In the Orioles’ heyday, more than 50 years ago, pitchers went the distance, batters got clutch hits and an impish ballgirl charmed the crowds at Memorial Stadium. During fifth-inning breaks, Linda Warehime would race onto the field to dust off the bases and the Orioles’ shoes. Then, more often than not, she’d swat the opposing team’s third-base coach on his butt with her broom as fans howled with glee.

For seven years (1968-’74), Warehime entertained spectators with her daily hustle and playful hijinks. The game’s first ballgirl, beginning at age 11, earned national acclaim, appearing in both “Time” and “Sports Illustrated” and on two TV panel game shows, “What’s My Line?” and “To Tell The Truth.” It helped that, for three straight years (1969-’71), the Orioles reached the World Series, giving Warehime a coast-to-coast audience for her lighthearted pranks.

Once, during a game in the 1970 American League playoffs, she approached Minnesota third-base coach Frank Crosetti, ostensibly to brush off his shoes. Instead, the blonde teenager spanked Crosetti and raced off, giggling. Days later, during an Orioles’ victory over Cincinnati in Game 3 of the World Series, Warehime did the same to Emmett Ashford, the third-base umpire. Feigning injury, Ashford threw up his hands and yowled.

“Emmett played it out so well, and on national TV,” she said.

Now 68, and living in Harford County, Warehime keeps scrapbooks on hand as cherished reminders.

“Once in a while, I’ll go through those newspaper clippings and say, ‘Whoa!’ Was this for real?” she said. “Those were the good old days — and I’d love to re-live them.”

Shy as a kid, she was prodded to take the Orioles’ job by her three brothers, all of whom worked on the groundskeeping crew. The team paid her $5 a game to retrieve foul balls from her seat in foul ground, down the left-field line, and to sweep off the bases in mid-game. Everything else was ad-libbed.

“My first day, I was afraid I would trip over a base,” she said. Instead, fans embraced the girl in the orange shirt and white pants who melded with the crowd and the club.

“During batting practice, I’d play catch with some of the players,” said Warehime. “I was honored to be a part of that team; I considered them family.”

At Overlea High, classmates asked for her autograph and said they wished they were her. She got fan mail at the ballpark, but recalls no mash notes.

“I couldn’t date until I was 16,” she said. “Besides, my dad was a cop who worked games at the Stadium. I guess guys were afraid of him.”

Rival third-base coaches had no such misgivings. Once, approached by Warehime, Kansas City’s balding Joe Schultz doffed his cap and handed her a bouquet of roses that he’d hidden from view. (One of those flowers, dried and pressed, is in her scrapbook.) When, to his surprise, she reached out and kissed California’s Rocky Bridges one night, the Angels’ coach fell flat on his back.

Other coaches turned the tables. One saw her coming, picked up third base, and carried it off. Another placed a live mouse on the base; Warehime shrieked and tried to shoo it with her broom. Yet another coach (Boston’s Eddie Popowski) pulled a water gun from his pocket and squirted her in the face. The following night, she got even, soaking him with two loaded pistols.

Fans relished the mini-dramas, which perked up one-sided games. One year, to jazz up her appearance, the Orioles had Warehime wear hot pants and white boots with heels. The change didn’t last.

“I can’t believe I ran around the bases in those heels,” she said.

Her original outfit — orange shirt, white slacks — hangs in the closet of her home in Abingdon; she wears it when attending games at Camden Yards, where oldtimers remember. Other keepsakes include a personalized, gold-plated broom and a bat autographed by the Orioles’ 1970 World Series champs. Oftentimes, she’ll wear the Series ring she was gifted by her parents that year, a replica of those given to the players.

A widow, Warehime Butcher (her husband’s surname), stays busy, working part-time as a cart-to-curb shopper at a high-end supermarket near her home.

“I love grocery shopping; I always went with my mom,” she said. “It keeps me active; I walk about 10,000 steps a day.”

Even there, she said, she’ll get quizzical stares from customers who, between the aisles of apples and avocados, recognize her from days of yore.

“Whatever happened to?” is an occasional series following up on individuals who have made news in The Baltimore Sun. Contact Mike Klingaman at jklingaman@baltsun.com and 410-332-6456.