Today is the last day baseball will be played in The House That Ruth Built and the nostalgia is creeping in. I am, and always have been, a rabid New York Yankees fan. As a boy, pictures of the Yankees of that era adorned my bedroom walls – Maris, Berra, Howard, Skowron, Richardson, Ford, Kubek, Boyer and my boyhood idol, The Mick. My dad was a lifelong New York Giant fan and when they followed the Dodgers to the west coast he lost interest in baseball. He couldn’t share my love of the Yankees and couldn’t bring himself to take me to the Stadium he so disliked, so there was another thing that divided us in the 60’s.
I do remember my dad taking me once to Yankee Stadium. I have hardly any memory of the game at all or who the opponent was. My only recollection of that day was that, before the game, my father left me standing by the curb in front of the Stadium so that he could go negotiate better seating with the scalpers. I was nervous and didn’t want to move as my father had instructed me not to leave that spot until he returned. As I looked around at what seemed like a zillion people walking in every direction all over the place, I heard a familiar voice. There, right in front of me, signing autographs and greeting fans was the Scooter, Phil Rizzuto. The great Scooter, former MVP shrotstop and familiar Yankee broadcaster. I would have asked for an autograph if I had thought of it but I don’t think I though of anything – I just stared at the legend before me until my dad came a grabbed me. What was amazing about it for me now was that prior to seeing the Scooter I was shaking in my shoes but the moment I saw him up close I was calm and not worried about anything. Years later I was walking down Irving Place in Manhattan, near Pete’s Tavern, and I saw Phil and his wife Cora standing on the street waiting for a car to pick them up. As a jaded New Yorker I would never bother a celebrity on the street but this was Rizzuto and I had to introduce myself and thank him for all the memories. Both he and Cora were gracious and engaging and we chatted for a few minutes and I was able to relate my childhood memory. Rizzuto chuckled and started talking about his favorite restaurant. I had the feeling that everywhere he went people would tell him their stories and by that time he had heard them all more than once.
I have many Stadium memories to cherish. Only now that I live in Florida do I fully realize what a privilege it was to be able to jump on the #4 Train at Grand Central, often on a whim, and take it to the Bronx, get out with the crowd at 161st Street, find a scalper and get a great seat on the right field side. I’ve sat behind the Yankee dugout, the visitors dugout, in the bleachers and well, just about everywhere – but some places were more memorable than others. Sitting way up in the upper deck in Section 1 on a hot August day with all the regulars, drinking beer and eating hot dogs was an awesome way to see a game.
And there was the time late in the season, when the Yankees were battling the powerful Toronto Blue Jays and came from behind for a victory on a huge home run into the upper deck in right by catcher Ron Hassey. The blast wound up in the first row in the arms of a fan sitting only 4 seats over from me. Watching the ball lift off of Hassey’s bat and sail toward us was an overwhelming sight and for a brief moment I thought I would catch my first ball ever. Just as my my hopes were dashed, the Yanks didn’t make it to the promised land that year. The Jays went on to the World Series but that homer is etched in my memory.
I sat in the cold with a friend, Adam Smellin, on opening day when one-handed Jim Abbott got the win. I experienced pure joy with my good buddy Andy Silverman and his young sons Zachary and Ethan with great seats behind the Yankee dugout. I ate hot dogs and ate pastrami at the food court with girls I brought on dates. I had beers at Stan’s across the street. I saw Guidry pitch Louisiana Lightening and I was there when the fans threw change at Reggie in right field – a backhanded plea for him to not leave as a free agent.
But my greatest memory goes back to the 60’s. I was that kid who loved the Yankees but mostly by watching them on WPIX in black and white or more often listening to them on the radio. I loved the voice of Mel Allen and Rizzuto and of course there was the Mick. In 61 I had followed the amazing home run chase of Mantle and Maris and I was crushed when the Mick was injured and had to drop out of the race.
Mantle’s health was always an issue and he had been out with bad knees for much of that particular season. Now here is where my memory goes a bit south because I can’t remember if it was 64 or 65 but it was one of those years. My family had moved to Livingston, New Jersey and I had befriended a neighborhood kid, also named Barry. Barry Packin’s dad was a lawyer as I recall, and his firm had a box at the stadium. Barry was going to the game and his dad let him take a friend and I was the lucky boy to be invited. It was sheer heaven. The box was just behind the Yankee dugout towards right field with a great view of the action at first base. We got there early enough to see BP and watch the players warm up. Much to the disappointment of the two Barrys, Mantle was not going to start. He had just come off the disabled list with bad knees but was not expected to play. Still, we watched in awe as Mick tossed a ball in front of the dugout with teammates before the game. Once the game began however, Micky retreated to the dugout unseen from our vantage point.
It was a tense game and the Yankees were behind late (the 8th inning as my memory serves). With men on base and two outs we started to hear the rumbling. The crowd started to roar and we were out of our seats. And then I saw him. First his head popping out from the dugout and then that huge neck and muscular shoulders. It was Mantle coming out to pinch hit. I couldn’t believe my luck… Mickey Mantle was coming to bat.
Mantle hit a colossal home run and the Yankees went on to win the game. I was dizzy. Barry and I screamed and slapped each other with excitement as Mantle round the bases. The crowd went crazy, though not the way they do these days. I knew I would remember it forever but the memory, as I was about to learn, was not yet complete.
You see, back in those days, after the game, the fans were actually allowed to walk onto the field and go out to Monument Park which was in the back of centerfield. Today in the renovated Stadium the monuments are off the field in an enclosed space. You can go out there before the games begin but it’s not the same as when you’re on the field. We walked across the grass to the outfield and touched the monuments, 460 feet from home late, dedicated to Ruth, Gehrig and Rupert and Huggins. Barry and I looked around and soaked in every moment. We reached down and torn a small clump of grass and put it in our pockets. All the way home I kept feeling the grass in my trousers. We christened the clumps of Mickey Mantle Grass and I knew I’d keep it forever.
Unfortunately, I was exhausted and forgot to take the grass out of my pocket when I got home. That next morning my mom grabbed those pants and put them in the wash and that was it for my cherished memento. But to be there, in centerfeld at Yankee Stadium, where DiMaggio played, where Mantle played and where someday Bernie Williams would restore prestige to the position of Yankee center fielder, for a little kid like me… that was everything.
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