My dad once told me, “The older you get; the more you realize that its all the good things that bring the tears.” The older I get the more I realize how right Dad was about so many, many things.

I will never forget my first live look at Fenway Park. It was Family Night, July 5, 1960. The Red Sox were hosting the Baltimore Orioles. They were mired in the throes of an abominable season, 18 games behind the Yankees and in last place. However, there were bright spots, Pete Runnels (2B) was leading the league in hitting and along with Frank Malzone (3B) had been voted to the AL All Star starting squad. Bill Monbouquette had been chosen for the pitching staff and Ted Williams, playing in his final season, was chosen for his 18th and final Mid-Summer Classic; a reserve outfielder, having hit home run number 500 just two weeks prior.

The game itself was, well, a massacre. In boxing parlance, it was an early knockout. Red Sox starter Tom Brewer was lifted with one out in the fourth inning, trailing 4-0, having surrendered seven hits and walking two and when the Sox came to bat in the bottom of the fifth, they were down 8-0.

However, there were the bright spots. In the bottom of the first, Ted Williams doubled off the left field wall. Vic Wertz followed with a walk, but the inning ended when Chuck Estrada Struck out Frank Malzone.

The last Topps card of Ted Williams is 1958 because in 1959 he signed his own deal with Fleer which printed an entire Ted Williams series of 80 cards. He also has a single 1960 (above) and 1961 Fleer card. He walked in the third and flied to center in the fifth before being removed with the Red Sox trailing 8-2.

The second bright spot came in the bottom of the fifth inning. With one out, Pete Runnels walked and after Ted Williams flied out to center, Red Sox first baseman, Vic Wertz blasted a bomb over the 420-foot marker in the triangle in centerfield, the 236th homer of his career.

Vic Wertz had an excellent career, playing 17 seasons with five teams, hitting .277 with 266 homers and 1178 RBI. Signing with the Tigers in 1942 it wasn’t until 1947 that he made it to the “Bigs”. He served 22 months with the 81st Infantry Division in the Pacific during WW II. A four-time all-star he is eternally linked to Willie Mays, having been the guy who hit the ball in the 1954 World Series which Willie Mays turned into “The Catch.” He played three seasons in Boston, 1960 being his best. He hit .282 with 19 dingers and a team leading 103 RBI.

The game’s third bright spot came in the bottom of the ninth when “Pumpsie” Green pinched hit for pitcher Ted Wills. Following a leadoff walk to Don Buddin, “Pumpsie” ponded one into the Red Sox bullpen accounting for the 9-4 final.

“Pumpsie” broke the color barrier for the Red Sox in 1959 and was one of my first favorite players, because the guy was a switch-hitter! A marvel my young eyes had never seen before. He played five seasons, four with Boston and one with the Mets as a utility infielder. On this night I saw home run number three of his 13 career jacks.

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I opened by saying I would never forget my first look at Fenway and that is indeed a fact. However, everything within this recap of the game itself I have recreated, God bless baseballreference.com. The fact is that what still lives in my mind’s eye bookends the game. I remember walking towards Fenway, the lights glistening, glimmering, shimmering in a magical waltz bringing daytime to the darkness. And as the curtain of the mind’s theater rises, I can hear the words of Dylan “…To dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free.” Walking up the ramp behind the third base grandstand, stopping dead in my tracks, never had I seen anything so beautiful, so perfect, so pure. Dad pointing toward left field “That’s where Ted Williams plays.”

Game’s end, waiting outside the players parking lot at the corner of Jersey and Ipswich Streets hoping to catch a glimpse of someone but seeing a bus which was being boarded by the Oriole players. A window was open towards the rear unveiling the smiling face of a young man. I asked if he would sign my program, and Dad lifted me to hand it to him. It was this dude!

Chuck Estrada was a 22-year-old rookie, making his 11th career start who had just pitched a complete game 9-4 win, walking nine and striking out seven Red Sox. He went on to an 18-11 season leading the American League in wins. I don’t know what his velocity was that night, or his spin rate or how many pitches he threw (a helluva lot more than 100 for sure), all I know is he made a seven-year-old lad pretty happy, and the Baltimore Orioles became my “second favorite” team for life.

“Time to go to Cooperstown.”

It was just after 4:00 am, July 25th, 2024. I quietly slipped into his room. He was sound asleep, facing the wall and I gave him a gentle nudge, then another, then another. As he began to stir, I whispered to him, “hey buddy, it’s time to get up, time to go to Cooperstown.” He rolled onto his back and raised his arms straight over his head, instantly wide awake! Nearly 1300 miles separated us from our destination and on that first day we were shooting for Lexington Virginia 826 miles away.

We rolled out of Owen’s driveway at 4:32, and for the first hour or so we chatted it up. He wanted to know the details of our journey. I broke it down for him. Lexington, Gettysburg and on to Cooperstown. It was still dark when he fell off to sleep and he slept until we got to the Florida/Georgia line. He was hungry and our first stop was a Georgia Starbucks where he got one of his favorites, Pumpkin Bread, “warmed up please.” He also learned lesson one of life on the road, never pass up a chance to pee.

My seven-year-old pal also had an epiphany along the way… “Papa”, he said to me pretty much out of the blue, “I like naps now.” This from a lad who fought sleep for the better part of his first five years of life. “I don’t like to sleep Papa, it’s just not my ting.” And on four different occasions, throughout our first day he simply tapped out. “I’m going to take a nap now; I can’t believe how tired you get just riding in a car.” In between naps we played the alphabet game, listened to music, chatted about nothing and everything, and he always said, “wake me up when we’re in the mountains, don’t let me miss anything.”

After 14 hours on the road, we checked into the Country Inn Suites in Lexington and then it was off to Jersey Mikes for a turkey sub (grain bread) with white American cheese, lettuce, white onions and mayo, after which it was PJ’s and a little TV. Very little, I got out of the shower, and he was gone, day one in the books.

“I wanna go to Little Round Top.”

We were a little over 200 miles from Gettysburg which meant we could sleep in, and more importantly, have waffles for breakfast, and Owen’s favorite part… “you know breakfast is free Papa…I love hotels” We got on the road about 6:30, hit the first Starbucks we came upon, a coffee for Papa, pumpkin bread (warmed) for O.

When you come to Gettysburg from the south after leaving Interstate 81, you are treated to the glorious vista of the Shenendoah Valley. Weaving your way through the Blue Ridge Mountains is an exquisite exercise in exhilaration of which one never grows weary. It was not lost on Owen as he gazed upon the landscape. “Papa, they are blue, the tips of the mountains are blue.” The last hour of the drive is spent meandering through the mountains on John Denver’s winding country roads passing Arlo Guthrie’s houses, farms and fields. And you can almost hear the whispers of yesterday and those men who toiled, marching toward that small little town of 2500 where 50,000 of them would meet their fate.

Owen’s very interested in history, and he’s seen a few clips of the movie Gettysburg, including this one.

“I want to go to Little Round Top Papa” he said to me more than once and that was first on the list. As we began to wind our way there…This splendid edifice caught Owen’s eye.

“Papa, what’s that”, he asked. “The Pennsylvania Monument. The name of every single man, from the state of Pennsylvania, who fought here is on that monument. Want to drive by it?” Of course, he said yes, and as we approached, he noticed the men in bronze and immediately recognized one of them. “Papa, that’s Abraham Lincoln, you should pull over, I think we need to spend some time here.”

Pull over we did and for the next 45 minutes or so, Papa had the joy of watching his young charge drink in the grounds of this magnificent, hallowed place which in so many ways embodies the very soul of our nation.

We took the requisite photo with the Great Emancipator peeking over our shoulders and then made the walk to the top where we viewed the battlefield from seventy feet above the earth. From East Cemetary Ridge to Little Round Top itself, it all came into view and when his insatiably curious mind had seen enough, we were off to Little Round Top, to pay our respects to Colonel Chamberlain and his men of Twentieth Maine…

For nearly three hours we scoured Little Round Top. We covered every inch, read every monument, every marker, every word that was to be read. From embronzed General Gouverneur Warren to the Twentieth Maine’s flanks (found by Owen) and everything in between.

We had lunch at Gettysburg Eddies and then made one last loop around the area of the battles first day of activities. We paid our respects to General John Reynolds who, if he had not fallen at Gettysburg, may well have been named Commanding General of the Army of the Potomac.

The spot where General Reynolds fell on the morning of Day I.

At approximately 3:30 we bid Gettysburg adieu, and we were northbound with Cooperstown in our sights, 295 miles away. The plan was to get within two hours of the Hall of Fame and bed down for the night. A couple of traffic snags slowed us a bit and we arrived in Scranton Wilkes Barre at about 7:15, checked into the Sleep Inn, found Jersey Mike’s and we were done for the day.

“I want to find Babe Ruth’s plaque.“

The Hall of Fame opens at 9:00 am and we were 160 miles from their front door. We left at six sharp and after the Starbucks stop for our morning essentials we were on our way. Rolling into downtown Cooperstown at 8:37, we found a place to park, on the street no less, and at 8:50 we were poised, ready and waiting for the keys to the kingdom to open the door.

Owen’s forte is not patience, and the ten minutes out front waiting were a chore for the little fella. “What do you want to see first?” I asked him and his answer was a symphony to my heart, “The plaques, I want to find Babe Ruth’s plaque.” As the time drew close, Owen weaved his way to the front, and he was the first one in when it opened. A very nice man named Bill took care of us and then came…

THE MOMENT!

We spent fifteen minutes together in this shrine, just Owen, me and the immortals after which, a Hall of Fame docent named Jake appeared. A delightful young man with a passion for the game showed Owen how to use the legend to find where each plaque was hung, and Owen was off and running.

And he found favorite player number two, or should I say number 42 and I captured him as he began his leap to touch Jackie’s plaque, reaching for immortality.

We snapped a photo with Babe and Ted…Three lefties, then headed upstairs looking for “The Babe.” And we found him, all over the place.

For about six hours we strolled through various parts of the museum and as we were making our way out, his eye caught a glimpse of this…

One last traverse around this small room rich with the art of baseball.

He looked at every piece, sometimes going back three or four times and then…He was done!

It was back to the car and the four-hour drive to Boston for the culmination of the drive north, to see his cousin Jack! “So” I said to him as we were getting into the car. “How long before you fall asleep.” He laughed, “About 15 minutes.”

He was 100% spot on! And he spent three hours of the final leg of our journey, napping, his new favorite thing.

It was about 7:30 when we rolled into the Cappellini driveway in Hanson MA. Jack and Owen picked right up where they’d left off last summer.

The next morning, I made my always first visit, only this time I had company.

The boys planted a tiny rose bush paying respects to their grandmother, aunt, great grandparents and great aunt and uncle. A lot of connections.

The First Fenway Visit.

Another seminal event in Owen’s young life was on tap for Monday night July 29th, his first trip to Fenway. Well, not really the first.

That came in July of 2017, but he was only seven months old at the time of the tour and his memory of that auspicious event is a bit cloudy. This night would be different, very different. A two-year veteran of T-Ball/Little League baseball, this lefty hitter and lefty hurler has already decided he’s going to pitch and hit, “just like Babe Ruth.”

We were heading into Fenway for a night game with Seattle. Thirteen of us, cousins and aunties and grandpas and friends,

and… Mom.

The game was made to order. For anyone bringing a seven-year-old to their first game at Fenway, or Wrigley, or any ballpark in any city, you would order up an action-packed contest with lots of hits and of course, the home team winning. And that’s exactly what we got.

In the bottom of the third inning with runners on first and second with one out, Jarren Duran hit a ground ball back to the pitcher who threw to second for the force out. However, Durran’s hustle and speed prevented the inning ending double play. After Durran stole second (questionable call), Connor Wong scored on a wild pitch which was followed by Wilyer Abreau’s 12 pitch at bat ending in an RBI single. Masataka Yoshida then launched a bomb into the right centerfield bleachers, right down in front of us and the score was 4-0. Toshida’s dinger was followed by an array of doubles: Devers a line drive deep into the corner in right, Tyler O’Neill a ground ball down the third base line which made it to the left field corner, Domenice Smith a bloop over short and the creme de la creme, Connor Wong a towering shot of the left centerfield wall, his second hit of the inning. And when the dust settled, the Sox lead 7-0.

The game was a Red Sox rout, they pounded out 16 hits, hammered three dingers and clocked eight doubles. The final was 14-7. A splendid time was had by all!

Clearly evident on the faces of two cousins!

The summer’s come to an end, the kids are back at school and the memory of a night spent at America’s Ballpark lingers. My dad once told me, “The older you get; the more you realize that its all the good things that bring the tears.” The older you get the clearer the moments, the true measures of life, become.

I smile at the thought of a 70-year-old Owen, taking his grandson to Fenway for the first time, and telling him all about his first trip to Fenway. The night we “dipped ourselves in magic waters” and had a party in the centerfield bleachers!

And so it was on this date, July 29, 2024

Rest easy Mr. Jones and thank you. The voice may be silent, but it will never be gone.