Parallel Earth: 262320
Exhibition: the Apocalypse
Parallel Historians: Oyemina Eskhator, JJ Darling, Gabriel Lee, and Ben Tumbling.
Atwell Tigers Bat
Gabrielle May (b. 1955, Ohio, USA), 1968
Pigment on wood
“Batter up, ladies!” It’s a motto as potent and as popular as any in history. It’s been printed in big, bold letters on everything from lunch boxes to movie posters. It’s been quoted in commencement speeches, at political rallies, and at countless ball games around the world. When female Iraqi soldiers, some of them former child brides and sex slaves, attack ISIS forces, local news reports claim they shout “Batter up, ladies!” before they rain bullets down on their enemies. Improbable, but appropriate. Such is the legacy of the Atwell Tigers, and their now legendary battle cry.
October 3, 1968, only two days after the first verified report of a person infected by LYV321, the contagion had already spread outside Pennsylvania. Unfortunately, the news media and local authorities were slow to respond. That all changed after a school bus, front grill stained with blood, rolled into the parking lot of St. Romero Hospital in Columbus, Ohio. The softball team, thirteen girls aged 11 to 14, and their coach, filed calmly into the emergency room and relayed their story.
Stranded overnight on that country road along the Pennyslvania-Ohio border, besieged by what would have appeared to them as monsters, not men, the girls rose to the challenge. They didn’t shrink from the fight to come, they prepared for it. Decorating their bats, they took solace in activity, in self-expression, in each other.
Atwell Tigers Bats
Gabrielle May (team captain), April May, Pauline Medina, Patty Buffalo, Teri Tufts (coach), and Mary-Louise “The Truck” Bambi (b. 1928 – 1957, Ohio, USA), 1968
Pigments on wood and aluminum with rubber
The six shown here comprise the most number of bats from the original Atwell Tigers ever publicly displayed together. The fascinating combination of circumstances that led to their creation can be readily seen. Ohio schools were still widely segregated in 1968 and budget shortfalls for predominantly black public schools, like Atwell Elementary, were common. School supplies for extra-curricular activities were usually donated so almost no two bats were alike, even before the girls started working on them. It’s also apparent that the bats were customized not only with things the team brought with them (grip tape, ballpoint pens, markers) but also materials found in their temporary farmhouse sanctuary (house paint, whittling knife). By far the most notable tools in the bats’ construction were the minds of these young women. Drawings and colors you’d expect to see on the corners of notebook pages and arm casts cover what are, at least that night, weapons.
Through their courage and clarity of purpose, the Tigers succeeded in warning the rest of the country about the horror to come. It’s difficult to speculate the number of lives they saved beyond each other’s, but they surely count in the millions. And so, in that season of fear and in the years after, the story of the Atwell Tigers, their symbols, and their words, have been hallmarks of many causes. They are passed down to us as cultural shorthand for dauntlessness, bravery, discipline, teamwork, diversity, sisterhood, creativity, and hope.
For more images from the Atwell Tigers collection, click here. Click on the + icons below to leave a comment, ask a question, or receive updates.