father’s youth, Kirk recalled, his grandfather operated a Gulf station where Ken repaired flats. Service stations in those days lacked the power equipment that now easily “breaks the bead,” making tire removal easier. In those days, Ken used a mallet and a tire iron to separate the rubber from the hub. And given the condition of roads in the ‘50s and ‘60s, there were many tires to repair.

“That must have given my father some of his strength,” Kirk said. And receiving constant tutoring from his father must have helped young Kirk quite a bit.

Kirk apparently doesn’t harbor any regrets over not making it in or to the majors. He’s been a coach and teacher for the West Las Vegas Schools for about 20 years.

Wizardry on the baseball diamond certainly ran in the Ludi family. My friend Kenneth is gone, but the thrill of the game doubtless will live on through the enthusiasm of his son Kirk.

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