The Yankee Stadium
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HE SOUNDED LIKE ARCHIE BUNKER!
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Once upon a time, in my second career, it became
an unusual pleasure...as well as an awesome
experience--- to work with a New Yorker---from
Queens.
What's unusual about that? "Wal, ya see, Pardner,
myself---I'm a dyed-in-the-wool Texan." And here
came along a clever, witty, lovable guy who sounded
a lot like Archie Bunker...and he was unpredictable!
Our clocks ran at different speeds. We often weren't
on the same page. But once the rough corners were
knocked off, we got along...just fine.
My reader, think back in your life---if called upon to
make a list: "Most colorful characters in my life,"
whom would you put on your list? Well, my Yankee
friend (we'll call him "Bob") would make my list!
Young people in today's vernacular would say of him:
"Hey, he's a real interesting dude."
He was---what they call "street smart." He told me that
himself. It was a matter of pride. He seemed to have
a dozen cute expressions, which were all new to me.
I had only one, new to him. It was: "Do you get my
drift?" He loved that one. I never could understand his
fascination with it. He'd say: "Say dat funny 'drift thing'
dere, again!"
Like Archie, he often put a "dere" at the end of
sentences. It meant "there."
He was restless. He'd be up from his desk, throwing
pennies against the wall, in some unknown game
against himself. I'd take us a couple of boiled eggs
each for lunch and he'd play catch against the wall
with his, and THEN peel them. (If you underhand
an egg upwards at an angle against a wall, it'll spin
around and come back into your hand, more or less.)
(Once, back in the fifties when he was discharged
from the military in California, he headed back to
Queens in a beat-up old car. His dad was following
him on a map. Bob called NY from Albuquerque, and
his dad said: "Albuquerque!? Why you've come only
an inch!")
Once our office had some business at the City Hall.
We drove down, parked, picked up some documents,
and suddenly realized we were very hungry---it was
one p.m.
There on the sidewalk was a hot dog vendor with a
little cart on wheels. (I had never in my life bought a
hot dog from a street vendor. The only vendors we had
in Clovis, where I grew up, were tamale vendors.)
He'd likely bought plenty of them in New York on the
streets. He said: "Let's get a hot dog!" I said: "Yeh,
hey order one for me!"
"Hey Mac---give us two dogs, wid onions, pickles, and
heavy on de mustard dere, an' if ya load 'em up real
good, dere's a buck extra in it for ya'." You know, it
wasn't a bad hot dog, but remains to this day the
one and only I've ever eaten from a street vendor.
The really, really interesting thing about Bob---was
his knowledge of, and interest in baseball. As a boy
growing up in Queens, he went to every Yankee and
Dodger game he could. He often sold concessions at
Ebbet's Field or Yankee Stadium. (I thought Ebbet's
and the Dodgers were his favorites.)
He was quite a second baseman himself, playing
senior softball well into his forties. We kept gloves
at the office for grounders and catch during lunch-
times. He was good!
He used to say: "With de infielders dere, it's all in
body quickness and de hands. Gotta have quick
hands..." He would sit and do hand exercises.
He was a walking baseball encyclopedia. He knew
baseball backward and forward. If there was ever a big
win in a game or series on a ninth inning home run,
he could tell you about it. He knew all about "The
Boys of Summer," the great baseball book about
the Dodges in the forties.
He was THERE when the Yankees took the 1947
series from the Dodgers in seven games. There
were 71,548 people in Yankee Stadium that day,
he said.
He knew about the famous double-play trio: "Tinker
to Evers to Chance." Ask him what was the great
Chicago Cubs jinx and he'd say: "It was da curse
of da Billy goat!"
I once wrote a poem for his birthday party at the
office. One couplet went:
"Berra, Mantle, Reese, La Sorda...
If you don't like baseball, maybe you orta."
So when I got a chance to go with him to an
Albuquerque Dukes game, one warm July night,
circa 1983, I jumped at it. I almost felt as if I were
going with "Mr. Baseball!"
When Bob walked into Dukes stadium that might,
it was clear to me that he felt right at home there---
in fact, he looked kind of like he might be the
owner of the stadium. It was plain---he was in his
element.
We got seats out in the traditional wild-and-wooly
unroofed first base bleachers. Some other guy
was with us. (I was no total novice in the first
base raunchy area with the cigar smokers---
after all, I went to Clovis Bell Park with my
dad, to see the Clovis Pioneers play.)
The vendor came by, and Bob bought practically
all the packages of peanuts. We started watching
the teams warm up. Soon a pile of peanut shells
built up under his feet---a pile that would rival any
cop on a stakeout.
Bob was into the warmups. The first baseman was
tossing grounders to his infielders. Bob had no
compunction about yelling (loudly): "Little more
hustle, dere, Gus!" Or to the pitcher, "Let's see
more curves, Joe!"
I wish I'd had a tape recorder for his helpful
instructions to the field as the game got hotter:
It seemed like Bob commented on almost every
play.
"Run 'em out dere Willie!"
"Hey, Ed, the game is on! Get the lead out!"
After a strike out, he'd yell: "Shake it off, Joe,
you'll be back!"
All the while, the peanut shell pile grew
exponentially. (I read that one somewhere.)
I started a pile of my own and yelled a couple
of times...but my yells didn't sound as good
as his! Yes, I know--- How does a Texan
compete with Yankee Stadium and Ebbet's
Field pros?
My friend's pithy admonitions continued:
"George, did ya come to play or what? Ya on
vacation?"
"Moe, there's a hole in yer glove I think!"
And then it was the umpire's turn;
"Hey, ump---WHA WHA---ya blind out dere?
Trow da bum out!"
I don't know who played that night, or who won.
I do know the folks in the first base bleachers
got their money's worth...I have never forgotten
that game... in a strange way, I was transported to
Yankee Stadium or old Ebbet's Field...for a brief
time...and knew a little how those places sounded!
It was for some unknown reason, the only
time we ever went to a game together.
One thing was for sure. Bob was the real deal.
There was nothing fake about him. He didn't pull
his punches. He was an iconoclast. He liked to say:
"My job is to shake up all these laid-back Texans
around here."
Alas, one day, after nine years of mostly happy
times, he resigned, left our office, and took another
job. I must say, there was big hole in our office. It
got quiet...really fast...and dull!
I'd flip pennies against the wall. It didn't help. I'd
forgotten to find out how to play. I'd flip my boiled
eggs up against the wall, but peeling them was
nearly impossible. I'd read my baseball
encyclopedia during slow times....
I wanted to ask Bob about that world series
where the first baseman goofed, dropped the
ball, and lost the game. Was it Cey?
I missed our New York guy...but we did have
some good times along the way, while trying
to make a living...and maybe we learned some
things from each other---
Do you get my drift? (Dere.)
Ebbets Field
Jackie Robinson at Ebbets Field
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BY MIL
12/17/13
(Writer's note: Bob returned to the company and
was re-employed eight years later. Told that
company rules required his taking a brief
refresher course to update him on products and
changes---He said: "I want Mil to do it.")
