By C. Philip Francis

Foreword: Have you ever noticed that things come in bunches? Not long ago we heard about a marvelous five-story old bookstore, and walked away with a bag of treasures. The smallest turned out to be the best - The Mudville Diaries – A Book of Baseball Memories collected by Mike Schacht. (Avon Books, NY; 1996). Coincidentally USA Weekend seen in many weekend newspapers was running a series called “On Making a Difference”, and shortly after I first saw Schacht’s anthology of baseball memories I found a story called “The Best Seat in the House” by Brad Meltzer. It is a poignant story of a ten-year old boy’s first visit to a ballpark, and how baseball can affect both child and adult.

We would like to share Meltzer’s thrill of taking a boy to his first game, and some baseball-related experiences as collected by Schacht in a passionate look at baseball.

Brad Metzler was taking his volunteer Little Brother to his first professional baseball game. A friend had offered free tickets for perfect seats, but Brad refused and would be using his own that was far up in the bleachers. The seats were so far up they could barely see the infield let alone the batter. The boy looked at the green grass, the lights, the fans, and turned to his surrogate dad saying, “These are the best seats in the whole place.” Brad smiled and said to himself, “It was a perfect night, and it just got better.”

When I went to my first baseball game my father dropped the pencil he was keeping score with. He asked me to climb down to get it and while I was under the seat I missed Frank Torre hit a grand-slam home run. -- Mark Fuller

We had an intercom system with a radio connecting the rooms in our house. Every night during baseball season my brothers and I would lie in our beds and listen to a game until we fell asleep. It was my father’s version of a bedtime story. –Ann Batdorf

After the game we jumped down onto the outfield grass from our bleacher seats. In the old days the fans could walk across the field to get out of Yankee Stadium…people were moving in all directions. Dodging them was part of our game along with make-believe throws, home run swings, slides, swooping tags. Today I had a plan…an eye on the exact spot where DiMaggio always stood in center field…I felt scared, and a little embarrassed…someone’s gonna see me to it. I ripped up a handful of grass and dirt from the spot and flew it into my pocket. Didn’t tell anyone about, ever. Kept it in a white envelope marked “Joe D.”

--Tony Palladino

On June 8, 1968, the Phillies were playing the Dodgers at Dodger Stadium and Don Drysdale pitched his fifth-eight consecutive scoreless inning, breaking Walter Johnson’s record. In another part of Los Angeles, Robert Kennedy’s body was being loaded on a plane bound for Washington. --Ester Manes

June 1969. Mrs. Blumberg’s fourth-grade class has earned a trip to Yankee Stadium. Who arranged for Yankee players Jerry Kenney and Gene Michael to shake each little hand in the huge ones? It’s a secret. The boys are thrilled. The girls are in love. Third inning. A slow grounder squeezes itself under Michael’s glove and scurries between his legs into center field. Oh, dear! Worries Mrs. Blumberg. Will the children be disillusioned? “Isn’t he wonderful!” sighs Maria Aviello. “He almost got it!” --Martha Blumberg

My father took me to my first baseball game at the old Sportsman’s Park when I was six years old. I remember the poles and how difficult it was to see over and around the “big people.” Back then most men wore straw hats when they were out in the hot St. Louis sun. The high point was when my father caught a Stan Musial foul ball. He gave the ball to my cousin. Years later I came to resent that. –Glenda Guerri

My sweetest baseball memory is of watching the 1986 World Series with my father – over the phone. He was in Boston, I was in New York, and we were both rooting for the Red Sox. He died shortly after that. I guess what I like most about baseball is that it reminds me of my dad. –Louise Godine

What I really miss about baseball is the surety there will be a next season, so the machinations and deals of the winter mean something. Maybe thinking of baseball gets me through the winter better than the games do in summer. --Luke Salisbury

When I was ten my Uncle Gerald had an extra ticket for fifth game of the 1956 World Series between the Dodgers and the Yankees at the stadium. Since I was the oldest nephew, and a certified baseball nut, I had claim to that extra ticket. But at the last minute Gerald’s daughter said she wanted to go. Cousin Lois was a sixteen-year-old, boy-crazy, gum-chewing delinquent who didn’t know the first thing about baseball. Of course, Lois went to the game, the only professional baseball game she ever attended, and saw Don Larsen pitch the only perfect game in World Series history. –Jeffrey Laing

Chatter from the Dugout welcomes comments, and may be reached at: dugoutchatter@ejourney.com

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