Rachel Blount: He put Van Meter on the map

If you grew up in a small town, you know that the question "Where are you from?" often requires an explanation. Most people outside the general vicinity have probably never heard of the place. So you tell them the name, then draw them a verbal map.

Sometimes, you can toss in an extra detail -- a famous resident, a historic fact -- that a stranger might recognize. In my case, if I'm talking to a certain segment of the population, I don't even have to say it. I grew up near Van Meter, Iowa, 20 miles west of Des Moines. Baseball fans instantly know it as the hometown of Bob Feller, the Hall of Fame pitcher who died last week at age 92.

About 900 people live in Van Meter, and it never fails to amaze me how a town so small could be known to so many. As an adult, a mention of my hometown can still start a conversation -- often with an assist from my husband, a baseball writer and fanatic who loves to tell other seamheads where I'm from. As a kid, it was absolutely magic to know that someone from a small town -- your small town -- could achieve such greatness.

Feller was long gone by the time my family moved to rural Dallas County. He had retired in 1956 and remained in Cleveland, which became his home during an 18-year career with the Indians.

At age 17, Feller went straight from Van Meter High School to the major leagues. That summer between his junior and senior years, he struck out 15 in his first major league start, against the St. Louis Browns, then fanned 17 Philadelphia batters a month later to break the American League record. He returned to Van Meter to finish school -- his 1937 graduation was broadcast by NBC Radio -- and went on to throw three no-hitters, finish six seasons with 20 or more victories and strike out 2,581 batters with that untouchable fastball.

From the perspective of school kids in the 1970s, that was eons ago. But Feller's presence remained huge in Van Meter, despite the lack of any real monuments beyond a street named Feller Curve.

We walked the same halls in the town school, which housed kindergarten through 12th grade, just as it did in Feller's day. We played ball on the same fields. We passed the display case near the library that held a couple of trophies and some photos of his Van Meter teams. His class portrait hung on the first-floor wall, as ours would more than four decades later.

Our school bus passed it every day, and as a friend of the family who lived there in later years, I visited often. I never told anyone, but I always felt a bit awestruck. I fancied a little kinship with Feller; my dad was a college and amateur baseball player who had made me a big fan of the game, and I played softball for Van Meter High. While I knew I wasn't destined to make a mark as an athlete, I yearned to find my forte and follow it. That farm showed you could start life on a gravel road and still go places.

Feller never cared for the nickname "The Heater from Van Meter." His affection for his hometown, though, never seemed to dim. In later years, he helped raise money for the Bob Feller Museum and donated a trove of artifacts to a place built through bake sales and autograph sessions. He often visited, sometimes bringing fellow Hall of Famers with him.

Of all the things Feller gave to Van Meter, his humility stands out, because it touched everything else along the way. Despite his fame, he never lost his small-town pride of place. He spoke lovingly of his rural upbringing. He was most proud of his Navy service in World War II; the first major leaguer to enlist after the bombing of Pearl Harbor, Feller earned eight battle stars and sacrificed nearly four years in his athletic prime to protect his country. In our town, that was never omitted from any discussion of his career.

My husband, Pat, once asked me if I had ever met Feller. He had the chance to speak to him at the 1997 World Series. I never got that opportunity.

It would have been fun to shake the hand that launched all those fastballs and put Van Meter on the baseball map. But I didn't really need to, either. He already had been a part of my life in some small way, and that will always be enough.