Tag Archives: Ebbets Field

MY GRANDFATHER AND FATHER: THANKFUL FOR A VIEW

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Years ago, after my grandmother died, I found the attached photo; clearly, it had been cut out of a magazine. I knew the ballpark in the photo. Its structure, including protruding beams, overhanging lights, a catwalk behind the lower deck, and the distance from the third base line to the field level box seats, indicated it was Brooklyn’s Ebbets Field. That was the easy part. 

But what about the rest? When was the photo taken? The photo provides a number of useful clues: The boy is wearing a sweater and his father a jacket, indicating cool weather and they have a large picnic basket with them, indicating a long stay, perhaps for a doubleheader.

I researched the photo at the New York Historical Society. I’d narrowed it down to a number of magazines and soon learned that it had appeared in PIC Magazine as part of a two-page photo spread in their July 23, 1940 issue. The Dodgers and Giants were playing a doubleheader at Ebbets Field in Brooklyn. The Dodgers lost the opener to the Giants, 7-0, as Carl Hubbell pitched a one hitter. And the Dodgers lost the nightcap, as well, 12-5, to fall out of first place.

The boy in the photo is my father and the man with his arm around him is my grandfather. On a cool day in May–May 30, 1940—exactly eighty years ago today–my grandfather took my father to a doubleheader at Ebbets Field. It was my father’s thirteenth birthday. Today, I’d love to able to say to him,  “Happy Birthday, Dad.”

JACKIE ROBINSON, MY FATHER AND THE MUSEUM OF THE CITY OF NEW YORK

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I keep track of upcoming events at New York City’s museums and it was with great excitement that I noticed that the Museum of the City of New York has an upcoming exhibit titled “In the Dugout with Jackie Robinson.“

I spent a great deal of time in my youth studying the history of baseball…way more than my parents would have wished for me. I particularly enjoyed the history of New York City’s teams and players. Jackie Robinson was one of those players:  

I was a little boy when my father took me to Ebbets Field…the Brooklyn Dodgers versus the Cincinnati Reds.  I loved it all: The sights…Duke, Campy, Pee Wee and Jackie in their royal blue caps with the letter B on the front….the smells….cigars, beer, popcorn…and the sounds…”cold beer, getcha cold beer”…the crack of a bat.

“Gee, the Dodgers can’t get this new kid out, Charles, what’s his name?” my father said. As if he didn’t know.   

“Frank Robinson, Dad,” I said, pounding Dad’s old glove that he let me wear to the game. “Yeah, he’s great.” 

But it was another Robinson we came to see…Jackie. But as good as Jackie was, on that day Jackie didn’t win the game for the Dodgers. In fact, he didn’t even finish the game. In the eighth inning, Jackie hit a ground ball down the third base line that was ruled a fair ball—Jackie thought it was foul and hadn’t run to first—he argued the call and the umpire tossed him from the game. An inning later the game ended. The Dodgers lost two to one. 

Dad put his arm around my shoulder and we walked out of the ballpark onto McKeever Place and began the drive through Brooklyn to our Queens home. I was sitting in the front seat of Dad’s Chevy, pounding his glove, thinking about the game as we pulled up to a light on Eastern Parkway.  And then, “Hurry…Son…look who’s next to us.”

Is that Jackie Robinson? Are you kidding me? 

“Say something, Charles.”

What does a seven-year old say to a legend? ”Hi, Jackie.”

Jackie smiled and responded with something like, “Hello, young man.”

But my father, seeing the bedazzled look on my face, flashed a smile at Jackie and came to my rescue with some brilliant repartee. “Hey, Jackie, the umpire’s call was horseshit.”

My father always had a way with words.

We all laughed, the light turned green and we drove on. 

There was something about baseball and my father…no matter how contentious our relationship might become, baseball always provided a middle ground. Dad and I could lose ourselves in the joys of the game, its nuances and intricacies, and subsequently, the pleasure of each other’s company.   

I think of my father on warm summer evenings…walking by a ballfield…hearing the crack of a bat…the memories coaxed by twilight’s lengthening shadows.

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I’m looking forward to the Jackie Robinson exhibit, which opens January 31, 2019.