APRIL’s Greatest Hits!

1) Baseball!

2) 53 Fahrenheit at 2 P.M. 3/30/2024

3) Dietary change to spring feeding which features lots of raw spinach.

4) NBA and NHL getting interesting.

5) Rabbits in the East Fens neighborhood of Boston.

6) “April showers bring May flowers…” Well… we have definitely gotten the showers.

7) Women wearing shorts and mini skirts.

8) Mallard ducks bobbing about in the Muddy River.

9) Kayakers bobbing about in the Charles River.

10) Touching the window of one’s home doesn’t cause a chilly finger.

PASSING: Bud Harrelson, January 11, 2024

Derrel McKinley “Bud” Harrelson passed on January 11, 2024 in his home in East Northport, N.Y. of Alzheimer’s disease. Harrelson was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in 2016 and went public with his malady in 2018.

At the time of his passing Harrelson was a partner in the Long Island Ducks North Atlantic Independent League, Islip, Long Island based team team he helped to found in 2000. The link below tells the story:

https://youtu.be/RgyBDfVRask

One of my earliest trivia questions for my confounded schoolmates was:

Q: What is Bud Harrelson’s real name?

A: Derrel McKinley Harrelson!

No, Bud Harrelson was not related to Ken “Hawk” Harrelson.

Bud Harrelson was signed by the Mets as a free agent in 1963, before the free agent amateur draft which began in 1965, after a year at San Francisco State.

Bud’s professional career began in 1963 with the Salinas Mets in California League A ball.  Bud was called up to The Show in September 1965 where he caddied for Roy McMillan.

That very same year Bud began his 5 year hitch in the National Guard for 1 weekend a month which partially accounts for Bud’s relatively low number of games played.

Fielding statistics give Bud short shrift. During his Gold Glove campaign of 1971 his % of chances to league average was a pretty good but not great. However it must be factored in that during his career Harrelson played behind Tom Seaver, Nolan Ryan, Jon Matlack, Jerry Koosman and Tug McGraw all of whom were fastball/K/fly out pitchers.

https://www.baseball-reference.com

Harrelson had a cannon for an arm and could hurl overhand from deep in the hole, whip sidearm from a set position and “shovel,” as Mets broadcaster Lindsey Nelson would put it to the 2nd. bagger for a 6-4-3 twin killing.

Harrelson had offensive value. After the success of Maury Wills, who finally made it to the Dodgers after 1100 minor league games by embracing switch hitting, speedy infielders such as Harrelson and his contemporary Don Kessinger were made into switch hitters during their minor league apprenticeships. Bud drew a good number of walks long before OBA became obsessional.

I recall a neighbor chortling with delight when Bud, hitting lefty, beat out a push bunt.

The 1973 Mets vs. Reds NLCS saw Harrelson gain national attention when the 160 lb. Harrelson clashed with the 200 lb. Pete Rose. The fracas had been precipitated by some verbal jousting following the Mets Game 2 9-2 victory lead by Jon Matlack’s 9 K complete game and Rusty Staub’s 2 HRs.

My brother and I were watching the game on a 12″ black and white TV perched precariously on the counter of Mr. Washington’s Sherwin Williams Main St, Port Washington paint store on a sunny afternoon…back when an NLCS game was still played in the afternoon!

On a double play ball Harrelson and Rose collided and Harrelson and Rose began throwing punches.

To my surprise and delight Harrelson did not back down and the Shea crowd cheered Bud even as the imbroglio was broken up by umpires.

Interestingly enough, neither player was ejected. This is hard to imagine happening in today’s MLB!

https://youtu.be/K8xKLbn04h)s?si=FbSHUy98PFLGb3Ar

What did happen was that Reds skipper Sparky Anderson pulled his team from the field for 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, the Shea loyalists began shouting that Rose was ingesting fecal material and did not cease until manager Yogi Berra, Cleon Jones, Rusty Staub, Tom Seaver and Willie Mays calmed the crowd.

The ‘Ya Gotta Believe’ Mets shocked the Reds and wound up pushing the mighty 1973 A’s to 7 games before going down swinging…just like Bud!

From 1965 until 1975 the Mets were New York’s team, especially on the North Shore of Long Island where a train from my home burg of Port Washington could travel to Shea Stadium in 22 minutes.

As the 70’s stumbled on my interest in baseball cards, street baseball and live games was supplanted by televised games, SPORTS ILLUSTRATED and Steely Dan’s PRETZEL LOGIC. Embarrassment too played a role as I recall an LRY girl telling me that baseball was “so 6th. grade” so I kept my fandom to myself even while rooting for Bud Harrelson and the diminishing number of players who had played for the Miracle Mets and the Ya Gotta Believe Mets.

By 1977 the residue of the Miracle Mets and Ya Gotta Believe had been washed away by the dispatching of Dave Kingman, the auctioning off of Tom Seaver, the passing of Mets’ matriarch and majority owner Joan Payson and the resurgent Yankees who had returned to the Bronx and the 1976 World Series.

From 1977 on the Mets would remain mired in the sub .500 mire of the old N.L. East; absorbing countless pummelings from the Pirates and Phillies until re-emerging as contenders in 1984 under the ownership of Nelson Doubleday.

Fans were few and hostile.

A brief digression…

Anyone who thinks that Joe Torre is a great manager should look at the winning %s of the Mets during his reign. And while this is not entirely Torre’s fault, the dis-invested ownership of Linda DeRoulet, Joan Payson’s sister, surely played a major role, Torre’s management of the careers of Dave Kingman, Joel Youngblood and especially Lee Mazzilli says nothing good about Torre’s talent judgement.

In 1977 my brother and I jumped into a packed Port Washington LIRR car for Tom Seaver’s return to Shea as a Red. It was not lost on me that Harrelson had been Tom Seaver’s roommate and that Bud and Pete Rose had been combatants.

When Seaver took the mound an ovation erupted such as nothing I have heard before or since. Seaver stepped off the mound and tipped his cap, which only lengthened the ovation.

Jerry Koosman toed the slab for the Mets. Harrelson, Ed Kranepool and Jerry Grote were penciled into the lineup by Brooklynite Joe Torre.

Of course Harrelson got a hit, of course Ed Kranepool launched a sacrifice fly that proved to be the only run tallied by the Amazins’ and of course Jerry Koosman took the loss.

…but you already knew that…

During spring training in 1978 Harrelson was dispatched to the Phillies for “prospect” Fred Andrews. Harrelson spent 1978 and 1979 with the Phillies spelling the defensively challenged Dave Cash.

In 1980 the Phillies released Harrelson making him a free agent who wound up playing out the string with the Texas Rangers.

As a Ranger Harrelson returned to short where he platooned with the immortal Pepe Frias and played alongside fellow Flushing refugees Rust Staub and Jon Matlack before retiring…but not before hitting his 7th. HR in 5515 PAs!

Harrelson was far from done with baseball and re-emerged as the Mets 1st. base coach and occasional TV commentator for WWOR 9.

In 1984 Bud piloted the short season, 75 games, Little Falls Mets, to 1st. place with a squad featuring future Mets Kevin Elster, Shawn Abner and David West, to a 44-31 record and being named New York-Penn League Manager of the Year.

Harrelson at this point was still on my radar screen as Bud morphed into a company man for the Flushing fiefdom.

1985 found Harrelson at the helm of the of the South Atlantic A ball Columbia Mets which featured future phenom Gregg Jefferies while earning a 79-57 record. During the season Bud bounced to Flushing where he replaced Bobby Valentine who moved to Texas on Davey Johnson’s coaching staff.

1986 saw Harrelson as the 3rd. base coach chasing Ray Knight to home plate in Shea Stadium in the epochal Game 6 of the 1986 World Series.

…Please go to the home page for this blog enter ‘A Night to Remember’ in the Search function for my account of Game 6 while managing Our House in Allston, MA…

Q: Who is the only Met to be in uniform for both the 1969 and 1986 World Series champions?

A: Bud Harrelson!

Sure it is a bit of a trick question but I was still in my 20s!

In 1990 Harrelson replaced Davey Johnson who had gone 20-22 42 games into that season and got the Mets to 91 wins, their 7th. consecutive winning season, although not enough to catch the pre-wild card Bonds, Bonilla, Drabek Buccos of the Jim Leyland era.

1991 saw a near total collapse as Darryl Strawberry went to the Dodgers while Frank Viola and Dwight Gooden failed to repeat their respective 20 and 19 win seasons of 1990 respectively.

As loyal readers of the NEW YORK POST knew there was a significant public dust-up with David Cone that accompanied this plunge. With 2 weeks left in the season and a 74-80 record Harrelson was relieved of his duties and replaced by Mike Cubbage.

At that point Harrelson fell from my radar screen although he was a partner in the Wilmington Blue Rocks, an affiliate of the Kansas City Royals.

Harrelson began blipping again when USA TODAY announced that the Atlantic League of Professional Baseball had placed a team in Islip, Long Island on the footprint of the old Islip Speedway whose Figure 8 track Demolition Derby was featured frequently ABC’s Wide World of Sports. to be called the Long Island Ducks; not to be confused with the Long Island Ducks of the American Hockey league who played for many years in Commack at the Island Arena. Harrelson was the manager as well as an owner for the Ducks maiden voyage.

Harrelson was a Vice President, owner as well as the manager in the Ducks’ 2000 inaugural season and remained as a coach until his 2016 diagnosis of Alzheimer’s Disease. Harrelson retired from baseball in 2018.

Many times Harrelson referred to the founding of the Long Island Ducks as his proudest accomplishment. During his time with the Ducks Harrelson resided in East Northport in Long Island’s Suffolk County where he was well know for being neighborly and his many charitable doings.

Bud Harrelson’s passing effected me far more severely than the passing of Tom Seaver via dementia although both passings were sadly foreseeable.

Bud Harrelson’s saga almost perfectly matched mine…

Baseball cards…getting to The Show…the Miracle Mets…the Ya Gotta Believe Mets…baseball is so 6th. grade…the decline of the Mets franchise from ’77 through ’83…the triumph of Harrelson chasing Ray Knight home with the winning run in game 6 of the 1986 World Series…the maddening ’90’s…minor league management…founding and owning the Long Island Ducks…and passing from Alzheimer’s.

…Bud Harrelson will missed by this narrator for as long as I have left to go...

Negro League Baseball Museum, “Barrier Breakers” at 118 Boylston St, Boston, through August 4, 2023

Negro League baseball has been an interest of mine for over 50 years.

Robert Peterson’s ONLY THE BALL WAS WHITE captured the attention of this 12 year old Mets fan upon its publication in 1970. The Carrie Palmer Weber Junior High of Port Washington N.Y’s librarian Ms. Futter always had a smile upon seeing me take out ONLY THE BALL WAS WHITE for perhaps the 4th. time.

As my youth coincided with the civil rights era so my prepubescence was simultaneous to the awakening of casual fans to Negro League Baseball whose last generation of homegrown players, Henry Aaron and Willie Mays, were MLB’s greatest stars of my youth.

My folks were a tad taken aback, neither of whom were fans, but Mom bought me a copy of Satchel Paige’s MAYBE I’LL PITCH FOREVER featuring Satch,s tales of history, discrimination, fun and total fiction that somehow coalesced into quite a read.

My 2014 visit to the National Baseball Hall of Fame(NBHOF) in Cooperstown N.Y. was partially prompted by my interest in seeing the Negro Leagues’ exhibit ‘Pride, Passion and Prejudice.’ I was delighted to find not some little dusty niche but a thoughtfully curated exhibit. Best of all the many visitors to the NBHOF showed real interest, lingering long enough to read the history and marvel at the photos and equipment.

Yes, players from the Negro Leagues enshrined in the NBHOF, such as Satchel Paige and Josh Gibson, have their plaques, in the cathederalesque setting of the NBHOF’s main room.

The Negro League Baseball Museum’s(NLBM) Twitter site posted notice regarding the ‘Barrier Breakers’ exhibit at 118 Boylston St. in an Emerson College building located about 150 yards away from employer.

I walked in and was greeted more than kindly and signed the Guest Books.

‘Barrier Breakers’ is a collaborative venture of Emerson College, the Boston Red Sox and the Negro League Baseball Museum dedicated to the wave of post World War II players following Jackie Robinson breaking the color line.

Not that Jackie Robinson is absent; far from it. His dedicated niche describes his significant career at UCLA where he started as a running back in the Rose Bowl and earned letters in tennis and basketball as well.

Indeed, it is certainly worth speculating what Jackie Robinson night have done in the NFL.

https://footballfoundation.org>sports

or NBA

https://www.ncaa.com

Of interest in the Jackie Robinson section of the exhibit is the mention of Robinson being court-martialed and acquitted for defying segregationist seating while in the Army.

But make no mistake; this is about far more than just the breaking of the color line in MLB; it serves to illustrate the erosion of de facto segregation prior to the legal aspect of the civil rights movement.

The Cleveland Indian’s Larry Doby gets his often unacknowledged entrance as the American League’s first black player.

Monte Irvin’s, I have a Monte Irvin t-shirt, role as an early player whose career was split between the Negro Leagues and MLB, display emphasizes that the 30 year-old rookie of 1949 had enough going to lead the National league in RBI’s in 1951. During my youth Mr. Irvin worked for the Commissioner’s Office of MLB.

The display of ‘Barrier Breakers’ is guest friendly with large sepia toned photos and text with serifs resembling that of my Mom’s 1949 Royal typewriter.

One of the many educational aspects of Barrier Breakers is the inclusion of Latino players such as Minnie Minoso and Martin Dihigo and who played in the Negro Leagues as well as in Cuba, Mexico and Puerto Rico.

Lesser lights than the above, such as Bobby “Rope” Boyd nicknamed for his line drive hitting and Harry “Suitcase” Simpson for his size 13 cleats, not his well-traveled resume as I had assumed, feed the compulsive fans quest for more.

The very stylish uniforms of the Kansas City Monarchs and Newark Elite Giants are represented by replicas and worth the visit in and of themselves.

As a museum buff it is not only what is displayed but the thoughts inspired that move the heart and mind.

By 1954 the Negro Leagues were fading as young stars Willie Mays of the Birmingham Barons and Hank Aaron of the Indianapolis Clowns undeniable talent inspired the New York Giants and Milwaukee Braves MLB teams to sign them without compensating their original teams draining both talent and $$$ from the Negro Leagues.

Along that line, was Bill Veeck’s signing of Negro League stars such as Satchel Paige, Hank Thompson and Willard Brown was an attempt to capitalize on those players’ fame as Kansas City Monarchs to fill the empty Sportsmen Park of the St. Louis Browns? Bob Watson of the Yankees as the 1st. black General Manager in MLB is genuinely historic although not of the time frame depicted.

On a more serious note Barrier Breakers represents an era after WW II and prior to when most white folk were aware of civil rights.

Entertaining and educational Barrier Breakers is an enlightening visit. The show is free and will be at 118 Boylston St. Boston until August 4th.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

ONLY THE BALL WAS WHITE, Robert Peterson, ISBN 97080548811242, 1970

MAYBE I’LL PITCH FOREVER, ISBN 9781938545191, Satchel Paige, John Holway, David Lipman, 1962

THE NEGRO BASEBALL LEAGUES, Bob and Byron Motley, ISBN 978-1–68358-400-1, 2012

All of these books are available on Amazon.

The Negro Leagues Baseball Museum, curated by Roberto Perez on Twitter is a wonderful site.

Woo Sox! Woo Sox vs. Syracuse Chiefs(N.Y. Mets AAA affiliate), Polar Park, 9/23/2022

AAA baseball is the bestest!

I had been wanting to visit the Woo Sox at Polar Park in Worcester, MA since the facility opened in 2021 replacing the Paw Sox at McCoy Stadium in Pawtucket, R.I.

Worcester is a scenic 70 minute trip from Back Bay Station to the historic, turreted Union Station rail/bus station for $24 round trip. There were quite a few Woo Sox fans who got off for the game, likewise the buses. It is a circuitous 10 minute walk from Union Station to Polar Park.

Game time was 6:45 which enables screaming 10 year-olds with mitts to see games. MLB take note.

Polar Park is a 2 tier facility with a relatively large foot print compared to MCU, the home of the short season A ball Mets affiliate Brooklyn Cyclones on Coney Island

Admission were mostly via smartphone but your retrograde correspondent’s $39.99 Obid Voyage doesn’t read or generate QRs so my downloaded hard copy entitled me to a $22 Upper Box seat which featured a ledge for my Polar Diet Orange Dry and 2 bags of cashews.

The entrance to Polar Park has a kids’ playground with swings made of baseball gloves and a t-ball set-up where boys, and more than a few girls, hacked away amidst the Polar bears.

Lots of 50+ folks, screaming 10 year olds with mitts and more than a little Spanish being spoken on the Concourse.

Beauty is the word that describes the thrill of walking up the ramp and seeing the crescent of green and brown, calling to mind racing ahead of my parents on the boardwalk from the Port Washington line of the L.I.R.R. and entering Shea Stadium better than 50 years ago.

This alone justifies the price of admission.

I immediately bought a 16 oz. Polar Diet Orange Dry and began my sugar free slaking. I paired my diet Orange Dry with 2 bags of Planter’s Cashews which were $6 for a 3 oz. bag that sells for $2. at my 7-11.

Ouch!

For yeast lovers the Worcester micro-brew Wormtown is available at all concession stands and has a dedicated beer bar which I did not partake of.

It is interesting to note that here in the 21st. century independent brewers have proliferated while independent soda companies are an endangered species.

Polar Park is in its 2nd year of operation and still has that new ballpark smell. 330′ to RF, 405′ to CF and 330′ LF. CF is straight across and the power alleys are curvilinear.

There is about 20′ from home plate to the backstop but there is virtually no outfield foul territory.

Polar Park’s infield dirt is considerably browner than that of MLB as MLB has put more crushed brick into the infield since 2003 for the optics of HD television.

The wind blew from LF to RF.

The lighting was bright, without shadows and the bright green batter’s eye enables hitting.

Polar Park resembles PNC Park in Pittsburgh although it does not have the 21′ high Clemente wall in RF.

Additionally, the interior is similar to PNC in that concessions, bathrooms and the team store are equidistant and boast monitors so there is no need to miss any action. Everything is still pretty squeaky cleany and not yet marred by graffiti. I made a point of visiting 2 of the Men’s Rooms and both of the facilities had an attendant with a squeegee for the floor and mirrors.

The concourse is wide enough to accommodate 6 folks across and is a far cry better than that of McCoy Stadium in Pawtucket.

One of the better features of McCoy Stadium was the outfield berm where a family can bring a blanket and spread out. Polar Park has kept this feature. Lots of Moms and Dads encircled by screaming 10 year-olds with mitts. Some things never change.

The Woo Sox were playing the Syracuse Chiefs the AAA team of the New York Mets which made for a certain comedic element as folks wearing Syracuse Chiefs and N.Y. Mets gear wandered about.

Ironically enough Syracuse was the Yankees AAA franchise during my long ago youth. Go figure.

The biggest difference between MLB and AAA is that not all of the players are known to casual fans. Some years I follow AAA but 2022 flew under my radar.

The Woo Sox starter was Nathan Eovaldi on a rehab stint from the BoSox; a sentence that was also served by erstwhile ace Chris Sales who succeeded in breaking his hand while “rehabbing.”

Other familiar Woo Sox included 2B. prospect Jeter Downs; a tough name for Sox buffs, and Jaren Duran whose nonchalant chase-down of a fly ball lost in the bog enabled the Blue Jays’ Raimel Tapia to hit an inside-the-park grand slam.

Yes, I booed Duran.

The Chiefs had the suddenly svelte Dominic Smith who lost his Mets role with the fine recent play of Mark Canha and perennial backup backstop Mike Perez, still wearing a Pirate cap on his Jumbotron pic, and former Sox backup backstop Deven Marrero who was playing 2B for no apparent reason.

Gotta love AAA!

Eovaldi gave up a towering blast to Dominic Smith faster than my butt could warm my Upper Box seat.

I was seated next to 2 women who chatted through the game about the game itself.

After the 1st. inning I intruded a little and offered that they knew the game.

“Oh yeah, we played high school softball together and I played park league ball for years.”

One of the true measures of live sports is meeting someone you have something in common with and nothing in common with at one and the same time.

Yes, they did know the game.

I lent them my binoculars for 2 innings.

In the 2nd. inning with Mike Perez of the Chiefs on 3rd Perez took too much of a lead and got caught in a rundown. Woo Sox catcher Ronaldo Hernandez chased Perez back to 3rd.

In the 2nd. inning with Mike Perez of the Chiefs got caught in a rundown between 3rd. and home with Woo Sox backstop Roberto Hernandez correctly chasing Perez back to 3rd; when Jake Mangrum began doing a little dance around 2B...

No!!!

…both of the women screamed as Hernandez has now left home plate abandoned while looking down Mangum which gave Perez the window of an unguarded home to slide into.

Hernandez hung his head in shame, not just for his mental gaffe, but for the fact that his 1st. inning HR had been nullified.

“Gratifying” comes to mind to see that my sister fans, and many others in the park, saw what was happening and it makes me smile to know that there are fans who know what they are watching.

The bestest part of the AAA is seeing players jet out of the batter’s box every single time.

Large player salaries do not bother me. It does bother me when players do not play hard…that means you, Ronald Acuna.

Baseball is a game defined by failure, If Lebron James or Giannis Antetokounmpo shot for a .333 percentage they would be at the Y in a “shoot to play” game.

In baseball if you can go 1 for 3 long enough you will be in the Hall of Fame.

Baseball truly is like life.

Pitch clocks will be coming to MLB in 2023 and have been used in AAA for 2 years. I never thought I would write this but the 9 seconds for pitches with the bases empty and 15 seconds for runners on base works for me. I am looking forward to the implementation at the MLB level next year.

MLB’s problem is more with the pace of the game, rather than the length of the game. My game took 2 hours and 20 minute, ending at 9:05, thus enabling working parents to bring their kids.

The current MLB game time is 3:04:

https:///mlb.nbcsports.com>mlb-average

Hurlers intimidated by the frequency of HRs spend all too much time stepping off, spitting and rubbing up baseballs.

This pacing problem is compounded by the batters, I’m looking at you David Ortiz, who walk all the way to Newton between pitches while grabbing themselves and spitting.

The pitch clock needs to be accompanied by a regulation limiting batters to stepping out once per appearance unless the umpire permits it.

No, I do not want an official game clock.

It is worth mentioning that AAA does not have the endless commercial “time outs” of MLB. Yes, I am looking at you MLB Network.

Ks at Polar park are accompanied by a PA of “Woo” that many of the fans, 8,913 in 9,500 seat Polar Park; and all of the screaming 10 year-olds take part in.

Fans stuck it out to the end of the Chiefs 5-4 win as the Woo Sox had runners on base in each of the last 3 innings to no avail, leaving 13 stranded for the game.

Friday night is Fireworks Night at Polar Park but with the next train back to Boston at 10:42 and the mercury sliding to 50 F I trotted over to the station as the detonation of fireworks commenced.

A good time. A cool home run, a major boo-boo, screaming 10 year-olds and smart fans sitting next to me.

Polar Park is a fine venue.

I am looking forward to 2023.

AAA is the bestest!

COVID-19 Stella Quattro

1. You have washed your hands so often your fingers are webbed.

2. The Dirt Devil Scorpion Max purchased for $37.99 at Mass. Ave. is my new best friend; just behind my Black & Decker Toast R Oven and just ahead of my Farberware 10 Speed Master blender. The extension empowers me to thin the herd of dust cattle residing behind this monitor and the brush attachment sucks up the dusty felt from the blinds and ceiling fan. The detritus swirling within the transparent collection cup is more entertaining than the 2020 Red Sox.

3. Van Halen binge.

4. A FALSE SPRING is a great read…and re-read. This autobiography by Pat Jordan details the rise, frustration and ultimate failure of an 18 year-old who had signed for a $35,000 bonus, a princely sum in 1959; with the Milwaukee Braves of the National League of MLB. A FALSE SPRING details Mr. Jordan’s circuitous route through small town minor league baseball in towns such as Davenport, Iowa and Eau Claire, Wisconsin with less success at every juncture. Ultimately, Mr. Jordan finds himself washed-up at 22 with his dreams eroded by the very real fact that his “talent” has deserted him permanently. Mr. Jordan had a wife and 3 children when his baseball “career” ended. Pat Jordan eventually became a respected journalist writing for THE NEW YORK SUNDAY TIMES MAGAZINE, G.Q, ESQUIRE and SPORTS ILLUSTRATED. Most sports books are the story of triumph. A FALSE SPRING is unique in that it looks upon athletic failure from the vantage of adult journalistic success. Intense and distant at the same time. A FALSE SPRING is a worthwhile read and re-read…and at my age re-reading is a luxury.

ISBN 1-886913-22-6

CORONAVIRUS 3.0 Quarantine Quintella

*1  Computer screen is now dust free courtesy of daily cleaning by a static free microfiber cloth from Economy Hardware, 219  Mass. Ave, Boston.  $2.99 well spent.

*2  PORTNOY’S COMPLAINT by Philip Roth is a swell read.  Philip Roth has written 2 kinds of books; the great, AMERICAN PASTORAL and the very good.  PORTNOY’S  was published  in 1969 and sold over 400,000 copies in its first year of publication.

PORTNOY’S COMPLAINT was scandalous upon publication what with its meaty, very literally; descriptions of self-abuse and yearning for the carnal carnival of his girl friend Monkey.

Much of the scandalous aspect of the novel has diminished in the mist of the last 50 years but the narrative and the descriptions of Jewish life from the 1930s to the 1960s is funny and sociological.  Recommended.

*3  SuperCuts at 101 Summer St. in Downtown Crossing is now open.  Sam has been cutting my hair for 13 years, is on duty and as friendly and efficient as ever.  Taming my grown out cut is not for the faint hearted.  Sam has game.

*4  Raccoons are ever more frequent here in the Eat Fens.  Waddling along Edgerly Rd, climbing into dumpsters in back of the Morville House and scampering among the cattails in the Fens the masked marauders have more than adapted to urban environments.  Condominiums next?

*5  MLB is gearing up for a 60 game season.  I am relieved that the MLBPA and MLB Commissioner Rob Manfred have made a deal that both seem to hate…and that is a good thing.   In a related story S.F. Giants manager, and former Red Sox outfielder Gabe Kapler is assuring ESPN’s Buster Olney that the 5’11” and at 268 highly theoretical pounds former Red Sox Pablo “Kung Fu Panda” Sandoval is “healthy.”  Play ball!

PASSING: Al Kaline 1934-2020

Al Kaline passed away on Monday, April 6, 2020, of undisclosed causes.

Al Kaline was the very first inductee into my own personal Baseball Hall of Fame.

My very fist baseball bat, bought by my Dad for my 8th. birthday, was an Al Kaline Little League Louisville Slugger model.

My Al Kaline bat met its sad demise when Kieran McLeod threw it into the asphalt of North Bayles Ave. after popping up to Ricky Lapera during one of the innumerable self-hitting baseball games of my boyhood.

The knob, and my heart, broke.

My next bat was a Steve Whitaker model, a perennial prospect of the Yankees. 

Such is life.

I had just learned the basics of baseball even as I had begun collecting baseball cards at 5 years of age.

Mom took the time to cut out the baseball cards from the backs of Post Cereals boxes so I could impress my 1st. grade classmates in Mrs. Ristori’s 1st. grade glass in the Merrick Ave. school in Merrick, Long Island.

(“They’re the wrong cards!” I whined as Mom didn’t know that Topps cards were the medium of exchange.  The Post cards are now quite valuable.  I still have the Tony Taylor card from Taylor’s first stint with the Phillies).

As a rotund boy in Merrick kickball was my only ball sport even as I filled Keds sneaker boxes with baseball cards.  Moving to Port Washington’s 42 North Bayles Ave’s dead end street enabled what little athleticism I had and my year at Sands Point Academy in Sands Point had Coach Mayerson’s considerable patience being rewarded by my elevation to “shoot it out to play” status. 

Dad’s purchase of an Al Kaline Little league Louisville Slugger bat and Ray Culp MacGregor mitt became my favorite possessions.

Al Kaline was born into a working class Baltimore family.  His father, Nicholas (1), was a former semi-pro baseball player who worked in a broom factory.

His mother, Naomi,(1), scrubbed floors.   Al Kaline aimed for a career in MLB from grade school and his parents did everything to enable their son.

Al Kaline was born within a year of Henry Aaron, Frank Robinson, Roberto Clemente, Roger Maris and Rocky Colavito, so 1934 was a good year for right fielders.   Hmmm…(2)

The Detroit Tigers signed Al Kaline from Baltimore’s Southern High School the day after high school graduation.(1)

Mr. Kaline was in the major leagues a week later without playing even  a day of minor league baseball, let alone college ball.(1)

Kaline lead the American League in hitting in 1955 with a .340 mark at 20 years of age.  66 seasons later Mr. Kaline is still the youngest batting champ in MLB history.(2)

Kaline, like Mickey Mantle, suffered from osteomyelitis which resulted in a brittle bone structure and necessitated the removal of a diseased bone from his foot long before Kaline’s debut with the Detroit Tigers.(1)

In 1962 Kaline broke his foot and his foot speed diminished.  Never again would Kaline reach double figures in stolen bases or hit more than 5 triples. (2).

Indeed, Kaline’s career was defined by injuries.  1965 saw foot surgery, 1967 had Kaline breaking a pinky jamming a bat back into its rack and most famously having his left forearm broken by an errant pitch delivered by Lew Krausse of the Oakland A’s in 1968.(3).

Mr. Kaline played 2384 games over 22 seasons.  Given his talent it is reasonable to guess that Kaline missed about 500 games with bone-related maladies.

From 1963-1968, in what my old customer Dave called the “ERA era,”  runs scored in both leagues plummeted as the number of night games increased annually and  Little League trained hurlers threw from 15” mounds at a strike zone expanded in 1963.

Along with Kaline’s various injuries this produced a dampening effect on hitting stats.  Indeed quite a few players; Kaline’s Tiger teammate, 1960-1963,  Rocky Colavito comes to mind, saw their careers shortened by this phenomena of  my baseball boyhood.

Indeed, Kaline’s 399 HRs stand as a talisman of the Hall of Very Good(HOVG).(2)

So, how good was Kaline anyway?

Unlike Henry Aaron, Kaline is not an all-time great.  Kaline never scaled the Olympian heights of Frank Robinson or Roger Maris.  While Rocky Colavito wasn’t a high BA guy and not nearly Kaline’s equal in the field Colavito did hit 40+ HRs 3 times(2) while Kaline’s apex was his 29 HRs in his 100 game 1962.(2)

Yin/Yang was a concept I learned of while attending Jr. High Religious Education at North Shore Unitarian Universalist(NSUU) in Plandome, Long Island.

Yin/Yang applies very well to the cosmic baseball duality of Al Kaline and Roberto Clemente.

Roberto Clemente was my brother’s first favorite professional athlete in any sport and indeed may very well still be.

Kaline was great early, then an All Star, and pretty good at the end.

Clemente was pretty good early, then an All Star and great at the end.

Kaline’s greatness came when he had conquered his initial physical challenge and before their chronic nature had worn him down.

Clemente had a variety of woes; among them the after effects of malaria and misaligned back discs.  Clemente’s greatness came during these episodes.

Kaline’s greatness occurred prior to the increase in the size of the strike zone in 1963 and at a time when the American league was significantly less talented than the National League.

Clemente’s greatness came when the strike zone was expanded and the National league was significantly more talented than the American League.

Kaline hit for significantly more power, even though both Kaline and Clemente topped out with 29 HR; with Kaline’s in his 100 game 1962 season and Clemente with 29 in his MVP 1966 season.(2)

Kaline ran well prior to 1963 but was never as fast as Clemente.

Clemente retained his speed and added power as he aged.

Kaline lead AL RFers in Put Outs 5 times, 3 times in Assists , 5 times in Fielding Percentage and won 10 Gold Gloves.(2)

Clemente lead NL Rfers in Put Outs twice, 12 times in Assists; leading all of MLB 5 times, and won 12 Gold Gloves.(2) 

Clemente also lead NL RFers 6 times in errors!(2)

Kaline fielded grounders on 1 knee and flashed his glove to true his throw to the cut-off man.

YouTube(3) video of Kaline show him warming up before the World Series with his old school fundamentals.(3)

YouTube video of Clemente shows a wayward rush to pick up the ball on the move and javelin the ball to the infield.(3)

Mr. Kaline hit 399 HRs and amassed 3007 hits along with 15 All Star nods.(2)

Mr. Clemente had 240 Hrs and amassed 3000 hits along with 12 All Star nods.(2)

Kaline won 1 batting title with his .340 in 1955.(2)

While Clemente won in 1961, 1964, 1965 and 1967.(2)

Kaline was the 12th. player to garner 3000 hits.(1)

Clemente was the 11th. player to garner 3000 hits.(1)

Kaline had a greater career by the virtue of his power and .376 OBP, both of which are greater than Clemente’s .359 OBP.(2)

Clemente’s peak was greater and he played in a significantly better league.

The first winner of the Roberto Clemente Humanitarian Award in 1973 was…Al Kaline!(1)

Al Kaline played with a talented Tiger cast from 1961-1968.  Denny McLain, Mickey Lolich, Jim Bunning, Dick McAuliffe, Bill Freehan, Willie Horton, Norm Cash and Rocky Colavito all garnered All Star nods.(2)

Yet, Mr. Kaline won only the 1968 World Series trophy.  As mentioned Mr. Kaline missed a good deal of the 1968 season after having his forearm fractured.

Kaline returned at the end of the season and was playing well as Tiger manager Mayo Smith juggled Jim Northrup. Mickey Stanley and Kaline in a 3-guys-for-2 positions roulette.

With shortstop Ray Oyler having “hit” a lusty .135 Mayo Smith threw the dice and inserted CFer Mickey Stanley at shortstop.

It worked and the Tigers won the only World Series of Kaline’s career.

Kaline hit .379 for the 7 game triumph over the St. Louis Cardinals.(2) 

Mr. Kaline’s singular greatest accomplishment may have been his 2 run go-ahead single off Joe Hoerner in Game 5 held in Tiger Stadium to power Mickey Lolich to the 2nd. of the 3 wins Lolich would notch in the 1968 world Series.(3)

My 6th. Grade teacher Mrs. Mendenhall had been a Phys. Ed. teacher and brought out the TV so that we could watch the World Series which began at 1 P.M.  Mrs. Mendenhall was enough of a fan to let us boys watch until 3:30; even when the school day had ended at 2:45.

The Tigers rebounded from a 3-1 deficit to defeat Bob Gibson in Game 7.  Jim Northrup hit a grand slam in Game 2 and the Game 7 go-ahead hit on a triple that slid past Curt Flood on a rain-slicked field.  Mickey Stanley played O.K. at short.

The 1968 World Series was the fist time I bet on a sporting event.  I had $5 committed in wagers which was quite the princely sum for an 10 year old with a .75  allowance.  Collecting $1 from my 6th. Grade teacher Mrs. Mendenhall and $1 from Mr. Heinz, our Phys Ed. teacher at Flower Hill in Port Washington, Long Island remains one of the most exciting things I have ever experienced and that is true to this very day…

…Mr. Heinz walked out of the back of Flower Hill school into the asphalt “field” formed by the nexus of the Carrie Palmer Weber Junior High School and the football stands for  Paul D. Schreiber High School where I was flinging my rubber-covered hardball against a brick wall emblazoned with handball dimensions and a chalked strike zone

My goal was to be better than the 7th. guy picked for the 4 on 4 “4 ball” self hitting games always springing up on the front lawn of Flower Hill and Weber.  If I could only be picked 6th. then…

“Practice makes perfect,” said Coach Heinz before flashing the tight closed-mouth smile that punctuated all he did.

I shrugged sheepishly, loath to acknowledge the importance of this achievement to a pudgy 10 year old.

“Let me see that again,” he said with a chin nod that preempted any anxiety that performing in front of “Coach” may have produced.

I cranked up and threw as hard as I could achieving considerable velocity only to be crestfallen as I had missed the chalk strike zone by several feet.

Coach Heinz was a nice man who lived to make his students better.

“I see you have an Al Kaline bat.  Kaline throws very well.   Now have your front shoulder at about 1 o-clock,” he said wheeling his shoulders into place.

“Put the ball behind your neck and point your front elbow at the strike zone,” he said, demonstrating as he spoke.  Without any apparent effort the ball flew to the strike zone hitting the brick wall with a profound PLOCK! and 1-hopping to my glove.

“Nice stab, Steve.  So your front shoulder is at 1, the ball is behind your neck, your elbow is pointed at the zone, so just go straight over the top and the ball will go where your elbow points,” he continued.

I began to get the sense that Coach Heinz had done this instructional before so I wheeled my shoulders, pointed my elbow and fired.  The ball was within a foot of the strike zone.

“Pretty good, but I know you can do better,” said Coach with the very same tight lipped smile.

“Now when you grip the ball,” taking the Spalding rubber-covered hardball from my Ray Culp MacGregor glove, “Have your fingers across the seams and that will true the ball.  Take your time, no one is keeping score.”

I nodded hurriedly,  gripped the ball across the seams, wheeled my shoulders, pointed my elbow and fired.

Miraculously the ball hit the strike zone with a resounding PLOCK!

“Good one,” exclaimed Coach.

“Now do it again.”

Muscle memory was a foreign concept to this chubby 10 year old but wanting to be picked better than 7th. was very close to my heart.

I repeated the form and there was another strike!  My heart was racing.

Coach rewarded me with a closed mouth smile once again.

“Hey, is that really your bat?” Coach inquired, spying my bat leaning against the connective hall between Flower Hill and Weber.

“Yes.”

“Ha, an Al Kaline.  Always one of my favorite players.  He does things right!  Here take the bat, and hold it right by the tape and pinwheel it 25 times.  Then take the bat and twirl it backwards 25 times.  Take a tad off to catch your breath and then repeat 3 more times.  Does this every day and you’re throwing 100 times.  By the summer you should have a strong arm.”

Taking the bat I pinwheeled it 25 times forward and 25 times back. Sweat was bursting from my brow.

I was rewarded with the same closed mouth smile.

“Good form.  Keep practicing,” said Coach Heinz as he began strolling to his car.

I pinwheeled and twirled my Al Kaline bat at every opportunity through the Winter although I never counted what would now be known as “reps”.

I became the 6th. picked in 4-on-4 “4 Ball,” a self-hitting baseball game indigenous to Port Washington.

(I have been tempted to put that achievement on my resume’).

For the 6th. Grade Track and Field Day at Flower Hill I competed in the baseball throw; finishing in 2nd. place; ahead of Ernie Jenkins, and just behind Ted Kramer.

For this Coach Heinz presented me with a blue 2nd Place ribbon.

That blue ribbon remained affixed to my bedroom wall at 42 North Bayles Ave from 1969 to my last day of residence in 1978.

2nd. place in the Flower Hill 6th. Grade Track & Field day is my proudest athletic achievement.

(I have been tempted to put that achievement on my resume’).

Al Kaline made me an athlete.

1972 proved to be the last triumph of Kaline’s career as his 21-41 streak in the last 10 games of the season brought Billy Martin’s Bengals to the AL East title clinching the division with the Woody Fryman vs. Luis Tiant of the Red Sox in the match-up of come-backing veterans, before succumbing to the eventual World Champion Oakland A’s.(2)

I was happy for Al Kaline even as I was embarrassed to indulge in my boyhood enthusiasm for the game I no longer played.

In 1974 my brain was occupied by Joni Mitchell’s COURT AND SPARK LP, the fiction of Kurt Vonnegut, the LAPD novels of Joseph Wambaugh and the North Shore Unitarians’ Senior Seminar Religious Education social circle.

I didn’t follow baseball, as it was “too 6th. Grade.”

Al Kaline retired in 1974; DHing and playing some 1st. 

I never mentioned to anyone that I was sad.

1984 found me in Michigan attending to the details of Dad’s passing.  One redeeming factor was watching George Kell and Al Kaline provide the TV commentary for the “Bless You Boys” 1984 World Series Champion Tigers.(3)

To watch Mr. Kaline’s Hall of Fame acceptance speech is to hear virtues which once seemed corny and almost dishonest, uttered with complete sincerity and evident effect.(3)

There is no other way to put it than other that the white, blue collar players of my youth, reared during WW II, had a certain modest charm that resides only in the memories of those who are nearing or beyond 60.

My current home contains a bedspread of multiple hues of blue that Al Kaline’s passing has brought to mind.  It was on my bed in 269 Lincoln Blvd. where I first collected baseball cards and was gifted with Al Kaline’s bat. 

Al Kaline is exactly at this very minute as much a part of my life in 2020 as he was in 1966, 6th. Grade, 1974 and 1984 in Michigan.

Al Kaline’s spirit calls to me, right now.

Al Kaline is the ultimate Hall of Famer.

SOURCES

1) SABR bio.

2) Baseball-reference.com

3)  YouTube

PASSING: Jim Bouton 1939-2019

Jim Bouton the author of BALL FOUR, among other books, passed away on July 10, 2019 from complications of vascular dementia.

Mr. Bouton pitched for the N.Y. Yankees, Seattle Pilots and Houston Astros during an MLB career that lasted from 1962 until 1970.  Mr. Bouton also made a brief comeback in 1978 with the Atlanta Braves.

https://www.baseball-reference.com

BALL FOUR was a seminal event in my evolution as a fan.  By 1970 I was 12 years old and in my 3rd. summer of playing baseball of all types; self-hitting with a rubber-covered hardball, pitching to a brick wall with a Franklin practice ball, stickball, tennis racket baseball and “real” baseball at Camp Pinnacle in Lyme, New Hampshire.

I was old enough and just good enough to get picked to play and my fascination with the AM radio music of 77 WABC had not yet mutated into adolescent rebellion.

BALL FOUR ignited a storm of controversy from the get go what with its descriptions of MLB players being peeping toms, “beaver shooting,” taking Dexedrine, “greenies”, and dalliances with ‘Baseball Annies.”  MLB Commissioner Bowie Kuhn called Bouton on the carpet to discuss the inappropriateness of Bouton breaking the clubhouse code of, “What you see hear, what you say here, let it stay here when you leave here.”

N.Y. Post writer Dick Young called Bouton, and co-author Leonard Schecter “social lepers.”

Perhaps best of all there was a lot of “f…” and “s…” when those words were rarely heard and never printed.  At the age of 12 the thrill of “dirty words” held a significant allure.

I was intrigued and convinced Mom to buy me the book at Raimos’s 5 & 10 on Main St. of Port Washington, N.Y.

I wound up reading the book in 2 days flat, a feat made possible by smuggling a flashlight into my bedroom and reading under the covers.

BALL FOUR was justly known for the shenanigans of players but had real substance.  During the 1969 MLB season memorialized Bouton pitched for the Seattle Pilots, was sent down to the AAA Vancouver Mounties for a spell and then traded to the Houston Astros. MLB had had a diarist before in Jim Brosnan who wrote THE LONG SEASON about the 1960 Cubs in 1961 and PENNANT RACE about the 1961 Reds in 1962. Brosnan’s career as an author precipitated the end of his career as a pitcher as Brosnan refused to sign a contract stipulating that he would write no more. Green Bay Packer guard Jerry Kramer’s INSTANT REPLAY had been a best seller, but the degree of intimacy with the day to day travels and travails of a team were unique to BALL FOUR.

A fringe player, Bouton had won 20 games in 1963 with the Yankees and 18 in 1964 with 2 World Series wins in 1964 before tearing the brachialis tendon in his right forearm which ended his career as a fastball pitcher and prompted his conversion to a knuckleballer.

Bouton pitched for 3 teams in the summer of 1969, which along with being a long distance Dad to an adopted son, made for an episodic summer to say the least.

Bouton’s account of trying to get the Seattle Pilots to compensate him for his moving expenses, as required by MLB, would be funny if it weren’t so serious.

Bouton was pitching for minimum wage and Bouton’s recounting of the early days of the MLBPA, dating back to his time as player representative while with the Yankees, hold real historic interest as a look at MLB during the pre free agent era.

The Seattle Pilots drew a mere 677,944

https://www.baseball-reference.com

fans in their only season in Seattle before decamping and becoming the A.L. Milwaukee Brewers and Bouton’s commentary on being employed by a failing business still resonates with me from my experiences working for failing enterprises.

Baseball as it is really played is one of the educational benefits of BALL FOUR.  The strategic maneuvers of manger Joe Schultz, whose favorite phrases, “f…s…” and “s…f…” dot the commentary, and pitching coach Sal Maglie’s stratagems are endlessly debated with Bouton alternately biting his tongue and attempting to argue his point.

I learned about MLB as it really played and those lessons continue to scroll though my mind as a 61 year old fan.

Most of all the personalities of the players, fringe players hastily thrown together 90 days prior to Opening Day, shine through.  The foibles of Jim Pagliaroni, Steve Hovely, Mike Marshall, and the front office are spotlighted as folks trying to make the best of a marginal situation which most fans had only a trifling awareness of 50 years ago.

Indeed, the frequent references to Dexedrine use among the players is a comment on players trying desperately to hang on to “big league” status.

Mickey Mantle, Roger Maris and Joe Pepitone of the N.Y. Yankees get quite a bit of attention from Bouton’s time as a Yankee.  Indeed Bouton’s description of Mickey Mantle leading a “beaver shooting” expedition on the roof of the Shoreham Hotel in Washington D.C. captured my imagination to the point of loud laughter even though I was only vaguely aware of what exactly the players were looking for.

Although it is certainly valid to criticize Bouton for breaking the “code of silence” Bouton’s affection for his teammates shines through.

Pointed, yes.  Mean, never.

BALL FOUR was a seminal event in my intellectual evolution,  At the tail end of 1970 SPORT magazine, the most intellectual of the sports media of that era printed an article called “You Can’t Go Home Again,” detailing the effect that BALL FOUR had on Bouton’s career.  Quoting Thomas Wolfe’s novel of the same name inspired me to find out who exactly Thomas Wolfe was.

Dirty words lead me to begin reading the VILLAGE VOICE only to discover a guide that would shape my cultural and political consciousness well into adulthood.

Likewise for the journalism of a Hunter S. Thompson, the fiction of William Burroughs, the religious education of the North Shore Unitarian Universal congregation and the music of the Ramones, who never cursed but whose gleeful abrasiveness was Boutonesque to be sure.

Who would have thought that the 1969 Pilots could inspire so much?

In 1970 Bouton put out I’M GLAD YOU DIDN’T TAKE IT PERSONALLY, which recapped the aftereffects of BALL FOUR and Bouton’s persona non grata in MLB.

At about that time Bouton resurfaced doing the sports segment, remember those?, for ABC’S Eyewitness News 7.  Bouton had a real knack for witticisms such as “The Nets didn’t play tonight.  Rick Barry scored 30 points.”

After his sojourn at Eyewitness News Bouton moved to a similar role at Channel 2 and then fell off my radar except for a 4 game comeback with Ted Turner’s Atlanta Braves.

I still had my copy of BALL FOUR and it provided laughs and a bit of continuity for my life here in Boston.

BALL FOUR was named one of the ‘Books of the Century by the New York Public Library in 1999.

Indeed, BALL FOUR’s comments on black and white players rooming together, a ‘thing’ in 1969, Vietnam, emerging feminism and urban decay, not just from Bouton but from a bunch of guys chucking the bull together in a very marginal enterprise.

BALL FOUR is every bit as telling of its time as Hunter Thompson’s FEAR AND LOATHING ON THE CAMPAIGN ON THE CAMPAIGN TRAIL is.

1992 was a year in which I was never employed on a full-time basis.  Fortunately, I had enough know how to keep my spirit strong by visiting the Copley branch of the Boston Public Library and reading the sports books of my youth.

BALL FOUR: FINAL PITCH claimed my eye.  I gave it a thumb through and happened upon the chapter dealing with the death of his daughter which was ‘the only thing in life that was worse than I thought it could be.’  (My redaction).

I borrowed the book and could not put it down.  Bouton reconciles with former Yankee teammate Mel Stottlemyre as Mr. Stottlemyre had lost his 11 year old son Jason to leukemia in 1981.

The joy of Bouton’s 2nd. marriage is recounted in a form that evidences Bouton’s very real literary skill.

Clete Boyer apologizes to Bouton regarding Bouton’s departure from the Yankees and Bouton admits to being very wrong regarding Roger Maris not running hard.

Not to put too fine a point on it but the story of BALL FOUR: FINAL PITCH is of a man entering old age and attempting to come to terms with all of his younger selves.

BALL FOUR: FINAL PITCH’s mix of compassion and competition buoyed my spirit through a long job search.

Finally, BALL FOUR has my favorite ending line of any non-fiction book.

“You see, you spend a good piece of your life gripping a baseball, and in the end it turns out that it was the other way around all the time.”

CHANGE 2018 remix: 10 signs of age

1)  You are 420 years of age in dog years.

2)  Hello to Mom and Dad.

3)  First MLB players were younger than oneself,

Then MLB players were younger than oneself,

Now MLB stadiums are younger. (Boston’s own Fenway Park and Chicago’s Wrigley Field are still older).

4)  You “left home” 40 years ago.

5)  Most of your former employers are out of business.

6)  One’s brain has been re-tooled to digital but the thoughts are still analog and that is a good thing.

7)  One’s threshold of pain has increased significantly in the last few years enabling work and exercise unimaginable 5 years ago.

8)  Deaths of friends who have been friends for 30+ years makes one realize that 30+ years of friendship are highly unlikely among current compatriots.

9)  Lifelong regret regarding M.S. and J.M.  Some things can’t be and shouldn’t be forgiven.

10)  39 years a vegetarian!

 

First night in Boston: September 19, 1978, 45 years ago

First night in Boston

September 19, 1978

First night in Boston was something that had been foremost in my mind for better than a year.  I had spent the previous 2 days pacing a hole in the living room carpet while debating my leave taking for Boston.

I was enrolled in Northeastern University but the apartment I had secured had been rented out from under me leaving me to hitchhike, again, to Boston to find housing for the upcoming semester.

Boston Common Realty rented me a spacious, albeit dilapidated, studio on Huntington Ave. for $160 a month directly across the street from the N.U. quad.

I hitchhiked back home to Port Washington, N.Y. and packed the trusty foot locker which had seen me through a 12 year-old’s rustic New Hampshire summer camp, 2 summers of sports camp and 4 summers of Massachusetts religious camp, with underwear and the clock radio my parents had bought me for Christmas 1970.  I was undecided as to what else to bring.

As the departure day loomed my feet got cold as I contemplated moving to a city where I had no employment lined up, formidable academic challenges and less than $100 in liquid cash after having a summer camp counselor-in-training position defunded.

I did have a ride from a friend however…if only to the Throgs Neck Bridge.

My friend called.

“Hey Steve, you pussy.  Have you pulled the panties out of your crack?” offered my friend.

“Thanks for the reminder,” I wittily replied.

“Steve, you’ve hitched 200 miles at midnight with $10 in your pocket and you’re afraid of college?  You even said you wanted out of Port; like y’know, yesterday.”

I replied, “Yeah, I know what I said but it just seems that I’ll be moving into a new place without having a job or money.”

My friend was a good guy.

He answered, “You moved into that place on Main St. with only a little more..”

I interrupted and said, “But that was only a few hundred yards away and I moved back at the end of the summer.  This is a much bigger move in more ways than one.”

My friend answered, “I can give you a ride tomorrow but after that I have to get back to work.”

“I will call you tomorrow,” I answered and hung up.

I knew that it was now or never.

I bounced my foot locker down the 13 stairs to the dining room.

Ker plunk.

Ker plunk.

Ker plunk.

I stuffed my foot locker with shirts and more underwear.

I grabbed my green Army surplus duffle bag from the drying line in the basement and stuffed it with the books and records that I deemed worthy of sustaining me through whatever might transpire in my soon-to-be home.

And then anxiety, as evidenced by my sweating soles, overcame me.

I turned on our 12″ black and white TV to see the reassuring ineptitude of my N.Y. Mets.

Lindsay Nelson’s calm baritone spoke through the speakers, “And the Yankees will be fending off the Brewers tomorrow night at Yankee Stadium as Dick Tidrow and Mike Caldwell face off.”

Being a Mets fan I loathed the Yankees and relished the chance to root against them.

I stepped to our side porch where my brother Peter and his friends were puzzled by my mixed emotions.

“Hey Steve, we can’t miss you if you don’t leave,” offered a friend of my brother Peter.

I now knew I had to leave.

I called my friend.

“What time can you drive me to the Throgs Neck?”

“I work until 6, so around 7.  So you finally made up your mind?” my friend asked in a question that was the answer.

The next day I was packed early and spent the afternoon bemoaning the defunding of my counselor-in-training earnings while taking in the sights of Port Washington’s Main St. and gazing at the apartment I had occupied for 90 days earlier in the summer.

I went to my bedroom and attempted to sleep.

I laid on my back.

I laid on my left side.

I laid on my right side.

I touched myself.

I turned on my clock radio, which I had retrieved from my foot locker and listened to WBLS…

“…Frankie Crocker with the world’s best looking sound…”

…eventually falling into a fitful sleep and awakening on a very warm afternoon.  I putzed around the house before bouncing my foot locker down the 13 stairs of 42 North Bayles Avenue, Port Washington, New York.

Ker plunk.

Ker plunk.

Ker plunk.

At the bottom of the stairs I opened my foot locker to make sure that my clock radio was wrapped in clothing so as not to be damaged on my trip.

I was too nervous to eat.  7 P.M. loomed and I wrestled in my mind whether to call my friend.  I wanted to push without being pushy.  My brother Peter’s friends came by and toasted me with a bong.

“Aw, you’re not going to go,” said one.

“Wanna bet?” I replied.

It was 7:30, dark, yet still very warm.  I tucked my Sweet-Orr work shirt into my Uncle Sam fatigues.

The phone rang.  It was my friend.

“Sorry I’m late.  Ready to go?”

“Yup,” I stammered as my heart hammered.

In 15 minutes my friend’s red VW squareback pulled up.  I had met my friend while hitchhiking 2 years ago and now that very same vehicle was to be my way out.

My Mom came out of the house and gave me a loaf of banana bread and told me that I could call collect when I made my arrival in Boston.  Mom’s eyes were wet.

My friend dragged my foot locker to the rear of the red VW squareback.

Ker plunk.

Ker plunk.

Ker plunk.

My friend shifted gears and we were off to the access road leading from the L.I.E. to the Grand Central Parkway.

“…this is Tony Pigg rocking ’til 10 PM tonight…”

“Hey, could change the station?” I asked.

“Please don’t tell me you want to listen to disco again.  Didn’t you get your fill at work?” my friend wondered.

“The Yanks are playing the Brewers and as a Mets fan the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

My friend smiled and dialed in WINS AM as the throaty tones of Frank Messer intoned. “Going for the Brewers tonight is Mike Caldwell who has been a great surprise for the Brewers thus far this year having won 20 games already with the Yankees sending Dick Tidrow to the hill.”

All the windows were open.  Traffic was light as Tuesday night wasn’t a going out night and rush hour was over.

My friend pulled over on the shoulder of the access road.  E.J. Korvettes’ discount department store’s parking lot lights shone across the L.I.E.

I took the foot locker out of the VW squareback.

Ker plunk.

Ker plunk.

Ker plunk.

“Well, I guess you are really going.  What time do you think your arrival in Boston will be?” my friend asked.

“I dunno…about 3 A.M. I guess.”

“For Christsakes be careful,” my friend offered.

And then, abruptly, “How much money do you have?”

“$37,” I answered.

My friend rolled his eyes and pressed a $20 bill into my hand, gave me a hug, and honked the horn while he drove to the next exit to return to Port Washington.

I put my thumb out being careful to stand under the Grand Central Parkway sign’s lights while glancing towards the Eastbound lane of the L.I.E. in the hope I could see the red VW squareback returning to Port Washington.

No such luck.

I wondered if the Brewers were beating the Yankees.

Up the road was my first night in Boston…