Meeting the Stranger: a Packer fan on the East Coast

In his novel Cat’s Cradle, Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. pokes fun at the superficial allegiances people make, particularly those based on geography (something Vonnegut calls a granfalloon).  But as I traveled last week in the Northeast, I concluded that meeting people – no matter what shallow reason might be behind the introductions – makes for a more blessed venture.

For about a third of my twelve day trip, I sported either a Milwaukee Brewers shirt or a Green Bay Packers shirt.  And on these days, my attire inevitably resulted in meeting people I would never have spoken with otherwise.

Sure, some of the conversations were actually one-line quips that ended as soon as they began:

• The man at the visitor center in Cape Cod who said, “We don’t generally give advice to Packer fans.”
• The woman in Boston, who in spite of jogging with labored breath over a bridge, nonetheless heaved out a “Go Pack” as she passed me.
• The older gentleman in New York sporting a Yankees’ hat who, after noticing my Robin Yount shirt, said “You’ll be lucky to get out of this town alive.”  (I reminded him that the Yankees swept the Brewers earlier this season).

But I also had two lengthier conversations on two different subway rides – one in Boston, the other in New York, both of them only two stops long – that I’ll always remember, and that gave my already enjoyable trip an extra lift that only human interaction can provide.

After a ballgame at Fenway, I met a woman who noticed my family’s Packer paraphernalia, and in the two stops we had together, I learned that she was a social worker from Neenah, that she considered moving to New York but decided on Boston, that she had a boyfriend in Connecticut, that the beaches we were considering visiting were nice but crowded, and that we should consider transferring to the blue line because the green line is notorious for mechanical problems (note: we ignored her advice, and three stops later our train broke down).

In New York, I met a man who congratulated me on the Packers’ Super Bowl championship, announced that he was headed to a Yankee game even though the score was already 12-0 in favor of New York, applauded my son’s and my decision to go to the Empire State Building instead of joining my wife and daughters at a Broadway show, and professed his allegiance to Brett Favre no matter what Packer Nation had to say about it.  After I shared with him the details of my family’s trip, he said to my son, “You are one lucky kid.”

Of course, I couldn’t wear my Packers and Brewers garb every day.  For much of the trip, I wore shirts with solid colors or stripes, and on those days I spoke with fewer people, started fewer conversations, and went to bed with terrific memories of sites to behold, but not with that extra something, that extra spark that awakens after sharing just a bit of my life with a stranger.

We meet people for silly reasons all the time: for the places we come from, the teams we support, the places we work, the religions we practice, the music we like, the pets we own, the politics we share or oppose and the authors we read.

And we are better for it.

So Long, Amy

On Saturday, July 23rd, I threw in a CD in the car, a Marc Cohn album, and listened along with my family.  On the same home-burned disc, it turns out, was another album, my apparent attempt at efficiency three years ago when I purchased downloads of two CDs on the same day and wanted to make a hard copy without wasting two blank discs.  The second album began to play when Marc Cohn finished.  It was Amy Winehouse's "Back to Black," music I probably hadn't listened to in two years.  It was good to hear.

The next morning, also by chance, I flipped channels on the TV for a few minutes and stopped when I saw Amy Winehouse's image.  I learned that she had died the day before, about seven hours before I played her CD.

Coincidence?  Most likely.  And yet...

So long, Amy.  Another one lost at age twenty-seven.  I think of her in-laws, who in the midst of Amy's substance abuse, begged fans to boycott her music to help her get back on track.

And I think of how I didn't listen.

Mickey Mantle broadcasted on 89.7 WUWM Milwaukee

Press play to listen to my essay on Mickey Mantle broadcasted on 89.7 WUWM's Lake Effect program on July 16, 2011.

Variations of my essay can also be found at two other sites: BorchertField.com, a website devoted to preserving the history of the old ballpark in Milwaukee, and Seamheads, a haven for all things baseball.

The Anti-Social Network

In the July 10 issue of the Chicago Tribune, columnist Fred Mitchell writes about the recent trend of ballplayers spending more time in the locker room texting, checking Facebook, playing video games and watching TV than actually commiserating with their colleagues.  He writes:

Times have changed from the days of ballplayers playing cards in the middle of the locker room, leafing through fan mail in front of their lockers, reading the newspaper or playfully teasing each other.

This might be a rather nostalgic view of the past, but it’s one I happen to share.

The potentially negative consequences of recent technological changes came to my attention about three years ago, when I noticed that parents picking up and dropping off their children at my home were no longer poking their heads in for a hello.  In fact, some of the kids we’ve hosted through the years have parents I have yet to meet.  Don’t know their names.  Couldn’t pick them out in a lineup.  That’s not only a shame, it’s kind of scary.  One of our seemingly endless list of parental responsibilities is knowing the parents of our children’s friends.

In the short six months I’ve owned a cell-phone, I’ve resorted to the anti-social behavior of texting my kids to let them know I’m waiting outside to take them home, but this is a habit I intend to break, extreme weather notwithstanding.   Generally, there’s time to say hello to people, and in life, there’s almost always room for a few more acquaintances.  Sometimes these acquaintances make my day.

Last week, I spoke to a parent at the pool for a good twenty minutes, and the conversation was so animated, so full of gems I couldn’t make up in a million years, I wrote our dialogue down as soon as I returned home, hopeful that I’ll be able to use it in a piece of fiction.  What if, instead of chatting, we’d both opted to check our email?  A more efficient use of our time, perhaps, but a real loss in social interaction.

Of course, technology isn’t responsible for all anti-social behavior.  This morning, it took one of my daughters ten minutes to acknowledge my existence, but I believe that sort of conduct began long before the cell-phone, the TV or even electricity.  And I also believe that time will help buck that trend.  If not, perhaps my incessant nagging will.

Mantle In Milwaukee: Sixty Years Ago

Milwaukee commuters wrestling their way down highway 43 may not know that the pavement between Locust and Burleigh Streets is hallowed ground, the former site of Borchert Field, home of the minor league Milwaukee Brewers for much of the first half of last century.  Borchert Field was an old, rickety ballpark with crazy dimensions: the foul lines were only 267 feet (who knows how many home runs Braun and Fielder would have hit in this ballpark?).  And the Brewers, in the early 50s, were a very good minor league team, the triple A affiliate of the Boston Braves and two-time Junior World Series Champions.

Sixty years ago this July 16, on a warm, foggy evening, a small crowd of 3400 came to watch the Brewers host the Kansas City Blues, both teams tied for second place in the American Association league.  Fans that night couldn’t have known they were about to witness a glimpse of future hall-of-fame greatness.  It happened to be the first minor league appearance that season for a 19 year-old Oklahoman who’d been wearing pinstripes just days before. 

Mickey Mantle had struggled for the previous month as a New York Yankee, his average sinking to .260, and it was decided that he should regain his swing in Kansas City.  When Yankee manager Casey Stengel told Mantle privately of the decision, Mantle cried.

Days later in Milwaukee, the fog was so thick, Mantle quipped, “I may need a mask out there tonight.”

That evening, the switch-hitter batted left handed and went 1 for 4, his only hit a bunt single to the first-base side.  Those in attendance got to witness Mantle at his blazing best: that is, among the fastest to ever play the game (batting left handed, he'd been timed running from home to first in 3.1 seconds).

The following evening, after word had spread that Mantle was in Milwaukee (both the Sentinel and the Journal had articles highlighting his appearance), the crowd swelled to over 10,000, and Mantle went 0-4.  In fact, he played so poorly for the next couple of weeks, he considered quitting baseball altogether.  Luckily for baseball, he didn’t.  And luckily for the Brewers, by the time they faced the Blues again, Mantle was already back up in the majors, having hit .361 with 11 home runs and 50 RBIs during his six week stint in the minors.  He was never to return.

And as fate would have it, he was just a month away from an injury that would rob him of his full potential. 

That October, during game 2 of the ‘51 World Series against the Giants (who’d made it there after Bobby Thompson’s “Shot Heard ‘Round the World”) Mantle caught his spikes in a drain in right field while trying to avoid a collision with Joe DiMaggio, on a ball hit by another celebrated rookie, Willie Mays.  It was the convergence of three of the game's best, linking the past with the future, including Mantle's.  He blew his knew out on the play, and would never run the base paths again without pain.  

Although his injury may have kept him from realizing his full potential with regard to speed, it certainly didn't keep him from achieving greatness: he would go on to win three MVP awards and seven World Series titles. 

As for Milwaukee, the Brewers and Borchert field gave way to the Braves and County Stadium in 1953, beginning a thirteen year stint.  Mantle would return to Milwaukee again in 1955 as a Yankee All-Star, almost four years to the day of his appearance at Borchert Field.  He wasted no time getting the American League on the board, hitting a three run home run in the first inning.  And in his next game in Milwaukee, he hit yet another home run, this time in game 3 of the ‘57 World Series, a 12-3 whooping for the Yankees over the Braves. 

For those in attendance that fall day at County Stadium, perhaps a handful could remember seeing Mantle six years earlier, when he was a struggling ballplayer with lightning speed and limitless potential.  A potential, it would appear, that was now - even if slightly hampered - fully realized.