But the Incabloc watch holds a lifetime of significance for Lou Brissie.

It stopped at 10:57:53 a.m. - a time it's held for more than 45 years. It's a time from a cold December day in Northern Italy that almost cost a professional baseball player his career. It's a time that almost cost an American soldier from South Carolina his life. It's a time that changed Mr. Brissie's world - and made him thankful for every day since.

"You remember a lot of people (who died in the war)," said Mr. Brissie, 77, pulling the stainless-steel watch out of his coat pocket and laying it on the table. "You feel like they should have the time, too, because of the kind of person they were and they didn't get it. You are blessed when you get the time."

Athletics and Army

Growing up around Anderson, S.C., Leland "Lou" Brissie was a local phenom - at 13 years old, he was practicing with a semi-pro baseball team, playing for them a year later.

He was good enough to go pro. His father fielded calls from dozens of teams, but one team - and one team executive - stood out. In 1942, Mr. Brissie signed with Connie Mack and the Philadelphia Athletics. They wanted the 6-4 1/2 , 210-pound southpaw on their staff.

But Uncle Sam wanted him, too. He enlisted in December 1942, leaving a Major League Baseball contract on the table to join the Army and fight for his country.

"I don't think it was a hard decision for many people," said Mr. Brissie, who now lives in North Augusta with his wife of 25 years, Diana. "I think most people wanted to be a part of it. They wanted to go."

Lou Brissie holds his watch from World War II, which stopped when a shell exploded at his feet, nearly destroying his legs. JIM BLAYLOCK/STAFF

Still, he wrote to Mack, letting the Athletics know he hoped to play with the ballclub after the war. Mack responded, saying his spot would still be there.

"He said, 'Whatever it takes, I want you to know you'll have the opportunity to play baseball,"' Mr. Brissie said.

Time stands still

By the end of 1944, Mr. Brissie was on the front lines of the battle in the Apennine Mountains near Florence, Italy. Winter had ground the fight to a near halt - soldiers mainly patrolled outposts, rotating in and out in shifts.

On Dec. 6, it was Mr. Brissie's squad's opportunity to take a break. They walked from their outpost to a truck and were transported to camp. They had hot showers, a change of clothes and a hot breakfast - pancakes, syrup, sausage and scrambled eggs.

"Everybody grabbed everything they could get," he said, laughing.

Early the next morning - a cold and clear Thursday - it was time to go back to the post. The troops crowded onto trucks to begin the first part of the journey.

The first 170mm shell hit about 100 yards to the left of the trucks, sending the soldiers scattering into nearby woods.

The second shell landed at Mr. Brissie's feet, exploding into hundreds of pieces that sliced through his lower body. The blast broke Mr. Brissie's right foot, shards of metal piercing his right shoulder and shredding his left leg from ankle to knee - splintering his shin into more than 30 pieces.

"I shouldn't have (lived)," he said, twirling the watch that stopped at the moment of the explosion.

Mr. Brissie climbed into a creek, in and out of consciousness, hoping to get a look at his mangled legs. He woke up in a field treatment unit.

"They just kind of put you back together and stopped the things that were dangerous," he said.

He then transferred to a hospital. Doctors wanted to amputate his left leg - the damage was just too great, they said. Oh yeah, and forget about that baseball career, they told him.

"I told them I wanted to be a ballplayer and I didn't want to lose that leg," he said.

He'll never forget his first meeting with Dr. Wilber K. Brubaker, the surgeon who saved his leg. Looking up from his bed, he saw the doctor looking at his chart and told him his story.

"He never looked up," Mr. Brissie said. "He said, 'I hear you, I'll remember it and I'll see you in the morning (for surgery)."'

The next 18 months were a haze of 23 surgeries, several hospitals in Europe and America, and, finally, his release in August 1946.

Back to baseball

In 1941, the Philadelphia Athletics really wanted the Brissie kid from South Carolina. On the day Mr. Brissie graduated from high school, he was sent to Philadelphia to meet Mack and agreed to become a member of the A's.

He was scheduled to start spring training with the team in 1943, but he was off to war as players gathered to practice.

In September 1946, he walked back into the Athletics' Philadelphia offices, ready to try to be a pro player. He focused on pitching, a brace bolstering his left leg - which was always threatened by a bacterial infection in the bone marrow.

"Mr. Mack never blinked," Mr. Brassie said. "He said, 'You tell me when you are ready."'

Though the A's were skeptical of the pitcher's physical condition, he joined the team for spring training in 1947. That year he pitched for Savannah in the South Atlantic League, going 23-5 with a 1.19 earned-run average - leading the league in wins, ERA and strikeouts.

"They pitched me every fourth day," he said. "They told me, 'If you pitch on Monday and it rains on Tuesday and it rains on Wednesday and it rains on Thursday, you are going to pitch on Friday."'

Lou Brissie was making it in professional baseball.

The big time

"The Call" came late in the 1947 season. His debut couldn't have been more pressure-packed: He was starting on the first Babe Ruth Day at Yankee Stadium, and baseball greats - such as Honus Wagner and Ty Cobb - were in the stands. He lost the game 5-2.

"Man, I'm telling you, my eyes were bugged out," he said, still grinning 44 years later.

Mr. Brissie played with the Athletics until 1951, when he was traded to Cleveland. He played there until 1953, when a disagreement with management prompted him to take the job as director of American Legion baseball.

"(The disagreement) was an unpleasant thing, and I just didn't want any part of that," said Mr. Brissie, who today walks with a limp. "I just walked away."

During his career, he went 44-48 with a 4.07 ERA and 436 strikeouts. His best year came in 1949, when he was named to the American League All-Star team and went 16-11, with 118 strikeouts and a 4.28 ERA in 229.1 innings.

But it's his endearing story that has left a mark on many baseball historians.

"The thing that I got out of all this is even the things that look impossible, aren't," he said.

Reach Jason B. Smith at (706) 868-1222, Ext. 115, or jbsmith@augustachronicle.com.