

Me, Johnny, and The Babe

By Mark Wirtshafter

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Table of Contents

1

1

Here I sit in the bedroom where I grew up, staring at a weathered old newspaper, and a small wooden pocket comb. As I flick the teeth of the comb with the tip of my finger, I carefully ponder the question. Should I tell her the story or keep it hidden inside as I have for the past thirty years?

Growing up in Kensington in the 1920's was both hard and glorious. Life revolved around four major facets: family, friends, the Church, and especially baseball. Kensington was a lower working class section of Philadelphia and all the folks I knew labored very hard. Looking back, it might have been the poorest section of the city, but we never felt disadvantaged in any way. There was always food on the table, and I learned quickly not to want for anything that would have to be store bought.

I was an only child, born just months after my parents graduated from high school. They were both eighteen when they married and told me it was the happiest day of their lives when I was born. My dad had a job at Rumsey Electric Company where they sold parts for radios and other electrical supplies. He worked incredibly long hours. My mom stayed at home with me and took care of our house. Occasionally she would get some extra work cleaning other people's homes, which would keep her out of the house for almost the entire day.

My mother was very patient; and would spend hours sitting on the floor playing with me when I was young. When Dad would get home from work he always seemed genuinely happy to see me, but after a few minutes, his attention would always drift elsewhere. He liked to read the newspaper and listen to the radio to relax.

The neighborhood where I lived was home to hordes of children. Most of the families on our block had five or more kids. The Garrity family who lived next door to us had ten children. The youngest was my best friend Johnny Garrity.

In a neighborhood surrounded by kids, somehow there was a sense of loneliness that dominated my childhood. For some reason Johnny was the only friend I had who I felt comfortable talking to, and the only person I truly enjoyed.

Being the youngest, everyone else in his family constantly picked on Johnny, so he loved to come over my house and pick on me. He was a few inches taller and weighed ten pounds more, and he used his physical dominance over me at every opportunity. It did not bother me since I knew he would never hurt me, and was the truest friend I had in the world.

I always helped Johnny get through his schoolwork and he defended me against any kids in the neighborhood who ever gave me trouble. I would put an extra thirty minutes aside each evening just to do Johnny's homework. In our relationship, I was the brains and he was certainly the brawn. My friendship with Johnny formed the foundation of everything that I accomplished in my life and I will never forget him.

Johnny had five sisters and four brothers, so they were divided up evenly. His father would joke that they would stop when they got to an even dozen; Johnny's mom never seemed to laugh at the joke.

"Never forget that you and Johnny met in the hospital when you were born," Johnny's mom would say.

"After all you were only born three days apart, in the very same hospital, and you got to lie next to each other for two days before we brought you home," my mom would add.

"I guess you two will be the only real lifelong friends, since you met on the very first day of your life," added Johnny's mom.

Sometimes it seemed that Johnny and I were the only two kids in the world, even when there were gangs of kids running the streets all around us.

Johnny and I were content to play with each other and only looked for the other kids when we wanted to try to get a baseball game going. Incredibly, it did not take much effort to get eighteen kids together for a game of baseball. If someone had to go home early for dinner, it was no problem to recruit a substitute and keep the game going.

We lacked a real field to play on, so we played in the still empty section of the cemetery two blocks from where we lived. Filled with tombstones and crosses, the cemetery had a flat open clearing in the rear. We used a bare dirt spot for the pitcher's mound and another one directly in front of it for home plate. The grass was green but when you looked at it closely, you realized that it really wasn't grass at all. It was a collection of a wide variety of weeds. The sheer assortment of weeds was staggering. It seemed that no two spots looked the same. When you looked down the only thing you were sure of was that none of what you were seeing was real grass.

There was plenty of room to play except in right field. Any ball hit hard to right ended up going into the tombstones and the outfielder would have trouble running around the markers trying to find the ball. Some thought it should only be a double when the ball went into the tombstones, but I always thought it was funny watching the fielders try to jump over the low markers in time to get the batter out before he ran home.

The equipment we used was another story. We had sticks for bats, usually a remnant of a broom or some other item that had broken. Sometimes we had real baseballs, but other times we used any round object we could find. Gloves were a luxury; some kids had real gloves while others used worn out work gloves from their father's jobs. Sometimes I wore a glove that Johnny was able to sneak out of his house. These were the same gloves that his sister would use to keep her hands warm on cold winter days. They were often colorful, and did not look much like anything that should be worn on the baseball field. The other kids would laugh at them, but they took some of the sting out when the ball hit your hand.

Johnny had a real glove handed down to him from one of his older brothers. It was torn and had quite a few ripped spots, but it was the best glove of anyone who played with us. If we were on different teams, he would always let me use it when his team was up at bat. When I wore it, it made me feel like I was a real baseball player. As real as you could feel while you were standing in the middle of a cemetery, holding a broken stick and swinging at a large round rock.

Baseball was everything to us. Our lives certainly lacked variety when it came to entertainment. For the adults there was radio and newspapers, but for us baseball was the common denominator. There was the local parish team, Ascension of Our Lord, whose games we got to watch. There were two Philadelphia teams, the Phillies and the Athletics. On my street, everyone was an Athletics fan, but only a few lucky kids had actually seen them play a regular season game. There was a family down the street named Carrigan, who had just moved here from New York. They were big New York Yankee fans and this did not sit well with the kids in the neighborhood. It was hard for us to admit but the Yankees had something we all wished we had. They had "The Babe".
2

George Herman Ruth, a name for the ages. By April of 1923, even a couple of twelve-year-old boys in Kensington knew that Babe Ruth was someone very special. There was not a kid on our block who did not know his stats. After he was traded from the Boston Red Sox to the Yankees in 1919, he helped the Yanks win the American League Pennant in 1921 and 1922. Between 1918 and 1922, he led the American league in home runs four straight years. In 1918, he tied for the league lead with Tily Walker of the Athletics with eleven, but then his home run totals exploded in the following years. In 1919, he had 29 home runs, in 1920, he hit 54, and by the end of the 1921 season, he amassed an amazing 59.

However, there was so much more to watching the Babe. Johnny and I would talk about him endlessly.

"The Babe is the greatest player ever to play baseball," Johnny said.

"Yea, I bet he'll hit sixty homers next season," I responded. "You can tell that he really loves playing the game and I bet he would play even if they didn't pay him."

"Did you know he grew up in an orphanage in Baltimore?"

"Yea, I can't believe he grew up all alone in an orphanage and became so great," I replied. "Everyone that knows him says that he loves kids and he would do anything to help a kid in trouble."

"A lot of the other players talk about the game like it's a job, but not The Babe, he just loves playing the game," Johnny added. "Can you imagine, he gets paid for just playing baseball, can there be anything better than that?"

"Yea, it's unbelievable."

"When I grow up I am gonna be just like The Babe," Johnny started. "I'm gonna be a great baseball player and I'll use my money to buy stuff for kids."

One day in the middle of April, Johnny came rushing over to my house with some big news.

"Father Casey got ten tickets to see the Yankees play the Athletics in July," Johnny said. "We gotta figure out a way to make sure we get two of those tickets!"

"My mom and Reverend Casey are very close, and he knows how much we love baseball; he has to let us go," I replied.

"It's about time all your mom's praying actually did us some good," Johnny said with a grin on his face.

The Reverend William Casey ran our local parish, Ascension of Our Lord, and was the most respected person I knew. My mother was a very loyal church going person and made sure that Dad and I went as well. She and Father Casey had a wonderful relationship, and he was always there to help my family with whatever we needed. I wasn't sure exactly how, but I knew that we would need my mom to use her influence on Father Casey to make sure we got two of those golden tickets.

A couple of days later, on a Saturday evening, Johnny knocked on my front door.

"Hey, why don't you come and we can do something?"

"Sure let me check with my dad, I'm sure he'll give me permission."

I walked into the kitchen where my dad was standing on a chair putting glasses into the top cupboard.

"Can I go out with Johnny and play?"

"Sure, but do me a favor and pick up an Evening Bulletin on your way home," he asked. "Here's the two cents you'll need."

"Okay Dad, I'll make sure I get it on the way home."

I always liked going with my dad to buy the newspaper, since the store where he went to also sold penny candy and he always seemed to find an extra cent for a treat. There would be no candy tonight, all he gave me was two cents, and I knew it was strictly a newspaper.

When we got outside Johnny looked at me and grinned.

"I got a better idea for those two cents", he said.

I did not like the sound of that. My dad wanted his newspaper and there could not be any alternate plan for the money.

"Let's go to the train tracks and put the pennies on the rails and have the trains flatten them," he said.

"Flatten them?"

"Yea, flatten them. We lay them on the tracks and wait for a train to come. When it rolls over them we have two perfect round pieces of shiny copper."

"But what about my dad's newspaper?"

"That's no problem. By the time we get back my dad will be done with his paper and I will sneak it out of the house and you can have it."

It seemed like a logical plan, and it would be something to have one of those brand new 1923 copper pennies flattened by a speeding train to keep as a souvenir. The thought of just taking the money to the corner store and buying two cents worth of candy also crossed my mind.

"Come on, don't always be a scardey cat, your dad will never know the difference," Johnny said with a phony sad expression on his face. "You never want to do anything exciting."

"I guess it'll be alright as long as you are sure we can get the newspaper from your dad without anyone knowing," I conceded.

So began our journey. As we turned the corner of Tioga Street, I noticed Billy Brannigan sitting outside the drug store.

Billy was the neighborhood troublemaker, someone my parents had always warned me to avoid. He had dropped out of school before ninth grade and was always getting into trouble with the local police. People in Kensington could not wait until he finally did something bad enough so that the police could lock him up for good and the neighborhood would be rid of him.

Billy was about eighteen years old and was always out on the streets. He gambled in public, smoked cigarettes, and drank alcohol out in plain view. Even the adults in the neighborhood would cross the street to avoid walking in his path. He was about six feet tall and very thin. He seemed to have a permanent scowl on his face and I never remember seeing him smile.

I did not know anything about Billy's parents, or why they let him get into so much trouble. I figured that they were probably afraid of him too.

"Hey there is Billy Brannigan," I said to Johnny. "Let's cross the street so he doesn't see us."

"I ain't crossin' no street to keep away from no stupid Billy Brannigan," Johnny replied angrily. "He doesn't scare me none."

"He doesn't scare me either," I said, knowing it wasn't the truth. "I just don't want to start any trouble."

"Come on let's go," Johnny said motioning me forward with a nod of his head.

I walked with my head down and stared at the pavement in front of me. I made sure not to make eye contact as we passed and prayed that Johnny would do the same. However, knowing Johnny as well as I did, I knew he was not afraid of Billy Brannigan. I could feel my heart pounding at the very moment we passed Billy, and then subside as we eased past him without incident.

"I told you he wouldn't do anything," Johnny said with a smile. "If he ever tried anything with either of us, I would beat his ass."

That was one of the reasons I loved Johnny. I knew that he would always protect me and together I always felt safe walking the streets.

We walked for about a mile to get to the train tracks. In order to reach the tracks we had to climb a steep hill about forty feet high. Luckily, the hill had quite a few large rocks jutting out, so it wasn't hard to get good footing. Johnny hit the top first, and reached back and grabbed my hand pulling me up the last few feet.

"I'm always havin' to pull you up," Johnny said. "If wasn't for me you would never get nowhere."

"Thanks," I replied sheepishly.

Standing on top of the hill it seemed much higher than it had appeared from the ground.

There were two sets of tracks, one northbound and one southbound. A thin strip of black rocks separated the two tracks by about three feet. We walked along the strip for about a quarter mile or so until we reached a long and narrow bridge overpass.

"That looks like a good spot," Johnny shouted.

"A good spot for what?"

"A good place to get our pennies flattened."

We walked out about forty feet onto the middle of the overpass. I could not bear to look straight down, but I knew we were at least one hundred feet above the ground. Just peeking out over the side left me feeling quite dizzy. Johnny ran ahead and I pushed my legs forward even though they were beginning to feel quite heavy. He knelt down and peered down the tracks; leaning over them, he inspected the construction looking for the perfect position to place the pennies.

"I got it," he said. "Give me the pennies."

He held his hand out towards me. I squeezed my hand into my pocket and pulled out the two shiny coins.

"Now, which side do you think will come first?" Johnny asked.

"How the heck do I know?"

I certainly did not know, nor did I care; I just wanted to get off the bridge before any train came.

Johnny looked up and down the tracks, his head moving back and forth. His ears perked up like a dog trying to hear a high pitch sound. A moment or two passed as we waited in absolute silence, as if the world around us had stopped. Then a smile spread across Johnny's face, a slight sound in the distance. His head turned towards the South. I watched him stare off in the distance until he saw what he was looking for. It was about a half mile away, but a train was approaching on the horizon in the northbound direction moving at a very rapid clip. Without saying a word, Johnny reached out for the coins, which I pushed hard into his hand. He slowly leaned over the tracks and placed the coins side by side on the inside rail of the track.

As he positioned them, we jumped back onto the rocky divider and began walking away from the train that was approaching on the northbound tracks. By this time, the noise had gotten so loud that my sense of balance was thrown off completely. Between the heights, the noise, and the approaching train I felt like I was going to be sick and throw up at any minute.

"Johnny, we need to get off this bridge right now," I pleaded. "I am feeling very nauseous and I'm can't breathe."

"Don't worry we have plenty of time."

I wanted to walk faster but Johnny was taking his sweet time, and I did not want to get out in front of him.

"Come on, Johnny, let's get out of here!" I said, forcing the words out of my mouth.

"What are you so scared of?" Johnny said, laughing as he spoke.

I glanced back over my shoulder to see how far away the train was, to make sure we would had enough time to get off the overpass before it passed. It was only a few hundred yards away from us. As I turned my head away from Johnny back in the direction we were walking, I saw the most terrifying sight that I ever seen in my life. Coming up the southbound track was another train curving around the bend near the entrance to the overpass. We had not seen it since there was a blind spot at the bend in the tracks. We would have heard it coming, except the sound of the northbound train had completely drowned it out.

It was a moment I will never forget, I completely froze. My body parts felt like hundred pound weights and I could not move my arms or legs. My dizziness and nausea turned to sheer terror. My body started to sway and I could feel myself losing consciousness. I felt my legs giving out and started falling towards the tracks. Before I knew what happened, I was on the ground laying face down on the jagged black rocks that divided the two tracks with Johnny lying on top of me. He had pushed me down so hard that my face smashed into the rocks and I could feel blood oozing down my cheek. He held me down with all his weight as if he thought I might try to fight him and get up. I wasn't getting up and probably could not have moved even if I wanted to.

Paralyzed with fear, I felt the rumble of the two trains as they roared by us in opposite directions. The ground shook as if an earthquake, even though I had no idea what an earthquake felt like. Both trains were blaring out their warning sirens and the noise was unforgettably ear splitting. The trains seemed endlessly long, as we lay motionless between the massive steel machines zooming by. I guess their horns were blaring to warn us, as if we did not already know we were in a bit of danger. I couldn't speak, but wanted to tell Johnny to stop pushing my face into the rocks. I prayed for the trains to pass. I just wanted to get back to my home. Finally, and almost at the same exact instant, both trains had passed. It was over. We were still alive.

Johnny got up and looked around making sure that the danger had really passed. He reached down and pulled me back to my feet. My dizziness and nausea passed and the blood began circulating back into my legs and arms. I started to limp off the overpass in the direction of home.

Johnny yelled, "Hey where you going?"

"What are you talking about, I'm going home!" I yelled back.

"What about the pennies?"

"I don't care about the pennies; you go get them if you want them so bad," I said. "You must be crazy worrying about the stupid pennies."

I turned back and walked towards the entrance of the overpass. Johnny walked back to where the pennies were. As I got to the edge of the overpass, I could see Johnny reach over and pick up the coins. He put them in his right hand and started towards me. As he slowly walked in my direction, I saw him staring into his hand, carefully inspecting the coins. I kept moving away from the bridge and was near the top of the hill by the time Johnny had caught up.

"Hey look at your face," he said.

"What wrong with my face?"

"Well just look at it, you're bleeding like a woman."

I reached up and touched my cheek; I could feel the warm smear of blood right under my eye socket. I moved my fingers around in a circular motion to see what the damage was. I felt them smearing blood all over my face. I looked down on my white shirt and saw bright red stains all over it.

On the ground below me, I saw the blood mixing with the dirt into an ugly reddish brown color. I pulled my shirt up and squeezed it against my face to try to stop the bleeding.

"Let's go home," I said to Johnny.

"Alright, let's go."

On the long walk home, we didn't say much to each other. The walk seemed much longer that it had on the way up. Finally, we passed the corner store on Tioga Street where I should have been buying my father his newspaper, no sign of Billy Brannigan this time. When we got to the front stoop on my house, Johnny reached in his pocket and pulled out one of the pennies. It was still in perfect condition, as if the train had never touched it.

"This one didn't work, it fell off the track," Johnny said. "You can have it back."

"What about the other one?"

He lifted up his closed fist and slowly opened his fingers exposing a perfectly flattened penny. The penny was still round but about twice its original size. All the markings were gone and it was completely blank. It was beautiful. Johnny held it up; in front of my bleeding face, but when I went to grab it, he quickly pulled it away.

"Can't I see it?" I asked.

"Yea, you can see it; I just don't want you touchin' it."

"Are you keeping that one?"

"Yep, this one was mine, I decided that when I first put them on the tracks," he replied. "This is gonna be my lucky penny, and I'm going to carry it with me every day."

Arguing with Johnny was always futile and I knew I couldn't win in a fight with him, so I let him keep the "lucky penny" and I went into my house.

"Hey didn't you forget something?" Johnny said.

"No," I replied shortly.

"What about your dad's newspaper?"

"Let me go get it for you," he said disappearing inside his front door. He was gone for a minute or two and I almost went inside my house, no longer caring much about the newspaper. Just as I reached for the door handle, I felt a newspaper smack me on the back of my head.

"Here. This should keep you out of trouble," I heard Johnny say.

I reached back over my shoulder and grabbed the paper.

"You see what a good friend I am? Always keeping you out of trouble," Johnny said.

I gave him halfhearted thanks and again reached for the door handle. As I was opening the door, I looked down at the paper only to find it was the wrong one. It was the Philadelphia Inquirer, my dad only read the Philadelphia Bulletin. He had told me a thousand times to make sure I bought the right paper. He was surely going to be furious. What a great day this turned out to be!
3

I was now challenged on two different fronts. First, I had to get the newspaper into the house without my dad seeing me so that I would not have to explain the blood on my face and shirt. Second, I had to be out of shouting distance when he opened up the newspaper and found out it was the wrong one. I quietly slipped inside the front door, closing it slowly and silently behind me. I tiptoed into the dining room completely undetected; put the newspaper down on the dining room table. Turning slowly to go up the steps to the bathroom, I heard my parents talking quietly in the kitchen as I crept up the staircase. I reached the bathroom undetected, feeling as though my secret mission was succeeding so far.

I pulled my shirt over my head and dabbed the drying blood off my cheeks and around my nose and mouth. Dunking my shirt in cold water, I used it to clean my face as best I could, all the time peering in the mirror to see if I looked any better. The cuts were fresh and raw, but I was able to get all the dried blood off. I wrung the water and blood out of my shirt and looked for something to throw it into so I could sneak it into the trash. It would not be any fun trying to explain to my mom how I had ruined a perfectly good shirt.

Even with the bathroom door shut, I could hear my father walking out of the kitchen and into the dining room. The row house where we lived had loud creaky floorboards and you could always tell where everyone in the house was if you listened closely. It also had very thin walls and you got to know a lot about your neighbors, and what they had to say to each other. Sometimes I could hear Johnny's parents yelling at each other through the walls.

"If you made some money maybe I could afford to buy some better food and my cooking might improve," yelled Johnny's mom. "And if you were at home at night and helped me with the kids I would have a little more time to straighten up the house."

"It don't matter how much money I would make your cookin' wouldn't get any better, and I can't stand sitting around the house looking at you all night long."

"With all these kids you expect me to do all the work by myself?"

"No, you should get the kids to help do the work."

I always felt sad for Johnny when I heard the yelling seeping out through the walls, it must have been very hard for him being right in the house.

I pressed my ear against the door waiting for the inevitable yell from my dad when he picked up the newspaper. Should I answer him or pretend that I wasn't home? I listened and listened, but heard nothing. I stuffed my wet and bloody shirt into my underpants and quietly tiptoed into my bedroom. Reaching under the bed, I grabbed a brown paper bag that had some old penny candy in it. I stuffed my wet shirt into the bag and put on a nice clean one. I jammed the whole bag back into my underpants and went out into the hallway to see if the coast was clear.

Reaching the top of the steps, I knelt and tried to peek down to see if I could get to the front door undetected. I was almost sure that my dad had gone back in the kitchen and that I could slip out the front door and get rid of the bag without anyone noticing. I quietly moved down the staircase without making even the slightest sound. I glanced back at the kitchen and saw that the door was closed, so I knew that I could make a clean getaway. Just as I reached for the handle of the front door, I heard my father say, "going somewhere?" I felt my heart jump as I heard his voice. I thought about just walking out the door and pretending that I hadn't heard him, but thought better of it.

"I was just going next door to Johnny's to give him something," I replied, keeping my back towards him.

"Wait a minute," he said, "I wanted to thank you for getting my newspaper."

I knew I couldn't have a long conversation without eventually turning around and facing him, so I tried to mumble something as I continued out the door. Unfortunately, by the time I twisted the doorknob I could feel my dad's hand come down on my shoulder. He squeezed his hand on top of my left shoulder blade and tightened his grip.

"What's your hurry?" he asked.

Well I knew my plan had fallen apart. I couldn't run out now and knew I had to face my dad. He would certainly be very angry about the newspaper and I would have to come up with some story as to why my face was so battered. However, I was always creative and knew a good story would come to me by the time I turned around.

I slowly turned and lowered my head slightly, avoiding any eye contact. I waited for the hammer of God to come down upon me; I waited for the yelling to start, or the beginning of the inquisition. However, after a moment of silence I raised my head and looked back at my dad. As I turned my body, I could see his eyes moving slowly over my face. He stared at my cheek and the cuts with concern in his eyes. Just then, as I held my breath waiting for his anger to boil over, I could see a big smile forming on his face.

"What's so funny?" I thought to myself.

His gaze was now not on my face, but down at the crotch of my pants. There was a huge wet circle on the front of my pants, where the wet bag had leaked through. The bag also left one with the impression that I was much more endowed by the Creator than was rightfully the case.

"The girls are gonna like you when you grow up, but you'll have to learn not to pee yourself first," he said laughing. In fact, he laughed so hard at his stupid joke that I thought he might fall down.

"Hey, why don't you come in here and take a look at your son," he yelled out to mom in the kitchen.

"What are you yelling about?"

He then walked back towards the kitchen to open the door and invited her in to come see this humorous scene. I knew no good was going to come of this, so I bolted out the front door.

I ran as fast as I could down to the corner until I was out of sight. All I wanted to do was to get rid of the bag and dispose of the evidence. However, this was a tricky proposition, what to do with the bag. I knew it would be a bit embarrassing if anyone saw me pulling a bag out of my underpants. Another block away, I saw the perfect disposal spot. There was an old dilapidated apartment building that was in the process of being demolished. It was being torn down, to make room for a new row of houses, but for some reason they had stopped the demolition halfway through the job.

As I approached the building, I could see a small window that led to the cellar. I leaned over to look in and could see an empty room with a couple of broken chairs stacked in the corner. Even though it was getting dark, I could see that there were broken bottles in the corner and with pieces of glass strewn across the floor. They reflected the light like diamonds.

You could not get into the building through the front door; bricks and rubble blocked it. I thought however, that I might just be able to squeeze my body through the small window and lower myself down to the cellar floor below. It looked like it would be a tight fit, but I was sure I could get my slim torso through. I also thought about how embarrassing it would be if I got half way in and got stuck. All this just to ditch a wet bag and a bloody shirt, it hardly seemed worth it.

Feeling confident about getting inside and excited about what wonderful bounty might wait beyond the walls I got down on my stomach and turned around facing away from the building. I went in legs first, facing backwards until I could feel my waist pushing tightly against all four sides of the window. For a moment, I thought I might be stuck, but as I lowered my legs, gravity seemed to take over. As my waist slipped through the rest of me, fell like a brick and hit the cellar floor with a thud. I was stunned for a minute, but quickly recovered my bearings.

I looked around in wonder at the scene around me. It looked as though all the discarded items from the building ended up in the cellar. Tables, chairs, old silverware, broken candles, and a whole world of odds and ends were scattered everywhere. Even in the dim light, I knew right away that this might be the perfect clubhouse Johnny and I always talked about building someday. The place where we could get away from everybody and everything, a private world full of fun things to do, where Johnny and I could spend time together away from the harsh reality of the world outside. This was going to be the greatest place, and I could not wait to tell Johnny about it and bring him there to show it off.

4

It was too late to go tell Johnny about my wonderful new discovery. It would just have to wait until Sunday morning. I thought Johnny would especially like the idea of a clubhouse since he hated the fact that he never got any privacy in his own house. His family was way too large to be crammed into the tiny row house where they lived. Here we would have a place where we would be safe from all the troubles lurking on the street around us.

Sunday morning was always the time for church. My mom would wake us up at eight and get our breakfast on the table before we knew what was going on. She must have figured if there was food involved, it would get us moving much quicker. She was right; when my dad and I smelled breakfast cooking, it would lure us out of our beds and cut our complaining about getting up so early on a Sunday. Like most Sundays, my mom had cooked eggs with bacon, and had mixed me a glass of chocolate milk.

The walk to church was only about four blocks, but it always seemed to take forever. It was probably the sense of dread I had about having to sit through another church service. It was a beautiful April morning and I noticed the birds flying and chirping all around us as we walked. I would always try to wait until Johnny's family left for church so that we could walk together. It made the trip seem shorter if Johnny and I talked on the way. As we hit the pavement, I tried to look into Johnny's house to see if they had left yet. I could not tell if they had gone, since the door was shut. I walked down from their front stoop and looked around the street, but they were nowhere in sight.

When we arrived at church, I could see that the Garrity family had gotten an early start and had already found seats near the front of the congregation.

Even though Johnny and I were never allowed to talk during the service, I liked sitting near him since we could make faces at each other to entertain ourselves as a way of getting through.

I also liked sitting near his family because I had a crush on Johnny's youngest sister, Annie. Annie was very pretty and helped keep my mind busy while everybody was talking about things I did not understand or care about. She had beautiful golden blonde hair and a sweet smile. She was ten months older than Johnny and I, and even though she was a girl, she would sometimes join us on our adventures. I once made the mistake of telling Johnny that I thought that Annie was pretty; he put me in a headlock and made me promise I would never say that again, so I didn't, but I thought it to myself all the time. Seeing Annie in her best dress on Sunday mornings at church was the only way, I could trick myself into believing that there was something enjoyable waiting for me at the end of our four-block walk.

I always tried to be the first one in the church so that I could get to pick our seats. I wanted to sit where I could see both Johnny and Annie at the same time. I liked sitting at just the right angle from Annie so I could see a full view of the side of her face. Luckily, my parents never seemed to care where we sat, so I usually was able to find the perfect seat.

My mind wandered as the service proceeded at its normal boring pace. As much as I liked Reverend Casey, the worst part was when he would give his sermon at the end. This week he was lecturing about the "prohibition" that had started in 1917. This was where they stopped making and selling alcohol. It was supposed to cure all of society's ills and Reverend Casey had lectured on the topic constantly over the last few years.

"If we can eliminate the saloons that would reduce crime and corruption," Reverend Casey said. "It would improve the health of the parishioners and would make the world a much better place to live."

"There will be fewer prisons, and wife beating can be eliminated," he said.

It was funny as I would sneak looks around the church and see all the women nodding their heads in agreement with Reverend Casey. Most of the men, however, were staring down at the floor.

I remember when the "doughboys" came back from the Great War, and found out they could not get a drink. They would complain mightily and say things like, "we risked our lives to save this country and this is how they thank us". Herbert Hoover had called it a "noble experiment," but none of the men I knew thought much of it.

Reverend Casey went on for at least half an hour on the evils of whiskey. I spent the time trying to catch a glimpse of Annie, trying not to get caught. I was only thirteen years old, but even I knew where the speakeasies were, where you could get some whiskey and nobody would bother you. If someone had asked me, I could walk them to two or three places within a mile on my home.

"I don't want you going anywhere near those places," my mom would say. "They are all run by gangsters and those are not places where decent folks should go."

"If they are illegal why don't the police close them down?" I asked.

"The police do close them down when they find them."

"If I can find them why can't the police," I said. "Am I smarter than them?"

"Don't be asking me any of your smart questions. You just stay away and listen to what I said."

As my mind wandered, the beauty of the church interior sometimes struck me. There were stunning stained glass windows all around and marble steps leading up to the altar. Marble sculptures and large oil paintings lined the hallway. It was a stark contrast to everything else in the neighborhood around it. Everything inside the church seemed heavenly, filled with beauty. Everything outside seemed to be so cold and ugly, hellish and completely devoid of beauty. I figured that alone gave people a reason to want to seek refuge in the church.

At last, it was over. Everyone bowed their heads for a final prayer and we were on our way home. As we walked out, I stayed right behind Johnny so that we would get to walk home together. Johnny and I walked a bit faster and got a half block lead over our parents. Annie was a few steps behind.

"I found the greatest place last night," I started. "It's a room in the cellar of the building they are tearing down on Tioga Street. It has all kinds of stuff in it and it would make a perfect hideout, the kind of place we always talked about having. It can be the private spot where we can go to play and get away from the rest of the world."

Johnny looked at me with no particular sense of excitement, but then broke out a slight smile.

"After lunch we'll go have a look at it," he said.

Johnny was quiet for the rest of the walk home. He was hard to figure out. Sometimes he'd talk more than anyone I knew and other times he would go long periods without saying a word. His mind seemed to be elsewhere, but he never gave me a hint as to where. When we got home, Johnny walked inside without saying anything. I waited outside as the Garrity family and my parents walked up together. Mrs. Garrity smiled at me as she passed.

"That was a nice service today, wasn't it?" she asked.

I smiled and nodded my head in agreement. My parents then walked by and went into the house asking me, "What are you waiting for?" I stood outside on the front stoop of our house as the Garrity family filed in one by one. The last one in line was Annie; I stole one last glimpse of her as she passed by and went in for lunch. I was always nervous speaking to Annie, but tried to talk to her whenever I could.

"That was a good service today, wasn't it?" I asked Annie. Knowing almost immediately how ridiculous the question was as soon as it had left my lips.

"Yea, it wasn't too bad today," she answered, helping to ease me over the awkwardness of my stupid question.

Annie was always so sweet and kind. Her polite manner extended not only to adults, but also to the other kids in the neighborhood. She seemed so much more mature than any of the kids our age.

"Maybe me, you and Johnny can play together this afternoon," she said. "We can go over to the railroad tracks and throw rocks into the junkyard."

"Boy that sounds like fun." I replied.

We stood on the stoop of her house for another minute or two in an awkward silence. I could never think of anything to say to Annie until after she would walk away.

"See you later," she said, opening her front door.

As always, a rush of all the clever things I should have said to her came to me just as the door closed behind her.
5

I rushed through lunch, obsessing on showing the new clubhouse to Johnny. I changed out of my church going clothes and put on my old red shirt and my black pants with holes in both knees. Rushing downstairs I flew out the front door, jumped down the steps leading down from our stoop, and leaped up onto Johnny's front porch. Before I could knock on the door, I noticed Johnny's father standing in the entranceway.

"Is Johnny allowed to come out and play Mr. Garrity?"

"I don't rightfully know if he is or isn't," he answered with a somewhat grim look on his face. "I guess you'll just have to find out for yourself." He just walked away shaking his head from side to side.

A minute or two passed, as I waited, not sure, if Johnny was coming or not. Then I saw Johnny walking towards the door. He grinned as we both jumped down from his stoop and ran out into the middle of the street.

"I could not believe how boring church was today," I started.

"Yea it seems to get longer every week," Johnny replied staring off into the distance as he spoke. "Sometimes I wish that I could fall asleep and wake up just as its ending."

"Sometimes I daydream that I am visiting an exotic foreign country,

seeing great castles, and eating fancy foreign food," I countered.

"If I were daydreaming, I would daydream that I was in New York City working in one of those fancy skyscrapers they have there. I would be the boss of a big company and everyone would have to listen to what I say," Johnny replied. "I wouldn't be one of those mean bosses, but everyone in the company would definitely have to respect me."

I almost told him how I sometimes looked at Annie during the sermon, but thought better of it. I figured it would just give Johnny a reason to put me in a headlock again and squeeze my head until my brains felt like they were ready to pop out.

When we got to the old building, I walked to the side and pointed out the broken window to Johnny. He gave me a funny look, and got down on his belly and peered inside.

"How are we supposed to get in there?" he asked.

Johnny was built a bit bigger than I was, but he was still very lean, and I knew he could slide backwards through the window just as I had.

"Here, I'll show you," I said.

Without hesitating, I got on my stomach and pushed my legs through the window while facing backwards. I dropped down to the floor below.

"I don't know if I can do that, but I'll try," Johnny said.

From the floor below, I could see his legs come sticking out from the opening of the window. He got his waist in easily, but I could see that he was having trouble squeezing his shoulders through. He was built broader than I was, and he was very muscular around his arms and shoulders. His body was almost through, except his shoulders seemed to be stuck, and instead of dropping to the ground, he was dangling from the opening. He kicked his legs back and forth trying to wiggle his way out. The top portion of his body seemed to be a perfect fit with the window opening.

I was sure that he would drop through in a second or two, but his wiggling did not seem to have any effect. He was starting to panic a bit and was began yelling at me.

"You better get me the hell out of here," he shouted. "If you don't I'm gonna kill you."

I looked around the room at the debris that was scattered about, looking for something that might be useful. I saw an old wooden table off in the corner and hurriedly pulled it over to the wall under the window. I climbed up on to the table so that I was high enough to reach Johnny's legs. I wrapped my arms around his legs in an attempt to use all my strength to pull him through. Then one of Johnny flailing legs kicked me right in the mouth.

"Hey! Could you keep still while I pull you in," I said.

"I'm going kick you twice as hard when I get down there."

"Well then, I guess there's not much reason for me to help get you down here is there?"

"All right, all right."

Johnny stopped flailing his legs. I grabbed his waist with a firm grip and pulled. He seemed to move a little, but he was still stuck. I took a deep breath and prepared for the hardest tug that I could muster. Closing my eyes, I used all my weight to pull away from the window as hard as I could. Before I knew what happened I could feel all Johnny's weight coming through the window. With a loud crack, the old wood frame surrounding the window gave way and Johnny crashed into the room. Time seemed to slow down as I went from a feeling the success of getting Johnny in, to realizing that we were flying off the table and about to smash into the concrete floor below. We seemed to be in mid air for quite a while. I hit the floor hard with Johnny landing right on top of me. I waited for a second to see if I had broken any bones, but everything seemed to be in working order.

I opened my eyes to see if Johnny was all right, anticipating the fury he was going to unleash upon me. I was halfway hoping that if he broke something he would be in too much pain to worry about giving me a beating. As I looked up, I could see he had come through the window and had taken the window frame with him. The wood frame was still stuck around his shoulders as he stood up.

"You better help me get this crap off of me," Johnny said.

"Sure let me give you a hand."

I pulled the frame up over his head, freeing him. I looked at his face and cringing a bit as I waited for the inevitable. Before I could even see his expression, I could hear Johnny begin to laugh. Not a giggle, but a big belly laugh, that echoed around the empty room.

Obviously, he wasn't hurt. Why would he be? After all, he landed on top of me and my body broke his fall.

"Well next time it'll be much easier getting in. I just added another couple inches to the entrance," he said.

Looking up at the window, I could see that without the frame it certainly would be much easier to get in.

Johnny looked around the room taking inventory of what was there. Four old wood chairs that went with the table we had just used. There was a couch, quite ripped, with the springs sticking out of it, still good enough to sit on. There was a toolbox with handful of old rusty tools. We also found two boxes in the corner that were sealed shut.

There was a damp feel to the room as water stains were evident all along the outer wall. A musty smell permeated the air mixing with the odor of animal droppings that had collected in the building.

It was hard to see since there was only a dim light coming through the window where we had entered, and that only illuminated half the room. I had not noticed the boxes when I was down there the night before.

Johnny pulled the boxes up on the table, which was still under the window. As he slowly opened the first box, I saw that it was completely filled. I saw candles, some old hardware, matches for lighting fires, empty old perfume bottles, and even a couple old photographs. The other box had more candles and some old books that looked like they were from before the Civil War. Johnny looked at the photographs for a minute and then handed them to me. They seemed to be of somebody's grandparents standing on the beach with a big Atlantic City, New Jersey sign behind them.

"Look at those ridiculous bathing suits, nobody would wear anything like that now," Johnny said.

"They look pretty funny, don't they?"

"They do seem to be having a fun day at the beach though," I added.

"Well at least these candles will come in handy," Johnny said.

Johnny moved the table back near the corner of the room where it had been and neatly arranged the four wooden chairs around it. He struck the match and held it to the candlewick and it quickly lit. He reached down on the ground grabbing two rocks from the floor and wedged them around the candle to hold it up straight. The light from the candle gave the room a warm glow and made it seem like a much more peaceful place. It cast shadows on the outside walls of the room and gave it a bit of a spooky feeling. With the big comfortable couch, sitting in the middle of the room it seemed a lot like home.
6

As Monday morning rolled around, we started our weekly routine of going to school early each morning and coming home to do our chores around the house at night. Johnny always had more chores than I did, as my mom pushed me to spend more of my time on my school studies. Even when his chores were finished, Johnny could always find a good excuse for avoiding his homework. He ended up in my bedroom nearly every evening, and I finished his schoolwork for the next day. Each night after supper Johnny and I would sneak off to our hideout, careful never to tell anyone where we were going. As we arrived at the secret entrance, we would wait until nobody was watching and squeezed through the window. It was much easier now that the window frame was gone.

Each day we brought small items from home, and set them up in the basement.

"Let's go in your cellar and scrounge up some stuff to take to the clubhouse," Johnny said. "I bet you got all kinds of great stuff just lying around."

"Why don't we go in your house and see what we can find," I replied.

"You know we don't have anything worthwhile lying around our house, and besides you're the one with all the money," he said in a sarcastic tone.

Johnny knew better than that, we both knew neither of our families had very much in the way of money.

"Yea right, let's go through both our cellars and see what kinds of junk we'll find," I answered.

We started in my house. We snuck down the cellar and Johnny started grabbing things.

"These pillows will come in handy, and what about these candles and matches," Johnny said. "Hey this old foot stool will be perfect for resting my tired feet on."

"Hey, I don't know if I am allowed to take this stuff," I said as I tried to stop Johnny from picking things up.

"Don't worry, when people put stuff down the cellar it's because it's junk they don't want in their house no more," Johnny said with a smug look on his face. "You got so much good junk just sitting here we won't need to go through my cellar at all."

We ended up making two trips to the clubhouse with crates full of things from my cellar and we never did get around to looking in Johnny's house.

Johnny did scrounge up an old painting with flowers that I think he stole from the junkyard and we hung it on a nail sticking out of the wall. By bringing some of our own things, it made it feel much more like it was our place, a home away from home.

Once inside our hideout we would lie on the couch and leave the cares of the world outside. We started to talk to each other much more than we ever had before. Johnny started to open up about his dreams of what he wanted to do when he grew up.

"When I grow up I want to be a doctor," Johnny said. "A children's doctor, so that I could help kids feel better. Kids need the most help and I want to be the one to help them."

"I bet you would make a lot of money being a doctor," I said.

"Yea, probably, but that's not why I want to do it. I don't really care about the money."

"But if you made a lot of money you could buy a big fancy house," I replied.

"Yea and then I would move out of Kensington," he answered with his voice trailing off at the end of the sentence.

I was surprised to hear him talk about leaving Kensington behind, because I never had a thought about leaving and expected that we would both live our entire lives right here.

"I'm gonna move to New York City and live in a nice apartment with all those fancy new electrical machines they have," Johnny said.

"Even if I do become a famous doctor and move to New York City I will still be an Athletics fan, and I'll never root for the Yankees," Johnny said with a sharp tone to his voice.

"You'll probably have enough money to go to all the games and you'll get to see Ruth play all the time," I said with more than a hint of envy in my voice. Johnny grinned as he let the thought roll around his head.

Johnny seemed to have his whole life all planned. Why didn't I have a plan? How could I be thirteen years old and not know what I was going to do with my life? Since Johnny had such a great plan, I figured that there was pressure on me to come up with a plan of my own. As I listened to Johnny, I promised myself that I would spend some time thinking about my future, and what I wanted to do with it.

Coming to the hideout became a daily ritual; school, chores, studies, supper, and rushing off to our secret place. Each day I realized that the time in the clubhouse was the only part of the daily routine that I actually looked forward to. By the end of the week, we had brought a deck of playing cards, a set of checkers, and both of our bags of marbles. We had enough to do there to keep ourselves entertained for hours.

Playing bottle caps was our favorite game and Johnny and I took special pride in the fact that we had invented it. We outlined a bottle cap court in the dirt on the clubhouse floor to play the game. We drew a large square with chalk and put numbers, from one to eight in boxes around the outside of the court. In the middle was a big box marked "dead". You then started with your bottle cap in the number one square, and you flicked it with our finger trying to shoot it into the number two square. We shot by putting our middle finger inside our thumb and release it with a flicking motion, shooting the bottle caps across the court.

If you got it in the number two square, you got another turn. If not it was the other players turn. When your bottle cap landed on the "dead" spot in the middle, you had to go back to one and start over again, even if you were up to number eight. The first person to shoot their bottle caps from one to eight and back to one was the winner.

Our bottle cap collections were certainly among our most prized possessions. I had a bunch of Hires root beer caps, as well as some Coca-cola. I had caps from many beer bottles that I gotten before the Prohibition started. Johnny's collection was every bit as good as mine was. Before prohibition, his dad bought many different beers and he had many more exotic caps than I did.

One evening in the hideout, Johnny came up with the greatest invention of all time.

"Damn! Every time I tried to knock your bottle cap out, I flick it so hard that it flips over and rolls," I said to Johnny.

"I got an idea, hand me that," Johnny said as he motioned for the candle that was burning on the table. "Here watch this," and with that he started dripping the wax that was melting from the candle into the Hires Root Beer bottle cap. He held the candle sideways and let the wax drip into his bottle cap, one drop at a time. He held it there for a few minutes until the bottle cap had filled to the brim with melted wax. We did the same thing with another dozen caps.

"Don't touch them yet," Johnny said as I began to put my finger into the waxy goop. "You gotta let 'em dry or you'll ruin them."

We waited a few minutes until Johnny was sure they were dry, he was the one who touched them with his finger and made sure they were ready.

"Now they got some weight to them and I don't think they're gonna be flippin' over no more," John said brimming with obvious satisfaction over his patent worthy innovation.

"We'll see," I said with a hint of skepticism in my tone.

I had to give him credit though; this simple improvement in bottle cap technology revolutionized the game for us from that day forward.

It was obvious from the very first flick that this advancement would change bottle caps forever. The weight of the wax made the bottle cap travel in a smoother and more predictable manner. The caps stopped flipping over as they had so often before. We no longer had to worry about flicking too hard and having the cap roll on its side and go way off course. Johnny was truly a genius, a renaissance man full of great ideas; after all he had single handedly solved the problems of bottle caps game with one simple innovation.

Friday night was always the best night of the week. School was over, and I did not have to worry about my studies again until Sunday night. In school, Johnny and I had talked about the possibility of letting some of the other kids in the neighborhood into on our secret place. He didn't seem to like the idea too much, so I let it go.

"Maybe we can let some of the other kids come over to the clubhouse and play with us," I said as I tried to feel Johnny out on the subject.

"I don't know, I kinda like it the way it is, I don't need everyone in the neighborhood going down there."

"Maybe some of the guys that play baseball with us can come down and we could have a Worlds Series of bottle caps," I said.

"I said, I don't want any other kids knowing about the place and let's leave it at that," Johnny said with his face turning red.

I was a little surprised by Johnny's feelings, but we both ended up agreeing that we really did not want other kids knowing about our _special place_ _._

On our Friday night walk to the clubhouse, we stopped at Mr. Kelley's corner store. We each bought a bottle of pop and a bag of candy to enjoy for the night. When we got to the hideout, we opened the box of checkers and started one of our usually intense battles. Even as he concentrated on each move, I could see that Johnny mind was somewhere far away. After each move, he would stare off into the ceiling and not focus in again until his next turn. I could tell his mind was elsewhere as he was making mistakes and I was beating him even more easily than normal. I usually won, but it was always a battle to the very end.

Johnny sipped on his pop as the game went on. The expression on his face became much more serious, although I could tell he didn't care that he was losing. He was down to his last checker as he laid his head back on the couch.

"You know Friday nights are the worst night," he said.

I didn't know what he was talking about, Friday nights were certainly the best night. Before I could question his logic, he continued, "That's the night he drinks the most."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"On Friday my dad goes out drinking at the speakeasies after he gets off work and doesn't get home until late. When he gets home, he is always talking loud and wakes everyone in the house up. If my mom tries to quiet him down he slaps her hard across her face and squeezes her throat so hard that she can't breathe."

I didn't know what to say so I just listened.

"He yells about how much money it costs to keep all of us kids and how his life would be better if my mom and all of us kids were gone."

"There was one night that my dad was hitting my mom so hard that I jumped out of bed and ran into the kitchen," Johnny said as his eyes began to well up with tears. "I tried to squeeze my body between them and wrestle my father's hands off of her throat. He pushed my mom so hard that she slammed her body against the wall and fell on the floor."

I listened in shock, I knew Johnny's father had problems, but I never knew anything like this was going on in his house.

"Then he grabbed me by the shirt collar and picked me up by my neck and held me up against the wall," Johnny continued, not making eye contact as he spoke.

"Don't you ever lift a hand against me or I'll kill you, do you hear me?" his dad screamed.

"Then he took his fist and punched me right in the face," Johnny said as he continued to look away from me. "Remember that time I lost a tooth and had a swollen lip, and you asked me about it. And I told you that I feel down in a footrace with one of the kids from St. Monica's, well that wasn't the truth."

"Yea, I remember, but I really did believe you fell down in a foot race, but I had no idea what really happened."

I wondered how I could have missed hearing all this with the thin walls that separated our two houses. I wondered if my parents had heard what was going on and just never said anything about it to me. Maybe I was a very sound sleeper and I was able to sleep through all the commotion. I wanted to comfort Johnny but I did not know what to say.

"When my mom starts to cry my dad stops hitting her. When I started to cry my dad said I was like a little girl," Johnny said, speaking very quietly. "And he screamed at me to stop crying."

We sat as minutes went by, but each minute seemed to last for an hour. I wanted to say something wise and helpful, but nothing came to my mind. I could only think how lucky I was to have the family that I did, but I certainly didn't want to say that to Johnny.

"You know what we should have?" I asked him. "A secret saying that we could use with each other anytime we were in real trouble, something that nobody else would understand. The phrase would be a way of telling each other that we were in trouble and need help."

We sat for a few minutes more as I tried to come up with just the right phrase, but nothing came to me. I looked at Johnny but it didn't seem as if he wanted to spend any time helping me come up with any stupid secret phrase. I threw out some ideas, but as Johnny didn't respond, I decided to let the whole idea go. We walked home in silence that night. My mind focused on how lucky I was to have a quiet night of sleep ahead. Johnny was probably wondering if his dad was out drinking whiskey, and what kind of Friday night he would have.

7

It was a quiet weekend; Saturday morning spent playing baseball at the cemetery, and Saturday night sitting out on the front stoop of our house with the Garrity family. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood, and as far as I could tell Johnny's dad wasn't doing any drinking. Our parents told each other funny stories of how they met and what they did while they were courting.

"I remember the first time I came to court you, I was so nervous that I stood on the corner near your house for thirty minutes before I got up the courage to knock on your door," my dad said.

"Yea and I watched you the whole time from behind the curtains in my bedroom," my mom replied with a smile as if she was revealing this for the first time. "At first I was just peeking out so that I would be ready when you came, but then I saw you standing there and couldn't figure out what you were up to. I couldn't figure out what was going on in your head, and I thought you might just be crazy."

My dad laughed not showing any sign of being embarrassed.

Johnny and I stood a few feet away bouncing a rubber ball off the front steps of his house. We had invented another game that we called stoop ball. You would throw the ball as hard as you could at the steps and depending on the angle that it hit it would fly into the street. We laid down boundaries that marked where the ball would land, for a single, double, triple, or home run. If the person you were playing against caught the ball while it was in the air then you were out. Johnny having the stronger throwing arm always seemed to have an advantage.

On this Saturday night, I caught everything he threw up and I ended up winning six runs to two, as we kept track of batters just as if they were the real players. We even had the lineups running in our heads as each batter hit. Stoop ball even had sound, as the person up at bat would pretend he was a radio announcer broadcasting the game and give commentary after each hitter.

"If I don't become a children's doctor I might just become a radio broadcaster," Johnny said as the game ended.

"Maybe I could do that too, and we could become a famous broadcasting team."

I could see our dads reading the front page of the newspaper as we played.

"Look they just seized ten trucks full of booze in Tacony last night," I heard my dad say.

Tacony was a section of the city that was not far from where we lived, although I had never been there.

"That's a shame all that good whiskey getting poured down the drain," Johnny's dad shot back. "All them damn politicians telling us what we can and can't do. Isn't it bad enough that we have Reverend Casey trying to run our lives?"

With that remark, I could see the smile quickly leave my mother's face. She didn't care when the men criticized politicians, but she wasn't about to let anyone talk badly about Reverend Casey. My dad sensing what she was about to say, gave her a stern look, and my mother took the hint. She did not say a word and looked away in disgust.

"Here's a story about the nephew of the old mayor of Merchantville.

They found him dead in a boxcar five hundred miles away from his home," my dad said, as he obviously wanted to quickly change the subject.

"They said that the body was found all the way in Ohio and that the boy was worth $50,000.00," said Johnny's dad.

It didn't make much sense to me to say someone is worth $50,000.00, which I understood was a lot of money, but how can you put a value on his life. Sure enough when I leaned over to grab one of Johnny's high pop ups off the step, I saw the newspaper headline " _Boy_ _worth $50,000_ _found dead in boxcar in Ohio._ " I wondered where in the world was Merchantville anyway.

Sunday morning was typical and included the early morning going to church ritual. As we ate breakfast, I noticed my mom reading the newspaper a little more intently than she normally did. She was completely engrossed in one of the news articles, and we had a hard time getting her attention. I tried to glance over and see what she was reading, without seeming to be too nosy. It turned out she wasn't reading an article at all, but was looking at an advertisement for a new electric washing machine. It was for the ABC Washing Machine Company, and the advertisement took up an entire page of the Sunday paper.

Mom read every word; she even had to squint her eyes a bit to read all the small print at the bottom of the page.

My dad ate his breakfast, oblivious to what my mom was doing. He had the sports section of the paper and was just as engrossed in his reading. I think my mom was trying to get him to notice what she was reading, as she kept clearing her throat and was crumpling the papers.

She made much more noise than a person would normally make while reading a newspaper. I do not know if my dad was intentionally ignoring her, of if he was really all that interested in the sports page, but finally my mom had had enough.

"Look at this," she spoke up loudly. "You can get a brand new electric washing machine for just $2.50 down and pay off the rest in very small monthly payments," she said to nobody in particular.

My dad looked over at her as if she had just awoken him up from a sound sleep. He looked at her with an expression as if she had just given him the least important information he had ever heard in his life.

"Read the whole thing," he said to her. "The total price is $115.00 and if you pay it off in small payments like they say, you'll end up paying a lot more than that with all the interest they charge you," he continued.

"The ABC Electric Washing Machine Company ain't stupid, they'll have you paying for that thing for the rest of your life," his voice rising in anger. "Even the people whose houses you clean don't have an electric washing machine," he said, as his voice seemed to calm back down.

I could see my mom wanting to scream out with all the reasons that she needed the machine, how hard her life was and how one or two luxuries would make her life a bit easier, but nothing came out. She looked over at my father and then moved her eyes back to the kitchen walls. She did not say a word to him, and she never looked back at the newspaper advertisement.

She seemed resigned to the fact that in her life there would be no luxury, no sense of privilege or entitlement. She would have a hard life from this day to the last day she spent on this earth. She seemed to wave a white flag and acknowledge that all the modern inventions they were coming out with would all pass her by, and she would be stuck living in her modest lifestyle forever.

My dad turned back to his newspaper, as my mom began to clean up the kitchen so we could leave for church. I guess that this was an argument for my parents, although it was hard to understand. Nobody yelled and nobody hit each other, yet my mom seemed mad and acted as though she had once again lost the battle. The walk to church was very awkward, as my parents walked side by side without saying a word the entire way. It was going to be another Sunday morning of trying to entertain myself with thoughts of Annie, baseball, our clubhouse and anything else that had nothing to do with whatever Reverend Casey would be saying.
8

We arrived at church minutes before the Garrity family, so I had to take potluck on the viewing angle I would have on Annie. We sat half way back in the congregation, which was a good safe distance. Reverend Casey would not see me when my eyes inevitably closed, nor would he be able to catch me yawning. The Garrity family came in about five minutes after us, and sat two rows behind. This was the worst possible positioning, since I could not keep turning around trying to sneak a peek at Annie. Not being able to stare at Annie and daydream, forced me to create stories in my head to keep myself amused.

The service started on time, as always, and Reverend Casey seemed particularly passionate in his speaking. My mind wandered through the first half of the service and I barely heard a word. By the time Reverend Casey got around to his weekly sermon, my mind had become completely numb.

He was about a minute into the sermon when a crazy thought ran through my head. I could swear I heard the Reverend mention baseball. Could somehow my fantasy thoughts have merged with what the Reverend was actually saying? Was I just dreaming with my eyes open? I was sure that I would shake myself awake and hear him talking as usual about the ills of drinking whiskey.

Another moment passed and I heard it again. Reverend Casey was definitely talking about baseball.

"We can come together as a community and build a baseball field on the empty lot on the corner of I and Tioga streets," Reverend Casey said.

"The children of our parish do not have nearly enough wholesome activities and playing baseball could keep them out of the other troubles that plague our neighborhood. If our children are the most important thing to us, as we all claim, then this has to be our highest priority. They are surrounded by so much bad, that we have to make sure we counter it with all the good wholesome activities that we can provide. We can raise money through extra donations and I hope to open the field by the end of this baseball season. We are going to name the project Boger Field."

He did not say why it was to be named "Boger Field", only it was going to have real bases and benches for the players to sit on when they were not out in the field.

"After we build it, we can all pitch in and help maintain it so the children will have a safe place to play. This is the type of project that can bring our whole community together," Reverend Casey finished.

I could not imagine playing on a field where you were able to swing the bat as hard as you wanted and hit the ball as far as you could, without having to worry about breaking a window or hitting the ball into the tombstones.

Everyone in the church seemed to be agreeing with the Reverend as they nodded their heads up and down as he spoke. It seemed hard to believe but Ascension of Our Lord was going to have a real baseball field, and the kids were actually going to be allowed to play on it. I wanted to see Johnny's reaction to the big news, but he was sitting directly behind me, a few rows back. In between us was Mr. Rourke who had an extremely oversized head, something akin to a summer watermelon, and seeing Johnny past that thing was nearly impossible. As I swiveled my head back I tried to see Annie, but Mrs. Rourke blocked my view of her, she was no slouch in the oversized head department.

This was the greatest news I had ever heard while sitting in church. It may have been the only sermon that I had ever actually listened to, and the only time I ever left the church smiling. Upon exiting, we were greeted by the Garrity family who were waiting on the outside steps. Our dads shook hands and our moms greeted each other with smiles and hugs. I pulled Johnny aside as our parents' spoke, to get his reaction to the wonderful news.

"This is gonna be great," I said.

"Yea it sounds great, if they ever really do it", Johnny replied.

"What do you mean, Reverend Casey said it, then they have to do it, don't they?" I asked.

"We'll see if they really do it," Johnny said with more than a hint of skepticism in his voice.

I was not going to let Johnny's doubts dampen my enthusiasm.

"I am sure that if Reverend Casey asked the people to build a baseball field for the kids that they will do it. Maybe they will even buy us uniforms and we will look just like the big leaguers playing on our real field."

As we walked home, I asked my mom one question after another about the new field.

"Do you know how big it'll be?"

"Will we be allowed to play on it whenever we want?"

"When will it be finished?"

It probably should have dawned on me after a while that if she couldn't answer any of the first twenty questions, that she did not know a single thing about the field, but I just kept on asking.

Church seemed to make my parents forget about the washing machine argument, as they spoke to each other the whole way home.

"Did you see that new hat Mrs. Rourke was wearing?" my dad asked.

"That's was something," my mom replied. "But how 'bout that new dress that Mrs. Perkins had on. Wasn't that something?"

"Yes, that was quite something."

They laughed as they walked. I never noticed such things, but my mom always was able to pick out which women were wearing new dresses and who had on a new hat. I wondered if my mom ever wore a new dress to church, would the other women poke fun at her on their way home.

Things were looking up in our dreary neighborhood. Our new clubhouse, and a new baseball field, what more could we want. Johnny and I would always have somewhere to go and something to do. This was going to be the best summer ever.

9

By the time school ended on Monday, everyone in the neighborhood had heard about the new baseball field. The excitement had spread to other kids, even if they did not belong to the Ascension of Our Lord parish. Everyone was making plans to start baseball leagues with schedules and umpires. Kids from Fishtown and other neighborhoods were asking if they would be able to use the field. It was going to be a great phenomenon for the kids of Kensington.

About a dozen boys met outside the entrance to the cemetery that day to play baseball, but instead of playing, we sat on the grass and talked about the new field.

"Who is going to stop us if we want to use your field?" Billy Smith from Fishtown asked.

"It's gonna be our field and we'll decide who gets to play on it," Johnny answered in a harsh enough tone that kept Billy from asking any follow up questions.

"Maybe we can play a world series between our parish and yours on the new field," Sam Jenkins said.

Sam belonged to St. Monica's, but sometimes he played baseball with us.

"You St. Monica creeps would have no chance against us," Johnny laughed.

Johnny and I fielded one question after another since everyone knew we had been in church Sunday, and had heard the announcement. We answered every question, even though we did not know any of the real details. I guess we just gave the answers that we hoped would end up being right. We did not know when the field would be built, or how it was going to be paid for. We did not know who could use it or how big it would be. We really were not certain of a single fact. Nevertheless, we answered every single question confident that our answers were all correct.

Dinnertime rolled around, we never did play any baseball that day. We all walked home thinking about future afternoons playing baseball at Boger Field. I walked with Johnny, and the rest of the kids split up and walked home with the people that lived in their own neighborhoods.

After dinner, Johnny and I met up on my front stoop. A few of the other local kids were in the middle of the street down by the corner playing a game of wireball. Wireball was another neighborhood game that I did not imagine existed anywhere else in the world. It was played, and scored along the lines of regular baseball. You would take a rubber ball and throw it straight up in air trying to hit the overhead wires in the street. If the ball did not hit the wires and the other team caught it the batter was out. If the other team dropped the ball, it counted as a single. If your throw hit the wire and the other team could not catch it, it counted as a home run. The great thing about wireball was that all you needed was a ball and an overhead street wire and you were ready to play.

When Johnny and I arrived at the wireball field, there was already a game in progress.

"Hey let us get in!" Johnny said loudly as he walked right into the middle of the game. "You can split us two up."

"OK," said Jimmy Ryan, "we'll take your friend and you can be on Monahan's team since we're already winning."

I guess Jimmy was saying that Johnny was the better player so that was why he picked me. So, I played on Jimmy Ryan's team and Johnny was on Pat Monahan's. This was a good for me as Jimmy Ryan was the greatest wireball player in the history of Kensington. He had the strongest arm any of us had ever seen. He was left handed, so naturally he got the nickname Lefty.

"You play the outfield," Lefty said as he directed me towards the back end of the street. "You gotta make sure you cover the whole area between there and the curb. And you better not let anything drop," he added. I guess he was also the manager of this team.

When Lefty threw the ball up in the air it would go so high that for a few seconds it was no longer visible. The players on the other team were left to guess where to position themselves to try to catch it when it returned to earth. The best strategy for catching one of Lefty's throws was to spread out all over the street and maybe someone would happen to be in the right spot. Unfortunately, his balls returned from the heavens with such force that they would usually pop out of the fielder's bare hands as they tried to catch them.

"Lefty's having a good game," whispered Harry Perkins one of the other players on my team.

Harry was one of those kids that did not normally play with us, but seemed to show up from time to time. He always seemed to be dirty, and in our neighborhood, it took a lot to stand out as being dirty. I don't think Harry owned a single article of clothing that was not ripped. I never saw him wear clothes that ever looked like his mother had washed them.

"Yea, Lefty always has a good game," I replied.

The funny thing about Harry was that he always brought his kid sister Emma with him and she played as well. In fact, she was a bit of a tomboy and was actually a much better player than Harry was. When we were picking teams, she always was picked ahead of him. Pretty embarrassing for Harry.

On the very next play, Duke Zimmerman threw a ball that was coming right to me. As I got into position to make the catch I felt Harry back up and bump right into me. I took my eyes off the ball just for a second to try to avoid him only to have the ball pop out of my hands.

"You stink," Harry yelled.

Without hesitating, I shot back, "that was your fault for bumping in to me you jackass. It was clearly my ball, and if anyone stinks, it's you. Even your little sister is a better than you."

That shut him up pretty quick. In our neighborhood whenever you were attacked you had to be ready to fight right back right away or else you would be picked on forever.

"Don't worry about it," Lefty said. "I can win this game single handedly."

Lefty was playing extremely well that evening as he hit the wire time after time, and our team was winning by so many runs after three innings that everyone decided to stop playing. Johnny did not like losing in wireball or in anything else. He was very competitive and losing always seemed to put him in a bad mood.

"I hate playing on Monahan's team," Johnny said. "He always loses. I can't remember playing on his team and ever winning."

"Who cares if you win at wireball?" I asked. "Nobody keeps track and it's just fun to play."

"What do you mean, if you don't care about winning what's the sense of playing?" Johnny countered. "The whole point of playing the game is trying to win. If there's nobody to beat then it not fun to play"

"I guess you're right," I said, wanting to avoid any further arguing.

Darkness fell as the game broke up. We knew we had to be home by dark. I was never worried about anything happening to us as long as we were in our own neighborhood, but mom saw things differently.

"Bad things happen after dark," she would say. "If you think these streets are rough during the day, you don't want to be out at night and see what goes on."

"I don't want my child roaming the streets late at night and getting into all kinds of trouble," she told me time after time. "You run into the likes of Billy Brannigan and the hoodlums he runs around with. Whatever you do, make sure you are home by dark!"

Arriving at my home, I always got a warm feeling. I loved coming home at the end of the day and having a safe place to spend my nights. When I closed the front door, I felt as though I could lock out all the bad things that might be going on in the world outside. Then there was the nightly ritual of warm milk and sugar cookies that left me feeling good about life. It was a special time where I would spend a few minutes with just my mom and me. We talked about everything that had happened during the day. How could any day that ended with warm milk and sugar cookies be a bad day?
10

Springtime brought out a wealth of opportunities for new experiences. The winter cold and endless snows that seemed to stay on the ground for months, made it hard to get excited about spending time outdoors. As spring dawned, the world seemed to open up to exciting new adventures. Even living in Kensington, we never saw limits on the world we had to explore. Johnny and I were always busy making plans for the places we would visit together as we grew up and all the little detours we would take along the way.

"When I am older I am going to travel a lot and visit all the big cities in the United States," Johnny started. "Then I'm gonna go to Europe and see all the great palaces where all the kings and queens live."

"That's stuff I'd like to see too, maybe I can go with you?"

"Sure, and I bet they have white sandy beaches that are a lot nicer than the ones in Atlantic City," Johnny continued. "We'll stay in the finest hotels and get room service brought right up to our suite."

"We should make a list of all the places we want to go and all the things we want to do," I said.

To us these were not just the dreams of thirteen year olds, but were things that we were definitely going to do.

On the first weekend in May, Johnny's Uncle Eddie came to town to visit. He lived in Harrisburg and worked for the government. He was the assistant to Governor Pinchot, and I was certain that he was very rich. He had a beautiful new black Packard automobile that got everyone's attention when he drove it down the street. He wore fine suits and always had on a crisp new hat.

Johnny and I always got excited whenever Uncle Eddie came to town. He seemed to like Johnny the best of all his nephews and nieces, and always put aside some special time to spend with him. On some of the day trips they took together, Johnny was allowed to bring a friend along, and he always picked me to go.

Uncle Eddie was a big man; not only tall but also he had a very large body frame. He wasn't fat to any degree, just tall and broad. He had to be at least six foot three inches tall, and even without being fat, I am sure he weighed at least two hundred and fifty pounds. He played football in high school, and went to the Pennsylvania State University. He was one of the only people I ever met that had actually graduated from a university.

Uncle Eddie had a real lust for life, he smiled all the time and when he laughed, he could make a room shake. He was one of the nicest people that you could ever meet, and everyone seemed to like him. He was one of the rich people that did not make regular people jealous. He always was generous, and helped his family out if they ever had any financial problems. Uncle Eddie and Johnny's mom were brother and sister, and I heard that Uncle Eddie had given her the money they needed to buy the house they lived in. Johnny's dad appeared to be the only one who was not fond of Uncle Eddie. He never returned the smile as he greeted Uncle Eddie, and I noticed he always avoided eye contact when they spoke to each other. Uncle Eddie never seemed to be aware of this. He shook Johnny's dad hand extra hard and smiled as broad as he could, even as Johnny's dad looked away and tried to pull his hand out of the grip much sooner than Uncle Eddie would.

Uncle Eddie arrived in town late Friday night and had spent the evening in downtown Philadelphia in one of the nice hotels on Broad Street. It was named the Bellevue Stratford Hotel and it had big luxurious rooms. The lobby had marble floors and a huge crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling, which must have been fifty feet high. Uncle Eddie had told us they even had real room service where you could tell the desk what food you wanted and have them bring it up to your room.

Uncle Eddie had taken Johnny and me to visit the hotel the last time he came to town and I was amazed at how beautiful it was. It had large oil paintings on the walls and marble sculptures throughout the entranceway. The employees dressed in long black coats and when you walked in you felt as though you were entering one of the royal palaces of Europe.

On Saturday morning, Uncle Eddie drove his car from the hotel to Johnny's house. He parked out on the street and strolled up to the house, smiling at anyone who he happened to pass along the way. I was standing outside on my porch as he walked by. Instead of a simple wave, he jumped up on the porch with one giant leap and pulled me into a giant bear hug. He squeezed me so tight that breathing was out of the question. It struck me funny that my own uncles and aunts would only greet me with a quick pat on the head or a peck on the cheek. They never seemed as happy to see me as Uncle Eddie was.

"How you been?" Uncle Eddie asked.

"Just fine."

"How are you doing with your schoolwork?"

I assured him that I was doing well and would get good grades again this year. He smiled and shook his head showing his pleasure.

"You boys have any big plans for the summer?"

"Well, Reverend Casey is trying to build a baseball field for us to play on where the old empty lot is. It's gonna be a real field with bases and everything."

"It's about time they had a baseball field for you kids to play on around here, after all it's crazy playing baseball in the cemetery where you kids play," Uncle Eddie said. "You must be pretty excited."

Uncle Eddie was one of those rare individuals, someone that actually cared about other people and how they were doing. He never talked about himself or how much money he had. He did not brag about his big important job in Harrisburg, or how he got to talk to Governor Pinchot every single day. Johnny had told me that once the Governor had gone to Washington to meet with President Harding and that Uncle Eddie went along with him.

I stayed outside my house for a while, bouncing a ball off the front steps. I was waiting for Johnny or some of the other kids to show up, so that we could find something to do. I was going to knock on Johnny's door, but thought better of it, not wanting to interrupt Uncle Eddie's visit. After a few minutes, Johnny ran out of his house looking as happy as I ever remember Johnny looking.

"Uncle Eddie wants to take us fishing!" he said.

"Us? Can I go too?" I asked.

"Yep, he said we can both go," Johnny replied. "It's tomorrow morning and he is going to take us up to a real lake up in the Pocono Mountains where he says they have real big fish," Johnny said as he tried to catch his breath from the excitement.

Johnny and I had tried fishing before. We had taken a very long hike up to the Pennypack Creek because other kids had told us they had caught some big fish there. We didn't have much in the way of equipment. We brought a ball of string and cut pieces that we tied to long sticks we found in the park on the way to the creek. We didn't know what to use for bait, so we put a bunch of things from our kitchen in a bag. We hoped that we could dig out some worms on our way through the park, but wanted to have a backup plan for bait if we didn't find any. We brought a hot dog, some pieces of bread, and some small bits of meat.

It took almost two hours to walk to the creek and even though we had stopped at a dozen different spots, we didn't find a single worm to use as bait. We spent another two hours putting pieces of meat and the hot dog on the end of two sharp hooks that Johnny brought, but we didn't catch or even see a single fish the whole day. By the time that we got home, Johnny and I decided we were never going fishing again.

"Remember the last time we tried fishing and it didn't work out so great," I reminded Johnny.

"This won't be anything like that," he assured me. "Uncle Eddie is gonna get us real fishing equipment. We were going to use genuine rods and reels and he is going to buy night crawlers to use as bait. And besides we were going to a big mountain lake, not some small creek in the city."

"Well, you know you can count me in," I said happily. "I'll be ready to leave anytime in the morning you tell me."

The next day was going to be a glorious morning, a glorious Sunday morning. It did not hit me until I went in the house. Sunday morning, how can I go fishing on a Sunday morning? Sunday morning was church time, not fishing time; that was what I was sure my mother would say.

I was just going to have to find the right time to ask her and make sure that she was in a good mood. When she would say no at first, I would have to come up with the perfect look of sadness to try to gain a bit of pity in an attempt to make her change her mind. It was a look of dejection, where I would make my eyes water slightly and look away as though my world was ending. It was a look I had used many times before, with quite a bit of skill, and often had been able to change my mother's mind. We would have to see how much pity I could get and if it was enough to get me on that Sunday fishing trip.
11

Entering the house, I was lost in thought, trying to come up with the perfect mix of emotions to persuade my mom into letting me skip church on Sunday. I had to decide between using sadness and pity or to go with the forceful and demanding approach. Before I walked into the kitchen, I decided to go with the watery eyes and faux sorrow as soon as she would say no. I might have to go into full-blown tears when she refused for the second time. That might be the point where I would get her.

The back door from the alley was just closing. My mom had just taken out the garbage and put it in the can out back where the garbage men came every Monday to haul it away. Turning towards me, she gave her usual warm smile that always put me at ease. She was cleaning up the kitchen and putting her dirty teacups in the sink.

I started right in.

"Mom, sit down, I have a very important favor to ask you," I began. "Johnny's Uncle Eddie has been kind enough to ask me if I would go with them fishing up at a mountain lake up in the Pocono Mountains. He said we are going to use real fishing rods and there are lots of big fish to catch. This might be the only chance in my entire life to go fishing in a real mountain lake, and use real fishing equipment. The only bad part is that we have to go tomorrow since Uncle Eddie has to be back in Harrisburg on Monday. So as much as I hate to miss church, even once, I think that this is a once in a lifetime opportunity for me and I really can't miss it."

I had laid out a pretty strong opening argument, but I was more than prepared to give my second and third reasons, and then fall back on the tears as my last resort. My mom looked at me with a serious look, "alright then," she said. Not really listening to her, I went into my second phase of my argument.

"I go to church every week it's not a big deal if I miss it once and you should want me to do something special when I have a chance to," I continued.

"Didn't you hear me," my mom interrupted, "I said it was alright to go. Church can survive one Sunday without you."

I guessed that I had won the argument, although it really didn't seem like an argument at all. I hugged her and skipped upstairs to my bedroom to try to get to bed early so I would be well rested for our trip in the morning.

Falling asleep was hard on nights when I had something special happening. I kept thinking about how great catching a big fish would be. Bringing it home and having my mom cook it for dinner and we would all say how delicious it was. Finally, after about an hour I fell asleep, but I woke up every hour or so, worrying that I had overslept and that they were leaving without me.

Just as I seemed to fall into a good deep sleep, I heard sounds coming from outside my bedroom window. At first, I thought it was raindrops, but soon realized that it was the sound of tiny rocks hitting my window from the alley below. This was always Johnny's way of getting me up early without waking my parents. He would stand in the back alley and throw very small pebbles at my window, loud enough to wake me but not big enough to crack the window.

I looked at the wind up clock that was on the stand next to my bed and saw it was four o'clock. Johnny and I had been on many adventures but none of them had ever started this early.

"I'm up, you can stop throwing rocks," I whispered loud enough that Johnny could hear.

"Well, hurry up we're ready to leave," he said in a voice loud enough that I worried it might wake my parents.

I jumped into the same clothes that I had worn the day before since there was no time to waste on deciding what to wear. I did not think it was a good idea to start opening my drawers and make any noise. There was no time for teeth brushing or face washing; this certainly wasn't a day for cleanliness.

I was down in the alley in less than two minutes from the time I heard the first pebble of Johnny's wake up call. Uncle Eddie and Johnny were all ready to go. I did not see any fishing equipment, but I did see a large basket.

"What's in the basket?" I asked.

"Johnny's mom made us up a great picnic lunch," said Uncle Eddie. "She has sandwiches, fruit, and all kinds of snacks for us."

"How 'bout the fishing equipment?" I inquired.

"Once we get up near the lake there are places we can rent equipment and buy live bait," Uncle Eddie answered. "With the food we have in the basket and what we can buy when we get there, we'll have everything we need."

I got in the car first and then Johnny jumped in, putting the picnic basket between his feet so as not to let it spill as we drove. Without saying another word, Uncle Eddie looked around the car to make sure everything was all right. He nodded once at me and once at Johnny, and we were off on our adventure.

Uncle Eddie's car was a Packard Brunn Cape Victoria model. It was the most luxurious car I had ever seen. Packard's company slogan was _"Ask the man who owns one"_. They were not only known for being reliable automobiles, but were powerful and elegant as well. In 1919, a Packard automobile had set the land speed record going 149 miles per hour in the sands of Daytona Beach. This had been quite an astonishing accomplishment and amplified the excellence of the Packard automobile.

The car had many features that other cars I had seen did not have. It had a heater, gas gauge, and automatic windshield wipers. The body design reminded me of some of the Amish buggies I had seen in photographs being pulled by horses. Just sitting in such a beautiful vehicle made me feel important. Even though the ride up to the lake was almost two hours long, I enjoyed just being in the Packard. I spent the time pretending that I was an important politician or some rich bootlegger who was being driven by his chauffeur to a very important meeting.

The ride gave me a genuine appreciation for how big the State of Pennsylvania was. After we got outside Philadelphia, all I could see were trees, mountains, and occasionally farms that seemed to stretch for miles. The sun did not rise until we nearly had arrived at our destination. I could tell by the way my ears had popped on the way that we were very high up in the mountains. On the last ten minutes of the ride, I saw signs by the roadside that pointed in the direction of one lake after another.

Finally, Uncle Eddie pulled the Packard off the main road at a sign that read Lake Harmony. We drove down a rocky dirt road that shook the Packard from side to side.

At the end of the dirt road was a small wooden building with a sign outside that read "Pocono General Store". Uncle Eddie pulled the car right up to the front steps and turned the engine off. I looked around and saw that daylight was slowly breaking, and I prepared myself for what surely going to be a great day and an adventure of a lifetime.
12

Uncle Eddie exited the car first. Johnny and I jumped out of the passenger side. The general store was in an old wood building, with signs of rotted wood everywhere along the outside. Three narrow steps led up to the front door with a splintered handrail on each side of them. We walked up the steps, one person at a time, with Uncle Eddie leading the way. As I grabbed the handrail, I notice that it was very weak and if I leaned on it, it surely would give way and break. The steps were not much stronger, as each one seemed to buckle with my weight as I put my foot on them. I wondered how they supported Uncle Eddie's large body.

I guessed that it was about six thirty in the morning and thought to myself that no storeowner in their right mind would be open yet. What was Uncle Eddie thinking trying to go to a store this early? As he reached for the front door, I was surprised to see him push the door open and stroll right inside. Johnny turned around and looked at me, he shrugged his shoulders and we all walked in.

Behind the counter was an old man, probably somewhere in his late sixties. His face wrinkled and shriveled looking much like an old prune. There was no hint of a smile as Uncle Eddie approached him.

"We would like to get some fishing supplies," Uncle Eddie spoke out.

"What do you need?" the old man replied.

"I think we need pretty much everything," Uncle Eddie responded.

"You fellas know anything about fishing?" the old man asked.

"You bet we do, these boys are two of the most experienced fishermen I ever met," Uncle Eddie said with a smile. "And they're gonna teach me how to do it."

With that, the old man moved out from behind the counter and began walking around the store. He grabbed three wooden fishing rods, a small hand net, and a big black metal case. Kneeling down to grab a small box that was on the floor, he laid the box on top of the counter and pushed it towards Uncle Eddie.

The box had five pencil holes poked in it and when the man lifted the cover, I could see that it was full of worms feverously squirming. There was with a lot of dirt in the bottom of the box and the worms appeared to completely agitated. The man showed the worms to Uncle Eddie and closed the box back up quickly to keep them from escaping.

The old man went through all the things in the black box with Uncle Eddie explaining what each item was.

"Here you have the hooks, fishing line, and all the hand tools you'll need," the old man said. "Do you want me to show you what everything is for?"

"That isn't necessary," Uncle Eddie said. "These boys have plenty of fishing experience. They'll teach me what I need to know and we'll figure out the rest."

"Well, good luck to you then," said the old man. "Just make sure you have all the stuff back by closing time which is three in the afternoon."

Uncle Eddie took two silver dollars out of his pocket and placed them on the counter. The old man took them and handed Uncle Eddie a few coins back in change.

"Let's go boys," Uncle Eddie said.

He grabbed the fishing rods and handed the black box to Johnny. He reached back to the counter and picked up the worm box, turning to me saying, "You would probably like to hold this, wouldn't you?" With a half laugh, he turned back and handed me the box full of worms and dirt. As he handed me the box I could immediately feel the worms moving. I could not quite decide whether it was disgusting or not.

We got back in the Packard and drove off looking for the lake. The old man had told Uncle Eddie that the lake was a five-minute drive from the store, and gave him the exact directions. I sat with the worm box on my lap the whole time, praying the worms would not push the top of the box off and start squirming out. I held the lid down as tight as I could, keeping both hands on the bottom of the box, while squeezing my thumbs down on the top. I was squeezing so hard my thumbs were turning bright red.

The ride to the lake took less than five minutes. I could see the lake in the distance out of the side window. As we drove up, I saw how beautiful it was. The sun was now sitting low in the sky and reflected off the lake. Uncle Eddie pulled the car up along the side of a red painted picnic table. He parked the car and shut down the engine. He got out, extended his arms up towards the heavens, and let out a loud stretching sound. It caught me off guard as it broke the peaceful silence. There were no people, no autos, and no noise of any kind. There were birds flying over the lake, but even they seemed to be in harmony with the serenity of the scene.

Johnny got out of the auto before I did. As soon as he did, he reached back and held his hand out.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"Here, give me the worms, I'll hold 'em," he said.

Even though I was not really enjoying the job of carrying the worms, why should Johnny get to hold them?

"I'm OK, I can hold them," I said.

"No give 'em to me," Johnny demanded.

"I'm fine with them, really!" I answered.

As Johnny reached for the box, I could feel my thumbs tightening down on the lid. Johnny grabbed the other side of the box and pulled it towards him. I held tight and did not let go.

"You better let go!" Johnny said sternly.

Johnny pulled a second and then a third time. With the third pull, I could feel the box slipping from my grasp. I saw the box moving towards Johnny as he pulled harder. Then the top of the box flew off, worms and dirt went flying through the air. Everything seemed to slow down as the worms hung in mid-air for what seemed to be a long time. Finally, everything landed at the same instant. They all fell onto the backseat of Uncle Eddie's Packard.

I knew that this was a very bad thing. I was certain our fishing trip was over and Uncle Eddie would be taking us right back to the city. Uncle Eddie rushed over to see what was happening and I was sure all hell was about to break loose. I closed my eyes and held my breath waiting for the inevitable screaming and yelling that was sure to come. I kept my eyes closed for another second or two, only opening them as I heard the first sound coming from Uncle Eddie. As I opened them, I saw Uncle Eddie bending his body backwards and going into a hearty belly laugh. I looked down to make sure that the worms had fallen in the car, and they were indeed all over the backseat.

"Well I guess you boys' better start picking up them worms," Uncle Eddie said.

As much as I wanted to help clean up the mess, I was having a hard time at the thought of actually touching the worms. Johnny got the first few that had squirmed onto the floor, and began putting them back in the box. I sucked in my stomach and held my breath as I began grabbing the worms from the backseat. I grabbed them two and three at a time, shoving them back into the box. There must have been twenty-five of them, but within a minute or so they were all safely back inside the box. Johnny used the side of his hand to brush the dirt off the seat and into the box. There was a little bit of a dirt stain left behind on the seat, but it was not very dark. If you did not know it was there you probably would not even have noticed it.

Uncle Eddie inspected the backseat carefully and said, "Not too bad, I'll clean it up a little better when we get back to Philly."

He took the worm box from Johnny and put it on the picnic table. He also put the black box on the table and laid the fishing rods next to it.

"Who wants to cut the worms?" Uncle Eddie asked.

I looked at Johnny hoping he was going to volunteer. He was always quick to jump in front of me whenever an excellent opportunity presented itself. This time he seemed hesitant. There was not the usual pushing me aside.

"Don't you want to cut the first one?" I asked Johnny.

"No I don't want to be too pushy," he replied.

"Well I guess I'll cut the first couple myself and we'll see how it goes," Uncle Eddie said.

Uncle Eddie took a small knife from the black box and pulled two worms out of the container. He held them between his thumb and middle finger, stretching them out to their full length. They must have been at least six inches long. With one swift cutting motion, he sliced both worms right in half. The worms went into convulsions; they were squirming all over the picnic table, blood squirting out from their open ends. I wasn't exactly sure if that was what was supposed to happen or not. It must have been all right, as I watched Uncle Eddie reach down and grab the four pieces of worm. "Let's go fishing," he said.
13

We walked out onto a rocky ledge that jutted out over the lake. At the end, there was an enormous boulder, big enough for all three of us to stand. Uncle Eddie patiently showed us how to put the bait on the hook and how to cast our lines out into the water. First Johnny baited his hook and threw his line out, and then I did the same. I became more comfortable touching the worms, even when they were sliced in half, with blood squirting out. I found the cool slimy texture of the worm against my fingers to be strangely fascinating.

Uncle Eddie left his rod standing up against a nearby tree and sat behind us as we fished.

"Aren't you gonna fish?" Johnny asked him.

"Maybe later," he said.

"What fun is it doin' nothin'?" Johnny asked.

"I am doing something Johnny; I'm enjoying the beauty of nature. The lake, the trees, the birds soaring out over the water, and the quiet serenity of the peaceful surroundings," Eddie replied as he gazed out over the lake. "There's a lot to be said about enjoying the moments in life when it seems that nothing at all is happening, but in reality these can be the best of times."

A smile filled with satisfaction spread across Uncle Eddie's face as he answered Johnny's question. Listening to him talk made me take a new look at everything around us. I slowly scanned my eyes across the landscape, trying to take a picture of each scene, as I tried to permanently paint it into my memory. I hoped that I could remember it all in the future, when I would once again be immersed in the harsh realities of Kensington.

I saw the early spring flowers growing wild on the banks of the lake. I noticed colorful butterflies flying up and diving back down as their wings fluttered. Behind, there were low trees moving back and forth in the wind. As I looked a little closer, I saw a small baby deer standing about twenty yards behind us.

"Look!" I called out.

Uncle Eddie turned to see why I was yelling. He immediately spotted the deer and put his fingers up to his lips. "Shhhh!" he said, "You're gonna scare the fawn."

The little deer could not have been more than three feet tall and looked as though he was still having trouble walking. I had no experience with deer, but I knew that this one was very young. As the deer lifted his head, he noticed that we were all starring directly at him. He seemed to lock onto our eyes and stood motionless for an instant. I looked around expecting to see a larger deer that would be watching out for him to be close by, but I did not see any. There were no other deer anywhere in sight.

"Why isn't he running away?" Johnny asked. "What if we were hunters, he would be an easy target. If he was smart he would get away from people as fast as he could."

"Well, he's very young and I guess he hasn't learned all the ways of the world yet," Uncle Eddie replied. "There'll be a day when he is older and wiser, where his instincts will be much sharper and he will sense the danger."

"Yea, it's kinda of like the streets in Kensington at night, we know where we can go and where we can't," Johnny responded. "I guess we already have pretty good instincts about living in the city."

"You boys lived there your whole life and know exactly what you need to do to survive," Uncle Eddie continued. "That deer is just the same; as he gets older he'll learn all the tricks of surviving out here in the woods. His parents will take care of him until the day he can take care of himself."

Uncle Eddie rose to get a better look at the deer, but his motion seemed to spook the animal. It took off running, or at least what seemed to be running as its legs did not seem to be working together all that well.

We turned our attention back to fishing. We got little nibbles at our bait from time to time, but we didn't catch a thing. Sometimes the fish would rip pieces of our bait off the line, but they were very sly and got away without biting on our hooks.

"Uncle Eddie, the fish keep eating the bait and getting away," Johnny said. "Are we doing something wrong?"

"No, you're not doing anything wrong, reel your line in and I'll cut you some more bait."

We kept reeling up the hooks and Uncle Eddie would cut more bait. He seemed to be having more fun just sitting there than Johnny and I were having fishing.

An hour or so went by until I felt my line tugging and I was sure that I had finally hooked a fish. I watched as the line slid under the water and then rose back up on its own. The fish was running away with the bait, but this time my hook was in its mouth. Uncle Eddie quickly stood up and reached around from behind me, helping to hold the rod steady. I felt his hands, guiding me to reel the fish in, without actually doing it for me.

"Hold the line steady and try not to jerk the rod," Uncle Eddie yelled. "Try to reel it in with a steady hand."

"I'm trying to keep it as steady as I can," I said.

"You're doing just fine, just keep it coming slowly."

Uncle Eddie and I brought the fish in very slowly until finally he was out of the water and hanging in mid-air on the end of my line. It was the biggest fish I ever saw.

"Wow that must be over a foot long," I yelled with excitement. "I can't wait to take it home and show it to my mom. It'll make a great dinner and she'll know exactly how to cook it up."

"Boy that's great!" I heard Uncle Eddie say. "Let's have a look at that one," as he inspected my catch. "That's great but we're going to have to throw this one back, he is way too small to keep," Uncle Eddie said.

I could not comprehend what he was saying. Is it possible he said my big fish was too small to keep? What was he, a lunatic? This fish was going to be dinner for three!

"You see, you can't keep the baby fish because they need to grow up to become big fish. There's not enough fish here to feed even one person a small snack," Uncle Eddie said.

He reached down into the black box and brought out a wooden ruler. He held it up against the fish that was still dangling on my line, and measured it.

"You see it's only three inches long and that is not nearly big enough to keep," Uncle Eddie said with a touch of sympathy in his voice. "This is more like a pet you keep swimming around a fishbowl than something you can eat for dinner."

Uncle Eddie held the line firmly and pulled the hook out of the mouth of the fish. He bent down and put the fish back into the water as we watched it dart away from us. My sense of victory slowly melted away. As I watched, the fish return to its home in the lake I felt my desire to fish swim away with it.

We fished for another half-hour but neither of us caught anything else. When at last we finally ran out of worms we decided it was time to quit.

"I'll put the fishing equipment away," Uncle Eddie started, "you boys go ahead and start getting our lunch ready."

"It's only nine in the morning, it's not lunch time yet," Johnny replied.

"When you start as early as we did today, nine o'clock certainly can be lunch time. Besides, with the thought of those chicken sandwiches and corn on the cob sitting in the basket I can't think of anything else."

As Uncle Eddie spoke, he began to carry the fishing gear back to the car.

We each had two sandwiches and were quite full by the time we finished. As Uncle Eddie cleaned up our mess from lunch, Johnny and I wandered off down a dirt trail to do a bit of exploring.

"Don't go too far away," Uncle Eddie yelled from the picnic table. "I don't want you two getting lost."

"We won't," Johnny replied.

We walked for about a quarter mile or so, pointing out all the points of interest along the way.

"Hey, looked at those two squirrels chasing each other," Johnny said excitedly. "The big one is gonna kill the little one when he catches up to him."

"The little one's too fast for 'em," I replied, "he ain't ever gonna catch him."

"Look he got him! Look at 'em fighting. Look at how they're rolling around on the ground," Johnny screamed. "Ah, the little one got away again."

We watched as the two squirrels rushed off out of sight and continued their frolicking as they ran. We had gone so far down the trail that we could no longer see Uncle Eddie.

"I think we should turn back," I said to Johnny. He kept walking as if he didn't hear me at all.

I was beginning to worry because now we were far out of Uncle Eddie's sight. I wasn't going any further.

"I'm going back," I yelled out to Johnny who was about twenty yards ahead of me. I waited for a moment. When he did not respond I turned and started walking back along the dirt trail. As I glanced back over my shoulder, I noticed that Johnny was not following.

I walked slowly, hoping that he would follow and catch up with me. I was looking back every few seconds waiting for him to run up behind me. As I twisted my body half way around, I noticed something lying off the edge of the trail. I knelt down on my knees to get a better look at it. It was a dull ivory color and very smooth. It looked like something that had been made by a machine, but I could not tell what it was. As I picked it up in my hands, I realized that it was an antler that had fallen off a baby deer.

The antler was only about four inches long and very sharp at the tip. I couldn't figure out how the deer had lost it, as it looked as though it had fallen off cleanly. It was in perfect condition and was going to be a great souvenir of our trip. I rubbed my fingers across it to feel how smooth it was. Even the part of the antler that had been attached to the deer had a smooth feel to it.

Mesmerized by my great find, I did not notice that Johnny had returned and was peering over my shoulder. As I stood up to show him the antler, he ripped it out of my hand.

"Hey, give that back to me!" I yelled.

He turned away from me and started analyzing it. After a ten-second inspection, he began to put the antler in his pocket. He was trying to steal my trophy. This was more than I could bear.

"What are you doing with that?" I asked. "I found it and it's mine and you better give it back to me or else!"

"I have it and I'm keeping it," Johnny said. "I don't have to give it back to you!"

As he turned to go back on the trail, I ran up to him and tackled him from behind. I locked my arms around his waist and pushed him to the ground. Jumping on top of him, I pinned his stomach to the ground. The antler had flown out of his hands when I hit him, but I did not have time to see where it had gone.

"I found that antler and it's mine," I screamed at Johnny as we wrestled. "You can't take everything away from me just because you want to."

"You better get off of me or I'm gonna kill you!" Johnny yelled as he squirmed from his stomach and onto his back. "You'll be sorry if you don't let go of me."

We wrestled for a few seconds more until Johnny got to the point where we were facing each other. I wanted to take my fist and punch him right in his mouth, but could not bring myself to do it.

After about a minute on the ground Johnny finally seemed to get his bearings, and his strength seemed to grow. Feeling my grip on his hands slipping as he pushed me off. He drove me straight back slamming me to the ground with a hard thud that made my body go numb for an instant. Before I knew what had happened he was on top of me holding my arms over my head so that I could not move. Holding both my wrists together with one hand, he reached back with the other and grabbed a large rock. I saw him raise the rock over his head, and I closed my eyes and waited for the impact of the rock to slam into my head and surely kill me.

I waited a few seconds before opening my eyes. I saw Johnny had lowered the rock and was now holding it just inches from my face.

"I could have killed you," Johnny said, "if you ever do that again I will kill you. You better never raise a hand against me again or it'll be the last thing you ever do."

Johnny flung the rock into the woods and stood up slowly. He kept a wary eye on me as he dusted himself off. He slowly walked back towards the trail, stopping halfway to bend over and pick up the deer antler. He put it in his pocket and walked back to Uncle Eddie.

I think that Uncle Eddie sensed that something had happened as Johnny and I returned to the Packard. I had blood coming down the side of my lip and Johnny's shirt was ripped. We sat in the car silently while Uncle Eddie returned the fishing equipment. Johnny and I did not speak a word to each other the whole drive back from the mountains. I was thinking about the fish I caught and did not have, and the deer antler that I found that was now in Johnny's pocket. I could not help but think about something Uncle Eddie had said on the drive up. When Johnny had complained about how long the ride was, Uncle Eddie told him that in life you had better learn to enjoy the journey because many of the destinations are not as great as you think they are going to be. Uncle Eddie could not have been more right, the only part of this journey that I enjoyed was the drive up, pretending that the Packard was my car and that Uncle Eddie was my chauffeur.
14

No matter how hard I tried, I was never able to stay mad at Johnny. Even though he had gotten close to killing me, by the next day I acted as though nothing had happened. He was my best friend, and I loved him like a brother. If anyone else ever picked on me, Johnny would always step up and put a quick stop to it. Johnny had a streak of craziness and anger that ran through him and all the kids knew that he might explode at any minute. Even the older kids realized that when Johnny lost his temper you did not want to get in his way. When anyone put their hands on me, you could see the rage inside of Johnny rise, so much so that everyone in the neighborhood knew better than to ever mess with me.

"Remember, you promised to go with me downtown and help me with my shopping," my mom said as I came down for the breakfast the following Saturday morning. "We're gonna go down to Market Street and I have a big list of things we need to get."

I had completely forgotten about my promise and had helped organize a baseball game in the cemetery for that afternoon.

"Oh yea, I didn't forget about the shopping, I got nothing else on my schedule for the day," I said in a convincing tone.

"Go grab my list sitting on the kitchen table and we can go."

The list was written on a small scrap of paper. When I retrieved it for her, she shoved it into her pocket and we were out the door. Taking the trolley car from Erie Avenue, we got off at the corner of 5th and Market streets.

Arriving downtown just in time to hear the local church bells do their noontime ringing. They rang one after another, you could hear them coming from every direction. They were not synchronized; as one would end and thirty seconds later, another would begin. The bells had a quite beautiful sound to them, as each one played a different tune. I knew we were only a few blocks from where they kept the Liberty Bell, but that was one bell I never heard them ring.

It hit me as we walked up Market Street that we had not eaten lunch before we left home. I was starving and we had not brought anything to eat with us. I knew I could wait until we did the shopping and open up something that we bought, but I was hungry now. I knew my mom probably did not have extra money to buy us lunch; she usually calculated how much she would spend at the market and never seemed to have any extra.

I looked at her sheepishly and asked, "Are you hungry?" I was trying to be subtle and send a message without letting her know how hungry I really was. She turned and looked up and down Market Street, and then turned back at me and smiled.

"I know something that you would like," she said. "You see that building over there, that's a place called Horn & Hardart. It's a restaurant and we can get some lunch there. "

We crossed over the street and I saw the big brown sign that read Horn & Hardart. A line stretched out to the front door. Under the Horn & Hardart sign that hung over Market Street; there was a small white plaque that read "Automat."

"What's an automat?" I asked.

"You'll see when we get inside," my mom answered.

"I don't know what you do at an automat, I'm gonna embarrass myself," I said.

"Don't be silly, just watch the other people and you'll see what to do," my mom said in a reassuring tone. "Follow me and I'll help you."

Reaching the back of the line and I carefully studied the other customers to see what they did when it was their turn. There was a menu hanging on the back wall with the prices. Luckily, the line was moving slowly, and I had plenty of time to scrutinize the menu board. Everything sounded delicious; I must have been very hungry. They had a Saturday Special, hamburger steak with mashed potatoes and green peas for twenty cents. It sounded like heaven, except for the twenty cents, I didn't know if mom had twenty cents. Moreover, if she did, I didn't know if she had enough money to buy herself lunch. This was terrible; I couldn't make my mom spend all her money just to buy me lunch.

"Well what would you like?" she asked.

I would have liked anything, but all I could think about was how much money it would cost.

"I'm not really hungry, I was just kidding," I said.

Mom looked me right in the eyes and said, "I have extra money, don't worry you can get whatever you like. How about the hamburger special?"

"Are you sure you have enough money? That seems kind of expensive just for lunch."

"I cleaned two extra houses this week so I can be a big spender and give us to a special treat," she replied with a smile.

Well if she had the money, I was not going to argue. As we got to the front of the line, I discovered what an automat was. All the food was lined up on the wall behind small glass doors. Customers walked up to the food they wanted and inserted a coin in the slot next to the door. Then they turned the knob and opened the window. Each item had a different price and the door would only open when you put in the right amount of coins. I was getting dizzy from all the choices.

Mom reached in her pocketbook and gathered a handful of coins. She handed me a bunch of nickels and dimes and told me that I could get whatever I wanted. The sense of anticipation left me light headed. I took out a dime, put it in the hamburger steak slot, and twisted the knob. I could hear the coin drop as I lifted the window. Out came a plate with the hamburger steak. I moved down the line, saw the mashed potatoes, and put my nickel in that slot. A slight turn and they were on my plate as well. Then came one of the greatest sights I had ever seen. At the far end of the vegetables was the dessert selection. I had never seen so many choices in my entire life.

They had cherry pie, apple pie, and peach pie. Then came the pudding choices; vanilla, chocolate, rice pudding. This was unbelievable. Then it hit me again, my mom was splurging to buy me a great lunch, but another nickel for dessert was being overly extravagant. I moved my eyes away from the dessert windows and started to walk towards a table. Just then, I felt my mom tap me on the shoulder as she motioned in the direction of the desserts.

"I don't want any dessert," I said. "After I eat all this I won't have any room left for dessert."

"You can't fool me, no sensible boy would turn down a delicious dessert selection like that," she said.

She then came back to where I stood and took my hand. Turning me around, she walked me back directly in front of the massive dessert automat machine.

"Here's a nickel and you can pick out anything you want for dessert," she said.

"I told you, I don't need dessert after eating such a big lunch."

It was very hard to fool her. She put the nickel in my hand as she walked back to get her lunch plate.

"It's not every day that you get so many choices of what to eat for dessert, go enjoy yourself," she said.

This was one of those monumental decisions. Should I go with cherry pie, which I knew I loved, or try peach pie for a change, what about pudding, I always loved chocolate pudding. Then it hit me, this was going to be a very special day and I was going to be bold. I was standing directly in front of two rows of automat doors marked tapioca pudding. I did not know what tapioca pudding was, but there were so many people buying it that I figured it had to be good. These people must have been here before and if tapioca pudding was what you ate when you go to Horn & Hardarts then I would have tapioca pudding.

All I could think about as I ate my lunch was the tapioca pudding. I starred at it as I chewed my hamburger steak. I even tried to sneak a little bit of pudding onto the fork mixed in with my mashed potatoes, but mom caught me and with a stern look had me return the pudding to the bowl until I was done my lunch. The tapioca was worth the wait, it was as delicious as anything I had ever remembered eating before. I could almost hear myself humming out of pure joy as I finished the bowl. I waited until mom got up from the table to clear her plate and I ran my finger along the inside of the bowl to get the last bit of pudding and then quickly licked it off before she returned. I promptly cleared my plates so she would not notice how perfectly clean my bowl was, and try to figure out how I was able to get every bit of pudding.

I did not care what else we were going to do, after that meal; I figured I owed my mom a hard day's work. We walked up Market Street passing the big department stores. There was Gimbels and Lit Brothers, each with their decorated windows displaying all the new fancy clothes. We walked over to Chestnut Street and passed by the A.G. Spalding sporting goods store.

"Look at all the fancy stuff in Spalding's window," my mom commented as I stopped to have a look.

"Boy. They got everything we would ever need," I said. "But everything costs so much money. Some of the baseball mitts cost nine dollars. The bats are two dollars each, and even the baseballs are one dollar and seventy five cents."

"That is quite a bit of money, but someday we'll be able to afford a nice baseball mitt for you," my mom started, "just not today."

We finally got to the meat store. It was called Lewis Quality Meats and was at the corner of 2nd and Poplar Streets. They had chuck roast for ten cents a pound, lean soup meat for six cents a pound and stewing chickens for thirty-four cents a pound. Mom spoke to the man behind the counter as I wandered around the store. He was the butcher, a quite portly gentleman, in his white apron.

"Can you go get me a loaf of bread," she asked. "You know what kind, don't you?"

"Sure do," I replied.

I walked over to the shelf that had many different brands of breads on it and grabbed a loaf of Victor bread. I did not even have to ask, mom always brought Victor bread and it was only five cents for a loaf.

Mom spent the next ten minutes picking out the other items from the shelves and putting them into her metal basket. She always took her folding metal shopping cart with her when she shopped. It had wheels on the bottom, would fold flat, and would close when it was empty. When unfolded, it had plenty of room to put all the food you bought at the store and you could roll it back to the trolley for the ride home. It certainly made the trip to the store much easier than trying to carry everything you bought home.

It wasn't until dinnertime that we arrived home. I was still stuffed from lunch, and had a hard time forcing myself to eat dinner that night.

"What wrong? You only ate half your dinner," mom said. "I guess my cooking isn't as good as the food at Horn & Hardarts."

I had to think about my answer for a second, not wanting to hurt her feelings. Then she smiled at me and shook her head, letting me know that it was really a question I did not have to answer.
15

Reverend Casey's Sunday sermon included a plea for the parishioners to give a little extra each week in a special donation that would go towards building the baseball field. It sounded as though the fundraising was not going very well.

"We all need to dig a little deeper into our pockets if we are ever going to get this field built," he said. "Some of you have suggested running a bake sale, where we would donate special treats that you baked and we could sell them to raise money. Others have said it might be a good idea to have a rummage sale where everyone would clean out their houses, and sell all their unwanted items and give all the proceeds to the fund. Well I am here to say I am willing to try anything, so we will try both of these and see what we can do."

They quickly organized the bake sale and held it the following Saturday. It turned out to be a rainy day and not many people showed up. Much of the baked goods went unsold, and in the end, everyone traded the food that they brought to their neighbors so they could take something different home. We had brought three apple pies that my mom had baked. She had sold one and we traded the other two for a chocolate cake that Mrs. Garrity had made. I am certain that they would have raised more money if the parishioners just had given the church the money that they had spent on the ingredients for the baking.

The rummage sale was scheduled for the next weekend.

"Go down the cellar and bring up those boxes of rummage from your parents old house," my mom yelled upstairs to my dad.

"Hey, I don't want to get rid of that stuff," dad replied. "It has sentimental value."

"It's junk and doesn't have any kind of value," mom replied.

We went through all the closets and drawers in our house and found all kinds of junk that we did not need. We gathered some old clothes, some slightly chipped plates, and a couple of paintings that my mom hated and packed them up in bags and boxes. We took everything down to the church early Saturday. By the time we got to the front steps of the church, it was apparent that this was going to be a much bigger success than the bake sale. There was a large crowd of people, all lugging boxes and bags into the church.

Inside long wooden tables were set up, full of all kinds of things that you could buy. Business seemed to be very good, as I watched people making purchase after purchase. They filled the bags and boxes that they had used to bring their own things in with, and stuffed them with all kinds of new junk that they were buying. It struck me kinda funny, how people seemed to be so happy to get rid of their own junk but were more than willing to pay good money for other people's scraps.

"We were able to raise over two hundred dollars at the rummage sale," Reverend Casey announced in church the next day. "I know that this sounds like a lot of money but we are still way short of our goal for building the baseball field for the kids. We are going to have to put our heads together and think of another idea to raise the money."

It seemed to me that people were losing interest in the whole baseball field project. It had been more than a month and they had only raised a small fraction of the total amount of money that they needed. As we stood outside after the Sunday service, I could hear people complaining.

"That money could go to much more needed projects that the church should be involved with," said Mrs. Thomas. "There are plenty of people who attend this church and don't have enough money to buy proper food."

"I couldn't agree more," said Mrs. Snitzer. "It seems like we are wasting a whole lotta time on this nonsense."

There seemed to be universal agreement among the parishioners who were milling around, that the idea of building the field should be abandoned. It seemed like my dream of playing baseball at Boger Field was slowly being squeezed to death.

Just then, Reverend Casey walked out onto the church steps and began greeting the parishioners.

"Reverend Casey, don't you think there might be better uses for the money we raise than building a baseball field?" Mrs. Thomas asked.

"After all the needs of our parish are many."

Reverend Casey smiled and at Mrs. Thomas and began to speak in a calming voice.

"Mrs. Thomas," Reverend Casey started, "building this field will not only keep the boys out of trouble, but it will teach them valuable lessons about teamwork and hard work. This is going to be a great investment in our children's future and is indeed a very wise use of our funds. We have no greater responsibility than that to our children; we should certainly be willing to sacrifice for them."

Remarkably, everyone standing around shook their heads in unison, seemingly agreeing with everything Reverend Casey had just said. The level of respect that Reverend Casey received was something special to see. I cannot remember a time that anyone raised a dissenting voice when he spoke, at least not while he was present. If someone disagreed with him, they may have said so in private, but even then very quietly. I loved Reverend Casey, he seemed to care about me and my friends in a way that no one except our parents did. Everyone left the church that day once again feeling good about building Boger Field, and I left with my dreams still intact.
16

I went over Johnny's house that Sunday night and asked him to take a walk over to our clubhouse.

"No, I'm pretty tired and don't feel like going," he said.

"Come on, don't be a baby," I said, "We don't have to stay late."

"I am not in the mood, we can go another night," he insisted.

Finally, after a few more minutes of convincing, Johnny caved in and I persuaded him to go along.

"Mom, we're going out," Johnny yelled upstairs.

"Alright, but be careful and don't be home late it's a school night,"

She yelled back, poking her head out from the top of the staircase.

As we left I noticed Johnny's dad sitting on the living room couch, starring at the floor in front of him. Johnny walked out right past him without saying a word.

It was already getting dark and since it was a school night, I knew we only had an hour or so to play at the clubhouse. It was almost eight o'clock and my mom made me promise that I would be home by nine. As we turned the corner onto Tioga Street, I saw a group of boys standing on the corner. I quickly realized that it was Billy Brannigan and his hoodlum friends.

As we turned the corner, we headed right for where Billy's group was congregating. I tried to grab Johnny's arm to get his attention. I wanted him to change direction and cross back over Tioga so that we would be on the opposite side of the street from where Billy was. I grabbed his arm just above his elbow and tried to turn him the other way. Johnny pulled his arm out of my grasp with a sharp violent jerk. He kept walking straight towards Billy and his friends.

"Come on, let's walk on the other side," I pleaded to Johnny.

"We can walk on any side of the street we want," Johnny replied. "Don't let that stupid Billy Brannigan scare you. This is a public street and we have a right to walk on it just like him."

"All right, please just don't say anything to him."

Billy was leaning over and I could see he was throwing a pair of dice against the steps of an old storefront. There was some paper money and a few coins lying on the ground in front of him. The boys seemed very intent on what they were doing, so I was certain we would get by unnoticed. I averted my eyes to the other side of the street and watched an automobile as it sped by. I wanted to make sure to avoid any eye contact with Billy and get past him as quickly as possible. I did not say a word and passed him as quietly.

We had made it; we were five steps beyond Billy and his group of hooligans. Just then, I noticed Johnny turning his neck around to see what Billy was doing. Billy noticed Johnny starring at him at that very same instant.

"What are you looking at? You little punk," Billy hollered out.

This was not going to be good, but all we had to do was keep on walking and I was sure we would be fine.

"Just keep walking," I whispered to Johnny. "He won't do anything if we just keep walking fast."

Any normal person would have walked faster right along with me, but instead Johnny came to a quick halt. I could not believe that he was going to stop and confront Billy. Johnny and I had many conversations about how crazy Billy was. Johnny knew that Billy would kill you as quick as he would look at you.

"I can look at whatever I want to look at and I ain't no punk," Johnny yelled back.

My heart sank; as I heard the words leave Johnny's lips. All we had to do was to keep walking, but Johnny had to go and open his big mouth. I was torn between the desire to run and my loyalty to Johnny. I knew I had to stop and try to help him; he would always stop for me. My legs started to buckle as they become very rubbery. I tried to grab his arm one more time to pull him along, but he once again yanked it out of my grasp.

By this time, all three of the boys were looking at Johnny and they began moving towards us. For the first time ever I saw a hint of a smile forming on Billy's face. I guess that killing little kids must have been the one thing that made him happy, and he was about to be made very happy by killing us.

Johnny straightened his body and arched his back; he was not walking away. Billy moved to the front of his group, his two friends on either side of him stood about two steps behind. Billy and Johnny were about three feet apart and glared right into each other's eyes. The moment seemed to last forever, no words were spoken. I was completely frozen, as my legs felt as though they weighed much more than I was able to move.

Billy turned away from Johnny and walked back to the storefront. It was the perfect opportunity for us to get the hell out of there, but Johnny wasn't budging. Billy reached down and picked up a bottle that probably had alcohol in it. He smashed the bottle against the steps of the store and sprayed shattered glass everywhere. The liquid that had been in the bottle spilled in a small round puddle that formed in front of Billy. He held the neck of the bottle with jagged shards of glass sticking out. Turning back towards Johnny, he held what remained of the bottle up face high.

Billy walked very slowly back to where Johnny stood, whirling the bottle in front of him. This was definitely the time to run. I knew if we ran now that we would be able to get away. Johnny and I were certainly both faster than Billy was. Johnny began to turn and I was sure he was in tune with my thinking. Instead of turning all the way around and leaving, he did a half turn and noticed a pile of wood sitting in front of the butcher shop. They had been repairing the window display in front of the store and had left some scrap wood lying on the sidewalk. Johnny grabbed a two-foot piece of the two by four wood scrap and held it up like a sword.

They were now about ten feet apart, Billy with the broken glass bottle and Johnny with his wood beam sword. Out of the blue, Johnny began screaming at Billy at the top of his lungs.

"Come on, I'll kill you right here! I'll take this stick and bash your ugly head in. I'll smash your skull and break your arms and legs," Johnny screamed.

Johnny continued yelling. "I'm not afraid of you, I have nothing to lose. I don't care if I live or die and I'll take you down with me. I should have killed you a long time ago, but I'm gonna kill you right now!"

I looked at Johnny's face and it was red with rage. He was not bluffing, he was gonna kill Billy. He did not show a hint of fear and began to move forward towards where Billy stood.

Billy was caught totally by surprise. Everyone had always backed away when Billy had confronted them.

"Come on Billy you piece of crap! I'm gonna crack your skull wide open with this piece of wood," Johnny's voice level rising as the rage inside of him heightened.

There was no stopping this. Johnny would not back down. He was ready to fight Billy and I don't think he cared if he died doing it.

"I'm not kidding, you're gonna be dead on the street right here and I don't give a crap what happens to me after!" Johnny yelled as the fury within him continued to grow by the second.

Then it happened; Billy started to back away.

"I don't want to go to jail for killing a little piece of garbage like you, Johnny Garrity," he said. "There will be a time when there won't be so many witnesses around and then I'll take care of you, you little shit head."

Billy motioned his friends to return to their game of dice.

Johnny stood there for another minute, and cautiously backed away from Billy. We slowly began walking backwards. Johnny never took his eyes off Billy. He held on to the wood beam and pounded it into the open palm of his opposite hand as we walked away. Billy and his friends returned to their gambling and did not look back at us. Johnny did not take his eyes off Billy until we got to the next corner.

My heart was pounding, as we turned left on Tulip Street. Johnny and I looked at each other and he gave me a big smile. We both let out deep breaths, turning and ran home as fast as we could. About half way down Tulip Street Johnny threw the wood board into the sewer. At first, it didn't seem to fit, but Johnny kicked it with his foot and jammed it in.

When we reached home, we parted. Johnny and I gave each other our secret handshake that we had begun doing as little kids. Instead of shaking hands, we would grab each other forearms just below the elbow and shake. It was our secret handshake. We made sure that we did not do share it with anyone else, and never did it in front of anybody. We had not done it in a long time, but on this occasion, we both instinctively grabbed each others forearms and squeezed extra hard.
17

In the weeks following the incident with Billy Brannigan, I developed a new respect for Johnny. When we walked around the neighborhood together, I was no longer afraid of any of the local kids. There was no more crossing the street to avoid running into the local tough guys. When Johnny got angry there wasn't anyone that he could not handle.

I also found out some interesting gossip about Billy Brannigan.

One night at suppertime, for some odd reason, his name came up in my parent's dinner conversation.

"Ever since that fire destroyed the Brannigan place that Billy Brannigan has been getting' into trouble," my dad said.

"He was no damn good when his parents were alive, he certainly no good now," said my mom.

"I can't believe the boy had no relatives to go live with after the fire killed his parents," he replied. "They say he's living down near the river, in that old abandoned railroad office."

"I just hope the police arrest him for something before he goes and kills somebody," said my mom as she walked away from the table.

I do not know how I had missed all of that. All this was new information to me. Things seemed to change after our run in with Billy. From then on, I rarely saw him around the neighborhood.

"I got some interesting news for you," my mom said as she returned from her Thursday night volunteers meeting at the church. "Reverend Casey has decided to take out a loan out from the bank to get the rest of the money he needs to build the baseball field. He hopes that he can pay off the loan by getting extra money in the weekly collection plate."

I really didn't care where the money was coming from; I only wanted to play baseball on a real field.

Over the next few weeks, construction got underway. With the funding in place, the project moved quickly and in no time at all, the field was finished. It was beautiful. Standing on the fresh mowed grass, I felt like I was in the big leagues. On the day Reverend Casey officially dedicated Boger Field, we officially retired the cemetery field. It was like moving from the minor leagues up to the majors.

Everything seemed perfect, except that the parishioners still were not able to come up with the extra money to pay off the loan Reverend Casey had taken out. I know this was weighing heavily on him, as he would plead each Sunday to try to get everyone to dig a little deeper.

June came and the school year finally ended. Having the field to play on was a Godsend. Most of our summers were spent, on the sweat-filled streets of Kensington, with nothing to do. That summer we would meet at the field every morning and play baseball until sundown. We usually had enough kids show up to field two full teams. If not, we found creative ways to cover the field. We would have a steady pitcher that would pitch for both teams, or have only two outfielders who would play in left center and right center. If we were short more kids, we would play left side of the field only, where you had to hit the ball to the left of second base or it was a foul ball. The only player standing on the right side of the field was the first baseman. It was an ingenious way to play a game even if we only had ten or twelve kids.

When my mom returned from her first Thursday meeting in July, she told me that Reverend Casey had a grand scheme.

"Reverend Casey has a brilliant idea for raising the money to pay off the loan for the baseball field," she said. "He is going to organize a charity baseball game and he is going to get Babe Ruth to come play in it."

"If Ruth will play, Reverend Casey is sure that he could sell enough tickets to pay off the loan completely," she finished.

As my mom spoke, she looked at me as though she was waiting for me to get excited. How could I get excited? There was no way that Babe Ruth was coming to the Ascension of Our Lord Field, and play in a baseball game with the local parish team. This was a crazy scheme, which would never get off the ground. Nobody in his or her right mind would believe that this was ever going to happen.

"If Reverend Casey says he can do it, I certainly believe him," my mother said. "After all, you know he is the team chaplain for the Philadelphia Athletics and he has direct access to all the players. He's also very close to the owners of the team and they have great respect for him."

"I know that, but Babe Ruth? Do you really think he could get the Babe?"

Listening politely as my mother spoke, I began to realize that she had so much faith in Reverend Casey that she believed he could do anything that he said that he could do.

As crazy as it seemed I knew that he had gotten to meet many of the players from visiting teams that had come into town to play the Athletics. Maybe he could meet Ruth, and maybe he could convince him to play one game for charity.

Reverend Casey knew that the Yankees were coming to town next week to play the Athletics in a three game series and that was when he planned get to Ruth. The Yankees were the two time defending American League champions and there was great excitement whenever they came to town.

Reverend Casey knew that the twenty eight year old Ruth had grown up at St. Mary's which was a Catholic orphanage located in Baltimore. By all reports, he also had a very soft spot in his heart for kids. This was the path of persuasion; he would use to convince Ruth if he ever got the chance to talk to him.

The fate of our beloved field hung in the balance. If Reverend Casey could not get the money to pay off the loan then surely there would be no money to pay for the maintenance necessary to keep the field in playing condition. If his charity baseball game scheme failed then Boger field would end up as another abandoned empty lot, with tall weeds and filled with garbage. It would become a place where bums would sleep, where danger would lurk, instead of being our field of dreams.
18

While we were walking home from school, I told Johnny about Reverend Casey's plans to get Babe Ruth to play in the charity game.

"That sounds like a stupid idea," he said. "There's no way in hell that Babe Ruth is coming here to play in a dumb game to help pay for our field."

"He is the team chaplain for the Athletics," I said. "And besides Reverend Casey is not the kind of person that usually comes up with crazy schemes."

He looked at me unconvinced and said, "we'll see what happens."

There were only a few days left before the Yankees would be in town. At the Thursday night church meeting, Reverend Casey presented his plans for the charity game.

"We will schedule the game for the first week in September when the Yankees are back in town," he said. "The game will be played in the early evening, after the Yankees finish their game against the Athletics."

"Hopefully, we'll be able to sell so many tickets, that we will have enough money to pay off the bank loan for Boger Field."

Of course, all of this was contingent on getting The Babe to play. Without Ruth, the rest of his plan would fall apart. Ruth was the one person that could draw enough people to make this plan actually work.

We went to church early that Saturday morning, as Reverend Casey got ready to go meet with Ruth. Everyone knew how important this meeting was, but Reverend Casey seemed to be extremely relaxed and showed no outward signs of concern.

However, he knew full well, that there was no guarantee that he was even going to get to meet with The Babe, let alone talk him into playing.

Reverend Casey wore a dark suit with a crisp white hat. He was a portly man, not fat just a little wide. He had short gray hair and a bit of a double chin. As he left the church that day for this special meeting, he looked perfect. His suit was pressed, and his hair combed. He must have shined his shoes, as the sun reflected off them as he walked down the church steps.

"We need to get to Shibe Park at least two hours before game time so I have time to meet with Mr. Ruth," Reverend Casey said. "The best time to get his attention is when he is relaxing in the clubhouse.

"Should we wait here so we can find out what he said," Mrs. Dougherty asked. "What time do you think you'll get back?"

"I will come right back after I meet with Mr. Ruth and let you know how it turned out," Reverend Casey replied.

Two hours passed with no word. Someone turned on the radio and we listened as the baseball game had just begun. As the innings moved on, the crowd at the church began to dwindle.

"It's getting late, maybe we should go home," my mom said. "We can always find out how Reverend Casey made out tomorrow."

"I won't be able to sleep without knowing what happened," I said.

"Can't we wait a little longer, I'm sure he'll be back soon."

We waited and waited.

The Yankees beat the Athletics that afternoon which was not at all surprising. Ruth had a single and drove in two runs. By the time the game ended, Reverend Casey was still not back. The crowd at the church had shrunk to less than a dozen people.

"There must be something wrong," Mrs. Dougherty said. "The Reverend should have been back hours ago."

"I'm sure everything is fine," my mom said to her.

Finally, two hours after the game ended a black automobile drove up and Reverend Casey stepped out. I tried to look at his face for a hint of how he had made out, but he was stoic. He was not smiling, but seemed to have a bounce in his step as he entered the church. Judging by his demeanor the meeting could have gone either way.

Mrs. Scanlon was the first to approach him. "How did it go?" she asked.

"Well I couldn't get in to meet him before the game," Reverend Casey replied.

"But you were gone so long," Mrs. Scanlon continued.

"I watched the game from the Athletics dugout and waited for everyone to leave the field as the game ended. Then I walked into the Yankees locker room. I had to wait until all the newspaper reporters were done asking Ruth all their questions," Reverend Casey said.

Reverend Casey then asked Mrs. Scanlon if she would go get him a drink of water. I figured this was a bad sign, as Reverend Casey was looking tired and somewhat defeated. While she was out of the room, Reverend Casey sat quietly, temporarily suspending his tale. I wanted to scream at him to tell us what happened, but he waited patiently for his glass of water. When Mrs. Scanlon returned he thanked her and slowly drank. He did not drink it in one big gulp, but in five or six measured sips, none of which seemed big enough to quench a thirst.

"I walked over to where Mr. Ruth was sitting and he rose to greet me," Reverend Casey continued. "I introduced myself and told him all about Boger Field and our idea for the charity baseball game," pausing as he finished the sentence.

"Well, what did he say?" Mrs. Scanlon asked.

"Mrs. Scanlon, he only had one question," Reverend Casey said. He said to me, "Father will this help the children?"

Reverend Casey looked at Mrs. Scanlon as a tear welled up in his eye. Reverend Casey then nodded his head yes reenacting what he had done in response to Ruth's question.

"Without even a moment's hesitation Mr. Ruth said that if it would help the children that he would do it. He didn't ask any questions, or inquire about any of the details. He seemed genuinely concerned and told me that if it was going to benefit the kids then he would do it."

The tears in Reverend Casey's eyes were now very evident. The meeting with Ruth was obviously very emotional for him.

I could not believe what I had just heard. I wanted to run outside and scream. I hugged my mom as tight as I could without embarrassing her in front of Reverend Casey. Above all I thought about how great it would be to get to tell Johnny the big news.
19

We spent the entire school year dreaming of summer, with thoughts of how great the months of July and August were going to be. Daydreaming of long days filled with nothing but fun and games. No more school to waste our days, and no homework to ruin our nights.

The reality of summer on the hot streets of Kensington was always something quite different. There was plenty of stickball, stoopball, and bottle caps, but there was also a tremendous amount of hours of tedium with nothing to do. The dreams we had of summer were never quite able to live up to the stark reality.

People spent lots of time sitting out on their front stoops especially at night since the row-homes got so hot. You would see them holding the evening newspapers and fanning themselves with it to try to survive the brutal summer heat that baked the city. Sweat was the common denominator that drew us all together during those hot Kensington summers.

Johnny and I started out the summer spending a lot of time in our clubhouse. By now, we had so much of our stuff down there that it felt like our second home. Being below ground level it also afforded us a little break from the oppressive heat that permeated the city streets above. It always seemed to be ten degrees cooler, the moment we slid through the window into the clubhouse.

"I want to knock on Johnny's door and tell him the big news," I said to my mom as we arrived home after the meeting between Reverend Casey and The Babe.

"It after ten o'clock and it's far too late for you to be knocking on anybody's door," she said. "Besides you can tell him first thing tomorrow morning when we walk to church."

"But what if he finds out first from someone else. I want to make sure I am the one that gets to tell him."

"Don't be silly, I don't think anybody is gonna tell him while he's sleeping," my mom replied.

"I'm gonna get up extra early tomorrow, just to make sure."

Of course, I overslept that Sunday morning and by the time I got dressed the Garrity family had already left for church.

I still hoped to get to the church before the service started and pull Johnny aside to tell him. Walking to the church I tried to push ahead at a fast pace, but my parents kept up a slower, steadier, and more deliberate speed and I was constantly stopping to allow them to catch up.

"Can't you guys walk any faster?" I asked.

"We're right on time, there's no need to hurry," my dad said.

We got to the church just as everyone was taking their seats and Reverend Casey was beginning to speak. I made eye contact with Johnny, but was not able to talk to him.

Reverend Casey went through his normal routine and ended the service with a long sermon on the importance of charity.

"In these trying times it is even more important for neighbors to help each other. If we do not reach out a helping hand to one another then what kind of neighbors are we. There is more to how we are judged as people than how we take care of our own families. We are also judged by what we do to help others."

It appeared that he was going to finish his sermon and end the service without even mentioning Babe Ruth or the charity baseball game.

Just as I was sure that the service was ending, Reverend Casey stopped talking. He cleared his throat and said, "By the way I met with Babe Ruth yesterday and he agreed to play in a baseball game to help us raise money to pay off the loan on Boger field." That was all he said, and he wished everyone peace and happiness for the week.

The parishioners looked around at each other, finding it hard to believe what they had just heard. Was the great Babe Ruth really coming to our church to play a baseball game?

"I can't believe that the Reverend was able to convince Mr. Ruth to come here and play," Mrs. Garrity said. "It's incredible that he would come here and spend some of his very valuable time to try to help our kids."

"It was very late when he got back last night and told us, and I couldn't believe it either," my mom replied.

There were smiles all around, as people could not believe our good fortune. I pushed my way through the crowd and tried to get to Johnny.

"Hey Annie," I said to Johnny's, pushing my way past her not wanting to stop to even waste a moment in conversation.

"Johnny, we got to make sure we're a part of this," I said when I reached him. "This is our one chance in life to meet Babe Ruth and I'm not going to waste it."

"I have a brilliant plan for getting to meet the Babe," I started.

"All we have to do is go to the Thursday night planning meetings and offer to help with the preparations for the game. I am certain that Reverend Casey will be so impressed that he will have to give us some job on the day of the game and that we would surely get to meet The Babe."

Johnny wasn't much for volunteering for anything, as community service was definitely not in his nature.

"I don't think so," Johnny replied.

"You have to trust me on this," I countered, "if we do this I promise you that we'll get to meet the Babe."

I had a hard time but finally convinced him that this was worth the effort and it would give us a chance to meet Babe Ruth in person.

"Mom, I think maybe Johnny and me could go to the Thursday night meetings and help plan for the big game," I said as we walked home from church. "After all, Johnny and I know a lot about baseball."

"I can't believe that you want to go to our church meetings," she replied. "And I certainly can't picture Johnny Garrity going to a church meeting."

"You know, there are never any kids at those meetings," she added.

"Are there any rules against kids going to the meetings?" I asked.

"Well, I guess not, it's just something that is never done."

"If there is no rule against it then I think that we should be allowed to go," I said in a convincing tone.

"Well, if it is OK with Reverend Casey, then it is alright with me," she replied.

That Thursday night Johnny and I went to our first church meeting. For the opening hour, they talked about a hundred different things, none of which had anything to do with baseball.

"I'm gonna kill you," Johnny whispered to me. "This is the most boring thing I ever did."

"Don't worry they'll get to baseball soon," I answered, praying that I was right.

Finally an hour and a half into the meeting Reverend Casey brought up the charity baseball game.

"Even though Babe Ruth has agreed to play in the game there still may be a problem," he said.

"The only time that the Yankees are coming back to Philadelphia this season is in early September. They are going to play a doubleheader against the Athletics on September 3rd, so that wouldn't be a good day to schedule the game. In addition, on September 4th the Yankee game is not scheduled to start until 3:15 in the afternoon and by the time it ends it might be too late to get him to our field to get the game in before dark. Even though it seems like a very risky proposition I think that is the only time we could squeeze the game in," he finished.

"We would be taking a terrible chance," said Mrs. Garrity. "What if we sell a lot of tickets and all these people come to see Babe Ruth and he doesn't show up."

"Yea, if the Yankee game runs long it will be too dark to play your game anyway." Mrs. O'Brien chimed in. "If it gets dark before you play the game you might have a riot on your hands."

"If the Yankee game is staring so late, there's a good chance that Ruth will get here too late," Mrs. Garrity added.

Reverend Casey listened carefully as each person spoke. You could see him wrestling in his own mind, trying to make a very tough decision. Finally, after everyone had an opportunity to give his or her opinion Reverend Casey made his final decision.

"I think this is meant to be and somehow the Good Lord will make it work out. We will schedule the game for 6 o'clock on September the Fourth. We should all pray very hard that the Yankee game will be short that day. The Yankee game should be over by 5:30 and we will have an automobile waiting to rush Mr. Ruth to our field as soon as the game ends. He should be able to get there by six and the game could begin right away," Reverend Casey said sounding confident.

Never mind the thought of a rain delay or any other consideration of all the other things that could go wrong. When Reverend Casey spoke with as much passion and commitment in his voice as he did then, everyone in the congregation always fell into line. As the meeting continued there was no more talk of what could go wrong, there was only talk of all the preparations that would make sure that everything would go right.
20

Each Thursday night Johnny and I would waltz our way through the same old scene.

"There is no way I'm going to that stupid meeting tonight," he would say. "It gets more boring every week."

"We gotta go. It's the only way we can make sure we will get to meet the Babe," I would reply.

It was a ritualistic dance routine that we worked our way through. Deep down inside Johnny wanted to get to meet Babe Ruth just as much as I did. Even though he hated going to the meetings, we both knew that meeting Ruth was going change our lives forever. Seeing and laying hands on him was going to transform our dull and stark existence and bring a touch of light to our darkness.

We went through the motions of sitting through the long discussions over the sales of ticket and refreshments. The endless talks about all the other ways that even more money could be raised at the game.

"We better make sure that the Philadelphia Police Department has a lot of officers there," Mrs. Scanlon said. "We need to make certain that mobs of people aren't able to run on the field and get to Mr. Ruth."

"How many people do you expect that we'll have?" Mrs. Scanlon asked Reverend Casey.

"That's the hard part Mrs. Scanlon," Reverend Casey started, "we may have hundreds and we may have thousands, I just don't know."

"What if the Yankee game does run long and we have a riot. We'll really need the police then," Mrs. O'Brien said in a concerned tone.

Reverend Casey did not say a word, but he looked over at Mrs. O'Brien with an unsympathetic expression and the meeting moved on.

By the time the end of August came around the plans were all set. We went to the very last meeting on Thursday August 30th, just five days before the game. Johnny and I had gone to all these meetings and I still was not sure if we had made any progress in our quest to meet the Babe.

"I think you wasted a lot of my time by making me come to these damn meetings," Johnny said before the last meeting. "We're still going to be standing in the crowd and watching the game from the sidelines just like everybody else."

Reverend Casey had given out all the assignments, but they were for most mundane tasks. He appointed men to collect tickets, women who would sell pies and drinks, and the driver who would drive the borrowed automobile to Shibe Park to pick Ruth up.

As the meeting was winding down, Reverend Casey looked over at Johnny and me and said, "What can we get you boys to do?" He continued, "Maybe you can come with us when we go to pick up Mr. Ruth, and help carry his equipment. You might also work as the batboys and keep the equipment in good order for the players. Would that be OK?"

Everything was falling into place, and this was even more than I had dreamed. Johnny and I looked at each other and smiled. We both shook our heads yes and bolted out of the church thrilled. We ran home as fast as we could, skipping along the way.

"I can't wait to tell my mom what we're going to get to do," Johnny said as he ran into his house.

Just then, I realized that we had run out so fast that I had left my mom at the church. We always walked home together after the meeting and I could not believe that I had left her to walk home all alone.

So I raced all the way back to the church feeling more than a bit nervous at being on the streets alone this late after dark. I figured that I would run into to my mother somewhere on the path home, but when I got back to the church, she was standing alone on the steps waiting for me.

"Where did you go?" she asked.

I was glad that I went back, who knows how long she would have stood out there waiting for me. The walk home was much slower the second time, but the streets did not seem as scary. Everything always seemed safe when I was with my mom.
21

I was glad we only had a few days of anticipation left before the game. I really did not care about school starting in a few days; all I thought about was the game and meeting the Babe. Johnny and I spent some time in our clubhouse, but we seemed to enjoy it less and less each time. We had had so much free time during the summer that we had done too much of everything, and found ourselves sitting around and starring at each other. In some ways, I was almost glad that school was starting; it made us appreciate our free time that much more.

On Monday September 3rd the Yankees arrived in town. Babe Ruth was having an incredible season. He was hitting .390, and led the American League in home runs with 32. The Athletics were in seventh place and it was no surprise that the Yankees swept the opening day doubleheader on Monday.

We listened to the games on the radio as we sat out on our front porch. The first game was tied, and went into extra innings.

"With the game still tied at one we're going to the top of the thirteenth," Bill Cullen the radio announcer said.

With a runner on second and two outs, Babe Ruth came to the plate.

"This is a good opportunity for Ruth to drive in the go ahead run for the Yankees," said the announcer. "Here's the pitch, and Ruth swings and hits a line drive in the gap between the center and right fielders. The go ahead run crosses the plate and Ruth ends up on second with a double."

That ended up being the winning run as the Yankees held on to win the game by the score of two to one. In the second game, the Yankees scored three runs in the eighth inning to win seven to four. It was a great Labor Day for the Yankees. Connie Mack the beloved manager of the Philadelphia Athletics had to suffer through another tough afternoon with his team.

As I listened to the games on the radio, all I could do was pray that no harm came to the Babe. I prayed that he would not get hurt and that nothing would keep him from playing next day at Boger Field.

It seemed as though all the preparations had fallen into place and everyone was ready. Boger Field had been finely groomed, and it looked as beautiful as any baseball field I could ever imagine. It was only Monday, but the grass had been cut, and the lines chalked. The barriers were set up to keep the expected crowds off the field. I stood on the field, all alone on that Monday afternoon, looking around trying to imagine what it would look like the next day.

I could not help but think about how quiet and peaceful the field now was and how different it would be the next afternoon. On a normal day, a game with the Ascension of our Lord team playing the Lit Brothers Department store team would be lucky to draw a few hundred people. By adding just one extra player, Babe Ruth, everything changed.

Nobody knew what to expect. For weeks, they had advertised the game on telephone pole billboards and in the city's newspapers. Reverend Casey spoke about it at every service, as did most of the other church leaders in the surrounding neighborhoods. This was shaping up to be the biggest event in the history of Kensington and I was right in the middle of it.

Before I left Boger Field on that day, I had to take one long last look around. I stood at home plate and started looking at third base. I moved my head slowly around soaking in the complete panoramic view of the field. It took me thirty seconds or so before I got to first base, as I tried to remember every detail. Thinking about how special the field was to me and how great tomorrow was going to be, it sent a shiver up my spine. I could feel the hair on the back of my neck standing up straight as I lowered my eyes and left the field.

For me Boger Field was every bit as holy a place as the Ascension of Our Lord Church was. When I stood alone on the field that day I could feel as strong a spiritual connection as I ever remember feeling. I guess it was like a mountain climber reaching the peak and feeling both a sense of accomplishment and feeling closer to God. I certainly felt like I was part of something greater.

I stopped at Johnny's house on the way home from the field. I knocked on his door and Annie answered. For me seeing Annie was always a good omen.

"Hey Annie, is Johnny home?" I asked.

"Johnny come on down, you got company," she yelled up the stairs.

She turned back towards me and smiled. She waited until Johnny appeared at the top of the steps and then walked away. My eyes followed Annie, as she left, not as interested in watching Johnny run down the steps. He opened the screen door and stepped outside. We talked for about five minutes, making our final arrangements for the game on Tuesday.

"We'll meet here and walk to the church together," I said.

"That'll be fine," Johnny answered.

"Reverend Casey said we should be there by noon on Tuesday so that we will have plenty of time to get to Shibe Park before the Yankee game starts at 3:15. He wants to make sure he will be able to meet with Ruth before the game and go over all the arrangements so that there will not be any delay getting him out of the stadium after the Yankee game ends," I explained. "I'm pretty sure that we'll get to watch the Yankee game."

"There is no room in the schedule for any screw-ups, so we better make sure that we're on time," I said.

Reverend Casey had borrowed two automobiles that were going to be waiting at the church at noon on Tuesday. Johnny and I were going to be part of the group that would drive to Shibe Park and accompany the Babe back to Boger field. We did not know if we were going to get to ride in the same car, but even if we were in the other one we would still surely get to meet him.

We were lucky that school had not yet started; the first day scheduled Thursday of that week.

"Let's meet out here at 11:30 to make sure we have plenty of time to get to the church by noon," I said as we stood on the front stoop outside Johnny's house.

"Sure, I'll be ready."

Parting company that night I noticed something about Johnny. As I looked into his eyes expecting to see the same sense of excitement I felt, I could only see a sense of melancholy. I never remember Johnny really being happy; he always seemed to restrain himself never allowing himself to reach that point.

As he turned away to go into his house I yelled, "Eleven thirty, don't be late!"

He nodded without turning around and slipped into his house. As night descended on Kensington, I could not help but feel that we were on the verge of something great. The next day was going to be a day that we would remember for the rest of our lives. As long as we lived we would always talk about the day that Babe Ruth came to Kensington to help pay for our baseball field. I was sure that something was going to happen that day would change everything for the better.
22

Sleep was completely elusive on that Monday night in September of 1923. Every time I fell asleep, I woke up and lifted the window curtain to see if the sun was up yet. I do not know how many times I jumped out of bed, but it seemed like once every ten minutes. How could a meaningless exhibition game between Ascension of Our Lord and the Lit Brothers Department store team be causing such upheaval in my life? I knew it was completely irrational, but I knew the answer, Babe Ruth.

When the morning sunlight finally pushed its way into my bedroom, I rolled over and looked outside. The weather looked ideal for baseball, the skies were clear and the temperature was moderate. There was no rain in the forecast. At least we were over the first hurdle, since a rainout would be a disaster, as rescheduling the Babe was not an option.

I walked down to our kitchen, looked at the clock, and saw it was only seven thirty. With the start of school still 2 days away, I did not have much going on, and filling the next four hours was not going to be easy.

My dad had already left the house for work and mom was always up early to make sure that breakfast was waiting for him when he came downstairs.

"I don't want you going to work on an empty stomach," my mom would say.

"As long as you have breakfast waiting, I'm glad to eat it, but I don't have much time in the mornings."

It was early but mom had already started her daily chores. She was gathering the dirty laundry, getting ready to start her daily washing.

Before starting the laundry, she walked out the back door and took down the clothes drying on the clothesline from the day before. She used wooden clothespins to hold the clothes on a rope line that strung between two metal poles. The gentle breezes that blew through the neighborhood acted as the perfect dryer.

As she filled the wood basket with the clean clothes, she would carry them inside and bring out a new batch of washed clothes that were ready for hanging. The whole process took her two hours every day, but mom always smiled through it.

Since I had time to kill, I walked outside and held the basket as my mother took the dry shirts and pants off the clothesline. At least I could save her the extra labor of bending down each time.

"This would be a lot easier if you had one of those new electric washing machines," I said.

"Well, that may be true, but they're pretty expensive and your dad doesn't think we can afford one," she said with a smile.

"When I grow up I'm going to get a good job and make lots of money and I'll buy you one."

"I hope you do make a lot of money, but I don't want you spending it on me. Besides you'll have your own wife to worry about and you'll need to get her a new washing machine first."

"Well, I'll buy two washing machines; one for you and one for her."

By the time we got inside the milkman had just made his delivery, so I had fresh orange juice and milk with my breakfast.

After breakfast, I tried shooting bottle caps across my bedroom floor to kill some time, but quickly grew bored. I reached under my bed when one of the bottle caps went astray and felt a book. I pulled it out to see what it was, as I had no recollection of hiding any books under there. I looked at the cover and saw that it was Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson. I had started reading it a year before, but had never finished. In fact, I read only about five pages one night, fell asleep, and had forgotten that the book was even there.

I had plenty of time before we needed to leave to meet Reverend Casey, and reading seemed like a good way to pass the time. Starting from the beginning again, since I could not remember what I had read before. I got about twenty pages in and somehow I must have fallen asleep. I guess I was still very tired since I had slept so little the night before.

Suddenly I opened my eyes, to see my mom standing over my bed.

"It's almost eleven-thirty," she said, "You don't want to be late for your baseball game."

Eleven thirty, how could I have slept so long? In a way, this was a blessing, since I did not have any more time I had to kill. Besides, I was much more rested than when I had first gotten up.

I was already dressed and pretty much ready to go.

"Here, take this with you," my mom said. "I packed you a sack lunch with a sandwich and an apple in case you get hungry. You can take it with you to the game. After all you can't go the whole day without eating."

I grabbed the bag and gave her a goodbye kiss, and was out the door.

"You better listen to Reverend Casey and do whatever he tells you to do," she yelled as I left the house.

"Of course I'll do whatever Reverend Casey asks me to do."

I walked over to Johnny's house and knocked on the front door.

"Is Johnny ready Mrs. Garrity?" I asked.

"He's not in the house he must be outside playing."

"He was supposed to meet me here at eleven thirty and it's almost that now."

"He went out about eleven o'clock and he didn't say where he was going," she said.

"I thought he was going over your house," she continued. "He was getting ready for the game and ran out without even saying goodbye. He must be outside somewhere," she said.

I walked down to the curb and looked around. Some of the younger neighborhood kids were playing on the sidewalk near the corner, but they were all smaller than Johnny was. At the far end of the block, some of the older teenagers were standing at the corner, but as I approached them, I could see that Johnny was not there either.

Panic started to set in, as it was now a quarter to twelve and I had no idea where Johnny was. I ran around our entire block covering the front of all the houses and the back alleyway, but there was no sign of Johnny anywhere. I tried to think of anywhere he might possibly have gone.

Nothing came to mind.

It was now five minutes to twelve and I had to make a decision. If I left now and ran my fastest, I could still get to the church by noon and would not miss Reverend Casey before he left. But how could I leave without Johnny. Where could he be? Why wasn't he here? Then it hit me, he must have gone to the church without me and was surely waiting there for me. I could not figure out why he would have left for the church without me, but that was the only logical explanation. I ran as fast as I had ever run in my life. Jumping over the curbs, I did not stop to greet anyone that I passed along the way. I had to get to the church and meet up with Johnny or all our plans would go down the drain.
23

Approaching the church, I noticed a group of figures standing at the bottom of the front steps. I could not tell who was there, but was sure I saw Johnny sitting off to the side by himself. The men were all dressed in suits and stood in a circle engaged in conversation. Getting closer, I saw Reverend Casey standing in the center of the group giving out directions to the other men. Turning my head to look for Johnny at the end of the steps, I realized it was not him at all, but it was actually Michael O'Brien. Michael was the son of one of the men who was standing in the group with Reverend Casey. I did not know Michael very well. He never left his house much, and he hardly ever played with any of the other kids in the neighborhood.

I did not care that Michael was going to go to the game and picking up the Babe with us, but where was Johnny? Before reaching the spot where Reverend Casey was standing, I turned and ran back to the corner. Spinning around in every direction and I looked out as far as I could, hoping to see Johnny coming out from the distance. I was sure that he had to be coming, but I felt a sense of dizziness overcome me. I was in a total panic and did know what to do.

It was now a little after twelve noon and I had to go talk to Reverend Casey. I approached him just as he finished giving instructions to his group of helpers. Everyone understood their duties and the mission would surely be a success.

He reached down and put his hand on my shoulder, and said, "I hope you ready, we have a big day today."

I tried to smile and answer him, but before any of the words got out he asked, "Where is your friend Johnny?"

"I don't know, but I am sure he will be here any minute," I said. "We just need to wait a couple minutes for him."

Reverend Casey looked up and down the street, peering far into the distance, but there was no sign of Johnny. He looked down at me and said, "I would like to be able to wait for him a bit longer, but we are on a very tight schedule and it is very important that everything goes perfectly today."

I didn't say anything, but I am sure Reverend Casey saw the sadness that was in my eyes. He patted my shoulder to try to comfort me.

"I am sure that Johnny will be here by the time we get back for the game," he said.

There was nothing that I could do. Events were starting to unfold and I was not in control of them. The men broke up into two groups and started towards the corner of Westmorland Street. I saw two big black automobiles waiting there. They were much larger than any of the automobiles that typically would be in our neighborhood. You could tell right away that they must have been borrowed, since nobody who went to Ascension of Our Lord would be able to afford such an automobile. Each group had five people and I was in the group with Reverend Casey.

Approaching the cars, I saw a sign in the side window. It read, "These automobiles are on loan from the Studebaker Sales Company at 216 North Broad Street." They were shiny brand new 1923 Studebaker Special Six models that the sign said sold for $1,550.00. The sign also said that the Studebaker Company had a 71-year reputation for honest value.

I sat in the car first, followed by two other men one of whom was the driver. Then Michael O'Brien got in, followed by Reverend Casey.

The interior of the auto was very spacious, even with five passengers there was plenty of room. Michael sat next to me in the middle of the back seat and Reverend Casey sat on the other end.

I felt the roar of the engine as it started up. As they let the engines warm up I could only wonder where Johnny was, and hoped that he would run up to the car at the last minute. I looked at Michael and knew that I had nothing to say to him, it would be a long ride with an uncomfortable silence.

As they put the car into gear, I looked out the side window in the direction of my house and tried in vain to catch a glimpse of Johnny. I consoled myself with the thought that even though Johnny would not get to see the Yankee game, or get to drive back to Boger Field with the Babe, at least he would get to see the Ascension game.

I do not know if I was feeling sadness or if I was angry with Johnny. We had spent so much time preparing for this and he messed it all up by not coming on time. I could not imagine what else he might be doing, and what might be more important than this. He had to be somewhere and doing something, but I could not conceive of what that might be.

The cars were now moving, and we pulled onto the street. As we reached the corner of Venango Street, I turned to take one last look out the rear window, hoping to see Johnny before we turned the corner. As I twisted my body and stretched my neck backwards, I saw that there was nobody in sight. Johnny had messed the whole thing up.
24

As we turned off Venango Street onto Kensington Avenue, we pulled over next to a paperboy who was standing at the corner selling newspapers. Reverend Casey motioned for the boy to come over to the window.

"Here son, give me one of those," he said.

"Do you want the Inquirer?"

"Yes give me one of those."

"That'll be two cents Sir."

As Reverend Casey pulled the paper into the car, I leaned over trying to read the headlines that were plainly visible. Certainly, the front-page headline would be about Babe Ruth coming to play with the Ascension club for the charity game tonight. Instead, I saw that the headline told of a major earthquake that had just occurred in Japan. The headlines read that 500,000 people were feared dead and twelve Japanese cities were in complete ruins. Under a picture was a caption saying that nothing remained standing in the capital city of Tokio and that dead bodies were everywhere. It brought me back to reality, our exhibition baseball game really was not very important in the overall scheme of things.

"What a terrible shame for all those poor people," he said. "It makes you appreciate how lucky we are."

He then opened the paper and paged through until he got to the sports section. The headline read, "Yankees Grab Two Games from Mackmen," and it detailed the doubleheader sweep from the day before.

I watched as Reverend Casey flipped over the paper to read the stories below the fold. There was an article about how the Ascension Catholic Club took two games from the Nativity Club on Monday. They played the first game at Boger Field in the morning and played the second game at the Nativity field at Belgrade and Ontario Street in the afternoon. Bud Bradley, our pitching ace, pitched a shutout to win the first game. Cy Mellinger pitched and only gave up only one run, to win the afternoon game.

"I cannot believe they did not even mention our charity game once in the whole paper," Reverend Casey said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I was sure that the newspapers would be putting in articles to help us promote the game."

As he reached the end of the sports page, he did not see anything about the charity game. Finally, he spotted something at the very bottom of the page.

He read it aloud so everyone in the automobile could hear.

"Babe Ruth to help out Ascension today," is the headline Reverend Casey read. The rest of the article was as follows:

"Immediately after the Athletic-Yankee game today Babe Ruth, the home run king of baseball will jump into a new baseball uniform and take part in another battle on the diamond."

"The Bambino will play in the outfield on the Ascension Club in its twilight game with Lit Brothers. A new uniform has been provided for him."

"There will be an auto waiting for Ruth as soon as he finishes his daily labors at Shibe Park. The Reverend William Casey will be in the car and will whisk Ruth to the Ascension Field at I and Tioga Streets."

"The Ascension-Lit Brothers game is scheduled to start at six o'clock."

"It is expected that all attendance records in independent ball will be broken. The proceeds of the game will be used to pay off the indebtedness of the Ascension Field."

As Reverend Casey finished reading the article, he was not at all pleased.

"They only gave us two inches at the very bottom of page number twenty. We are underneath the article about some Swedish girl breaking a swimming record. I don't think anyone is going to get to read this article," he said.

I know that Reverend Casey was worried that not nearly as many people were going to show up as some people expected. He was hoping for a very high profile article in the morning paper to get people excited about the game. He shook his head in mild disgust, and folded the newspaper up and laid it on the floor of the car.

The ride to Shibe Park only took ten minutes, too quick to feel uncomfortable about not talking to Michael, especially since Reverend Casey had spent most of the trip reading the newspaper article. As we arrived at the stadium the reality of what was going on began to hit me. I was going to see a major league baseball game, with the greatest team in baseball. Not only that, I was going to see the great Babe Ruth play.

We parked the cars and began a two-block walk to the park. The game was not scheduled to begin until 3:15, but Reverend Casey had set up meetings with team officials prior to the game to make sure all the details had been worked out. His meeting was scheduled for twelve thirty so he walked into the Park as soon as we arrived.

"They want me to enter through the player's entrance," he said. "The rest of you wait out here until the meeting is over and then I'll be back out to grab you."

The meeting seemed to go on forever. I did not have a watch, but I heard one of the men say that it was almost two o'clock. Everyone in our group seemed nervous.

"This is going on too long, there must be something wrong," one of the men said,

"If there were no problems Reverend Casey would have been out long ago," another added.

"I am sure everything is fine." Mr. O'Brien replied.

Outside the park, the fans were beginning to arrive for the game. A small crowd formed outside the player's entrance to watch as the Yankee's players arrived. The crowd would cheer and yell out the name of the players as they came to the gate. The first player I recognized was Bob Meusel, and then Aaron Ward. Then Herb Pennock, who was the winning pitcher for the Yankees in the second game of Monday's double-header.

I had seen photographs of these players in the newspaper before but seeing them in person was an unbelievable thrill. Just then, I saw a big crowd forming at the corner of 21st and Lehigh Avenues. I heard yelling and the crowd was surging towards the gate where I was standing. It looked like a fight was breaking out, but I could not tell who was fighting. As the crowd surge moved closer to me, I began to become afraid that I would be right in the path of the combatants. It was still hard to make out what was happening as the noise level continued to grow. I could feel my heart racing as I looked to see where the other men in my group were, but they were watching the crowd moving towards them with fear showing in their eyes.

"Can you tell what's going on?" Mr. O'Brien asked.

"I'm not sure," replied Mr. Scanlon.

As the crowd pushed right up to where I stood, I was finally able to see what was happening. Standing five feet away from me was Babe Ruth himself, surrounded by about ten kids, most of them the same age as me.

He was so close I could reach out and touch him, but my arms and legs were frozen. I could not move or talk, I just starred at him. I wanted so badly to say something, but nothing came out. Just as he was about to move past me, he seemed to turn his head to the side and for a brief moment our eyes made contact. As he walked past me, he reached out and rubbed the hair on the top of my head.

"Hey kid!" he said, as he and the kids following him passed me by and moved towards the gate.

I watched him go up to the gate, still frozen and motionless. As he approached the entrance, the two attendants moved in to try to protect Babe from the crowd. They pushed the kids back to allow him enough room to enter through the turnstile.

Babe turned to the attendants and yelled, "Hey what're doin', they're with me."

The attendants both looked at Babe with a puzzled look.

"They can't come in, they don't have tickets," one of the attendants said to Ruth.

"Well if they don't go in, then I don't go in. Now do you two want to explain to the Yankees why Babe Ruth didn't get into the park today?" Babe said smiling at the two men.

The attendants looked at each other, not knowing what to say or what to do. About ten seconds passed without a word being spoken, all the kids walked through the gate, and the Babe waited for the last one to enter before he followed them into the park.
25

A moment passed, the Babe walked through the gate and disappeared into the player's tunnel. I stood motionless. Did that really just happen? I thought that Babe Ruth just touched my hair, but did he really? I squeezed my hands tight into fists to make sure I could feel them, to be sure that I was awake and not dreaming. I looked around to try to get confirmation of what had happened from someone else, but I did not recognize anybody.

For a moment, I had forgotten that Johnny was not here with me, as I wanted to revel in what had just happened. There was nobody to share the experience with, and there would be no way to describe, the greatness of the moment when I would tell Johnny about it later. This could have been one of those moments in time that Johnny and I could talk about for the rest of our lives. We could be old men playing with our grandchildren and laugh about the time that Babe Ruth patted our heads. I wondered if Johnny would even believe me when I told him what had happened.

The crowd around the gate began to disperse as The Babe went inside. I walked back to the bench where everyone else in our group was still waiting. It looked like none of them moved at all during the commotion. I wanted to tell them what had just happened, how I stood right next to Ruth, and how he had touched me, but who would I tell? I did not really know any of these people, and surely did not want to share this moment with them. The anger I felt towards Johnny rose up again. How could he miss this? How much better this moment would have been if he were here to share it with me.

The hell with Johnny, I thought. I would tell him everything when I saw him later back at Boger Field. He would be sorry that he did not get to the church on time, and missed out on all this excitement.

I sat back on the bench and waited for Reverend Casey to return from his meeting. Five minutes after I sat back on the bench, Reverend Casey reappeared from inside the park. He walked out through the same gate that Babe Ruth had used to enter.

"Reverend Casey, what took you so long?" one of the men asked.

"I had to wait for Mr. Ruth, we couldn't make any plans until he arrived," Reverend Casey replied. "Mr. Ruth was fine with the arrangements we have made, he will be ready to leave as soon as the game ends."

"Where will we meet him and how will we get him out of the stadium with the crowds all around?" Mr. O'Brien asked.

"The Philadelphia Police Department was at the meeting and they will help escort Mr. Ruth out after the game. They will also be escorting our automobiles back to the rectory building and then onto the game," Reverend Casey answered.

Reverend Casey motioned for me to come over to him. Then he did the same to the others in our group, until we all stood in a circle around him.

"I have a letter from the owners of the Athletics that allows us to go in and watch the game," Reverend Casey said. "We do not have actual seats so we have to stand off to the side and stay out of the way," he continued.

He led the way up to where the attendants were standing. We followed behind him in a single file line; I was close behind Reverend Casey.

As we approached the gate, I could hear the attendants still discussing the Ruth dilemma.

"I bet we get fired for letting all those kids in for free," the first attendant said.

"We certainly would have been fired if we didn't let Ruth in," the second attendant responded. "Let's face it; we really didn't have much of a choice."

Reverend Casey walked up to the attendant and handed him the letter. He read it and then handed it to his coworker.

"Look Reverend Casey, I know you can go in, but I don't know about all these other people," the attendant said, looking slightly confused.

"Maybe we should just open the gate and let everyone in today," said the second attendant. "I don't care, you all can go in and you can take a bunch of vagabonds off the street in with you," the guard yelled in a sarcastic tone.

Reverend Casey did not say a word, he just walked right in and we all followed without even looking at the attendants. It felt as though we were breaking into a bank vault and someone was going to catch us at any moment. However, we were in, and nobody was chasing us.

Reverend Casey led us into a small room. It was the same room where he had just met with Ruth. The room had a heavy brown wooden table surrounded by six wood chairs. Some of the men sat down, while I stood at the back of the room and leaned against the wall.

"We can wait here until the game starts at three fifteen," Reverend Casey said. "Then we can go watch the game from the tunnel that the players use to get on and off the field."

Standing against the wall, I could hear the noise of the crowd starting to fill the stands. I heard the crowd roar at times and could only wonder what was going on and what I was missing. There was a clock above the doorway to the room and it was hard not to stare at it. Time moved slowly, but finally 3:15 came.

Reverend Casey took his hat from the table and led us out of the room and into the tunnel. It got dark as we moved halfway through the tunnel, but you could see the daylight bleeding in from the other side. Maybe this is what it was like being born, moving through a tunnel of darkness into the wonderful light of being. What lie at the end of the tunnel was something that I had dreamt about my entire life. My heart raced as we got closer to the light, I could feel every single heart beat. A moment later, there it was, we had finally cut our way through the darkness and began to bathe in the light.
26

At the end of the tunnel, brilliant daylight streamed. There was also a beautiful sight; the likes of which I had only dreamed. The first thing that struck me was the greenness of the grass, and how well kept it was. The infield and outfield grass was as nice as any lawn I had ever seen. From where we were, I could see the player's faces and hear their voices as they spoke to each other. We were at the far end of the Athletics bench behind first base, able to see right into the Yankee dugout on the third base side.

I gazed into the Yankee dugout trying to catch a glimpse of the Babe. At first, I did not see him and wondered why he was not with the players, only to realize he had his back to us, surrounded by his teammates in the middle of the dugout.

The announcer voice crackled over the loudspeakers as he read the starting lineups for both teams. For the Yankees it was; Witt, Dugan, Ruth, Pipp, Meusel, Ward, Hoffman, Scott, and Sam Jones as their starting pitcher. Sam Jones was nicknamed Sad Sam or the Sorrowful Hoosier; and seeing his face up close I could see why. He seemed to have a scowl permanently etched onto his mug.

For the Athletics, the lineup read; Mathews, Galloway, Hale, Hauser, Miller, Welch, Dykes, Perkins, and Long Bob Hasty as their pitcher. Looking at the lineups of the two teams it was clear to see why the Yankees were in first place and the Athletics were languishing in seventh.

"Who you rootin' for?" Mr. Mulligan asked Father Casey as the Yankees came to bat in the top of the first inning.

Reverend Casey looked at him with a stern expression and said,

"I don't care who wins I just want them to get this game over with as fast as possible."

"In fact I am praying right now for the game to end in record time, and I hope that the Lord is listening," Reverend Casey said.

The Yankees went scoreless in the top of the first inning. As the Athletics returned to their dugout at the end of the inning, I could not believe how close we were to them.

Jimmy Dykes passed within five feet of the tunnel entrance where we stood. I could hear every word the players said to each other as they ran off the field.

In the bottom of the first inning, Sad Sam Jones walked Galloway, but nothing came of it. It remained scoreless until the top of the third inning when the Yankees scored two runs. The game went through the fifth inning with neither team adding any score. Even though there was not much hitting going on, I marveled at each out and every swing of the bat. It was all so wonderful, like a dream, if only Johnny could be here to share this moment. I was part of the crowd of five thousand people, but I really felt like I was all alone.

The game seemed to be moving along at a very brisk pace. There were hardly any hits and not many base runners. The innings were rolling by. In fact, it seemed like the Athletics had not gotten any hits at all. I looked out at the scoreboard and through five innings, and noticed that they did not have even a single hit. The walk to Galloway had accounted for their only base runner.

The people in the crowd also seemed to take note of the fact that Sad Sam was pitching a no hitter. The sixth and seventh innings came and went, and without a hit for the Athletics. Standing on the pitchers hill Jones looked gaunt and pale. The sweat was pouring down his face and he was wiping his brow with almost every pitch. The sweat was getting in his eyes and he used the sleeve of his uniform to try to wipe them between pitches.

As Jones went out to start the eight inning he looked as though he was going to become sick right on the field. His face had a strange combination of a pale sickly look, with patches of red sunburn from the sun beating down on him. The home crowd was pulling for him, realizing that there was nothing to be gained by the Athletics getting a hit.

Bing Miller led off the eighth inning. He hit a ground ball to Dugan at third base who threw him out to Pipp at first. The next batter Welch for the Athletics drove the ball hard to Everett Scott the sure handed Yankee shortstop. The ball hit Scott's glove and then caromed up off his chest.

Welch running as hard as he could was safe at first base. Scott stood with the ball in his glove, shaking his head, not believing what he had just done. Sad Sam Jones stood on the pitcher's mound looking as though his pet dog had just died. Everett Scott tossed the ball back to Jones and everyone in the stadium turned towards the scoreboard.

Would the official score count that as a hit, or would it be an error on Scott. If it were ruled an error, then the no hitter would still be intact. Jones held the ball and waited for the ruling. Minutes went by before they finally put an "E" for error up on the scoreboard. Scott was charged with the error and the no hitter continued. Jimmy Dykes then came up and hit a feeble roller back to Jones who wheeled and fired to second base getting Welch out and allowing Dykes to reach first base. He had gotten the lead runner out so it counted as a fielder's choice, still no hits.

Cy Perkins was next. He took a mighty swing and hit the ball deep to centerfield, but Whitey Witt got under it and made the catch. The no hitter was still alive.

The Yankees again went scoreless in the top of the ninth inning, and had to hope their two-run lead would hold up. As Sad Sam took the mound for the bottom of the ninth inning, everyone in the crowd was on their feet. There was hooting and hollering on every pitch.

Connie Mack, the Athletics manager, sent Frank McGowan to hit for the pitcher Bob Hasty. He hit an easy roller to Ward at second base who flipped the ball to Pipp at first base getting him out easily. Wid Mathews was next up. He smashed one like a rocket, but right at the shortstop Scott, who scooped the ball up and fired to first to get the fleet footed Mathews. Now Galloway was now the only thing standing between Sad Sam Jones and immortality.

There had not been a no-hitter during the entire 1923 baseball season. I followed baseball statistics very closely and I could not remember the last time a pitcher pitched a no hit game. I could not believe that my first baseball game ever would be such an historic event.

Galloway stood at home plate looking determined to get a hit. He seemed to swing harder with each one of his practice swings. He stared straight ahead into Jones eyes trying to break his concentration. The crowd was at a fever pitch, screaming at every movement on the field. Jones took a deep breath and used his glove to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

Jones reached back and threw the pitch with every ounce of strength he had left in his body. Galloway swung hard and the ball left his bat in the direction of third base. Dugan grabbed the ball and fired the ball over to Pipp who caught it standing on first base for the final out. The Yankees exploded and mobbed Jones in front of the pitcher's mound. The crowd stood on their seats and cheered for the Yankee hurler. Even some of the Athletics stood and clapped for Jones as he walked off the field.

As the last out was recorded, a big smile appeared on the face of Reverend Casey. For the first time all day he seemed to able to breathe.

"That worked out very well," Reverend Casey said. "I guess somebody upstairs was listening to my prayers and we get to play our game today."

In all the excitement, I had almost forgotten about the charity baseball game. Amazingly, it was only 4:40 PM; the game had been played in one hour and twenty-three minutes. If it was not the fastest games in baseball history, but it had to be close. It made me wonder about Reverend Casey and the power of prayer. It gave me an eerie feeling, Reverend Casey prayed and Sad Sam Jones pitches a no-hitter, it had to make you a believer.
27

A minute or two after the game ended the dejected Athletics players filed by us as they walked through the player's tunnel into their locker room. They walked slowly and quietly, grim faced, as though embarrassed by their performance on the field. As the last player passed, Reverend Casey followed their line and left the tunnel. He began walking towards the Yankee locker room. Our group followed him and waited outside the entrance door. Reverend Casey said a few words to the guard posted outside and they opened the door and walked him inside.

We waited outside for about ten minutes and watched the door open and close with people running in and out. Reverend Casey finally appeared at the door; behind him were four Philadelphia police officers. As the police officers exited, I saw them look up and down the hallway where we were standing, as if they were doing reconnaissance on the area. A few seconds later, the door opened again and there was Babe Ruth. He was still dressed in his baseball uniform and it was obvious he had left in haste as his clothes were hanging out all over and the buttons on his shirt were undone. He was trying to tuck his clothes in as he walked out the door.

"Hey make some room!" one of the police officers shouted.

"Coming through, coming through," said another.

Reverend Casey led the way as the four Philadelphia police officers formed a protective shield as they surrounded Ruth as he walked.

"Let's use the Lehigh Avenue exit," Father Casey said.

As we hit the street, the people leaving the game notice Ruth right away.

"Hey look there's the Babe," a young girl shouted. "I can't believe Babe Ruth is standing right there."

You could hear people starting to call his name from all around us. Walking down Lehigh Avenue towards 21st Street a crowd swarmed. We kept moving, but the whole pack seemed to be move with us.

"Please make some room, we need to get through," Reverend Casey pleaded as he used his arms to try to clear a path. He gently pushed people out of the way. I noticed that the police officers had taken out their wooden sticks and were using them to push back the crowds. Caught in the back end of the crowd, I was pushed from every direction. I could not really walk, as there were people on all sides of me and I felt as though the momentum of the crowd was moving me along.

Trying my hardest to keep up with our group, I could see that I was separating from them.

"Hey Babe shake my hand," a man yelled as he thrust his hand in front of Ruth's face.

"Back off or I'll crack this stick over your head," one of the police officers hollered.

There were so many hands bursting through and Ruth shook every one that he could reach. Reverend Casey and the police officers looked as though they were fighting their way through a war zone, but the Babe smiled and seemed to enjoy every moment of the adulation that he was receiving. I guess he was used to this.

When we reached the corner of 21st and Lehigh, I could see that the two cars we had come in, engines running and waiting for us. There were about ten more Philadelphia police officers surrounding the cars as we made our way to them. By that time, I had worked my way up to where Reverend Casey was. In fact, I had gotten right behind him, and grabbed the back of his suit coat and held on as he walked. I figured if I held on to him, he would lead me to safety.

The scene had become very chaotic.

"Can't you do something about this crowd," Reverend Casey pleaded with one of the officers as the yelling and pushing grew.

"We're doing the best we can, reverend," the officer replied.

As we reached the cars, we jumped into them anywhere we could. The police officers tried to keep the fans away, but the cars had become completely engulfed in the crowd. The police pushed them back just enough to pry the doors of the vehicle open. They pushed the Babe into the front seat of the first car, next to Mr. Deegan who was driving. I was still holding on to Reverend Casey as he was thrown into the back seat.

"I'll sit on the end," Reverend Casey said as he pulled me into the middle seat right next to him. "Mr. O'Neill, hurry and shut that door!"

As soon as the car door shut, the tension dissipated. The noise from the crowd turned into a faint din, and I felt safe from the dangers that swirled all around us. I saw that there were at least two police cars in front of us, and as I looked out the rear window, I saw that there were more police cars following behind our second car.

"You better drive very slow Mr. Deegan," Reverend Casey said. "I want to make sure you don't end up killing anyone. Look ahead; there are more officers out in the street and clearing a path for us."

By the time we reached 22nd and Lehigh the crowds were gone. There were a few stragglers walking home from the game, but they just watched from the sidewalks as the parade of cars rolled by.

That was the moment it hit me. I was sitting in a car with Babe Ruth; in fact, he was less than two feet from where I was sitting. My hand was just inches from where he was, and I had to fight the urge to reach out and touch him to make sure that he was real and that I was not dreaming.

"It sure was lucky that the game was so short today," Reverend Casey said to Ruth.

"I told that son of a bitch Jones to pitch fast as he could because I had a real important game to play this afternoon," Ruth started. "But I didn't tell him he had to pitch a damn no-hitter," Ruth finished laughing as he spoke.

"I guess that was his idea, maybe I scared him into it," said the Babe.

"Scared or not, that was one hell of a pitching performance," Mr. Deegan said.

"Yep, Sad Sam is pretty happy tonight," the Babe, replied.

Ruth had a big smile on his face and looked completely relaxed. Reverend Casey still looked quite concerned as he reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He pulled out his gold pocket watch and looked at it.

"Five o'clock sharp," he said. "We still have to hurry to make this thing work."

28

We drove the car to the Ascension Rectory at the corner of F and Westmoreland Streets. Upon our arrival, we quickly entered the rectory through a side door. It was nearly deserted; everyone was over at Boger Field getting ready for the game. Mrs. Muldoon was standing at the doorway to greet us as we entered.

"Mrs. Muldoon, I want you to meet our very special guest Mr. Ruth," Reverend Casey started. "He is the gentleman that I had you make that special uniform for."

She held up a brand new, neatly pressed, pinstriped Ascension of Our Lord uniform that she had made herself especially for the Babe. As she handed it to him, he shook his head approvingly.

"That is one fine uniform ma'am," the Babe said.

"Why thank you Mr. Ruth," Mrs. Muldoon replied. "It was quite an honor for me to get to make it for you."

"It will be my honor to wear it ma'am."

"Let me show you into the back room where you can change," Reverend Casey said as he motioned for Ruth to follow him.

Ruth changed quickly and reappeared in just a few short minutes. The uniform fit him but it seemed just a little too big. It was very baggy around his mid-section and the pant legs seemed far too wide, but as Ruth walked by the hallway mirror, he looked at himself and smiled, seemingly pleased with the look.

"It's a perfect fit," Ruth said to Mrs. Muldoon, although it clearly was not.

Mrs. Muldoon looked up and down at the uniform with a bit of a scowl on her face.

"I guess it looks good with you wearing it, and besides the people are going to be there to see you Mr. Ruth, not my uniform," she replied.

As we prepared to get back in the cars and head for the field, Reverend Casey handed me a leather bag.

"Go gather up Mr. Ruth's Yankee uniform and put it in here so that we can give it back to him after the game," he said.

"Sure will," I replied.

As I walked into the back room where Ruth had changed, I saw his Yankee uniform lying over the back of the wooden chair in the corner. As I started to reach for it, I felt an unexplained sense of trepidation. I almost could not bring myself to touch it, as my hand began to quiver as I came close to it. Even though I had just been in a car with Babe Ruth, actually touching his sacred Yankee uniform seemed like a bit too much.

I tried to steady myself and took a deep breath. I slowly picked up his baseball pants, which had grass and dirt stains all over them and carefully placed them into the leather bag. Then I took his shirt and folded it neatly, and put it in. As I removed the shirt from the chair, I noticed that a small wooden pocket comb had fallen out of Ruth's pants pocket and was lying on the seat.

I picked up the pocket comb and ran my fingers slowly over it, knowing that the great Babe Ruth himself had used it.

"Well I better put this in my pocket so it doesn't get lost and I'll give it back to him with the bag after the game," I thought to myself.

When I walked into the main room of the rectory, I saw that the men had already left and were starting to get in the car. I hurried to catch up to them, worrying that I might be left behind. I almost knocked Mrs. Muldoon over in my rush.

"Don't worry, they'll wait for you," she said as I rushed by.

"Thanks Mrs. Muldoon," I replied.

We loaded back into the car; I got in on the end next to Michael O'Brien who was sitting in the middle. Ruth was back in the front seat dressed in his brand new Ascension uniform. It was a very short drive from the rectory to the field.

I was sitting quietly, when unexpected, Michael elbowed me in the ribs trying to get my attention.

"This is unbelievable, sitting here in a car with Babe Ruth," he whispered in a very hushed tone so that only I could hear him.

"Yea, I'm having a hard time believing it myself," I replied in an equally hushed tone.

"I can't wait to tell all the kids at school that I drove in a car with the great Babe Ruth," Michael said.

"I can't wait to see Johnny at the game and tell him," I replied. "You know Johnny was supposed to come with us but he didn't show up. We had planned this for months and then on the morning of the big day he just disappears."

"I'm just glad I'm here," Michael said.

Michael and I smiled at each other. I could not help thinking to myself, that Michael and this car ride would be forever etched into my memory.

None of us knew what to expect when we arrived at the field.

"I sure hope we got a decent turnout," Reverend Casey said in a whisper to Mr. Deegan. "I'll be terribly embarrassed if we get Mr. Ruth there and only a few hundred people show up. I don't know what I would say to him after he was so kind to do this for the children."

"Please don't worry Reverend; I am sure that our parishioners would not let you down."

"I hope not, but there is no way of knowing until we get there."

The fact that the streets near the rectory were deserted only added to his concern.

When the car pulled to within a block of Boger Field, I could see that at least some people had come to see the game. We still had our police escort and our motorcade slowly turned onto Tioga Street. As we made the turn, I could see that the crowd seemed bigger than I had thought at first. As the cars drove up to the corner we were immediately surrounded by another group of Philadelphia police officers who had been waiting there to greet us.

Once again, fans surrounded our cars. It was not until I squeezed my way out of the car that the magnitude of what was going on around me actually struck. There were people everywhere, thousands and thousands of them. Every seat in the grandstand was taken, and people were standing inside the enclosure and all along both sides of the field. Up the hill alongside the Pennsylvania railroad tracks thousands more were crowded. There were groups watching from all the mill windows in the buildings that stood along the sides of the field. Unbelievably people had even climbed up onto the rooftops of the surrounding houses, as every single rooftop appeared to be full.

The scene astounded me. I had never seen any crowd as large as this. I did not know how many people there were, but I knew that there were a lot more people here than at the Yankee game at Shibe Park. There must have been at least ten thousand people watching, maybe more. There were waves of people moving in every direction.

Reverend Casey smiled as he looked out at the crowd. I guess that he realized that not all the hard work to put this together had been in vain. It did not matter that there was no possible way that all these people could have paid for tickets. I am sure he felt a great sense of relief that the Babe would feel as though he did something good, and that certainly it would help the kids of Kensington. All that to do now was play a baseball game.
29

As we pushed our way through the crowd, I tried to spot Johnny. The police lined up on both sides of us, clearing a path as we walked. There were people everywhere, as we squeezed our way through. Not only did I not see Johnny, I did not see one face that I recognized. The crowd surged as we passed.

By the time we reached the players bench, all the Ascension players were standing and waiting to greet the Babe. The first one in line was Bill Ferguson, the manager of the Ascension team. He grabbed Ruth's hand and shook it so hard that I thought he might break it off. The other players introduced themselves to Ruth one at a time, and he took a moment to shake each one of their hands and repeated back their names.

"What position would you like to play Mr. Ruth?" Bill Ferguson asked.

"Well since you're asking, it might be fun to play first base for a change," the Babe answered.

"Really, I assumed you would want to play the leftfield like you usually do," Mr. Ferguson replied. "After all there is a whole bunch of action going on around first base."

"I don't mind a little action," Ruth said. "Playing baseball without action wouldn't be much fun."

"We'll see what we can do," said Mr. Ferguson.

Ferguson walked slowly away from Ruth. He knew that first base was a much more difficult position than leftfield, and he could not believe that the Babe would want to have that many more balls to handle.

Standing about ten feet away from Ruth when he told Ferguson, I could see the immediate confusion rush through his head. He grabbed a pencil and frantically starting making changes on his lineup card.

The game started very quickly, everything had been set up by the time we arrived. They hurriedly announced the lineups to the crowd. For the Lit Brothers team the starting pitcher was their ace Lefty Gransbach and for Ascension, it was our best pitcher Bradley. Ruth was batting fourth, the cleanup spot for Ascension.

Both teams went scoreless in the first inning. Ruth was the leadoff batter when Ascension came to bat in the bottom of the second. The game paused just as Ruth approached the plate. Reverend Casey and three of the other Ascension players came out to home plate to greet Ruth as he stepped up to bat.

"Mr. Ruth," Reverend Casey started, "what you are doing here today is one of the finest acts I have ever witnessed. The people of our parish and all the people in this neighborhood will never forget what you have done for us here today. The boys will think of you, each time they take this field to play and know that without your kindness this would not have been possible. I am certain that history will long remember the day that Babe Ruth came to Kensington."

Reverend Casey then presented The Babe with a diamond stickpin. Ruth was deeply moved by the gesture, tears started to well up in his eyes as he listened to Reverend Casey's words.

Lefty Gransbach wrapped up his warm up pitches and Ruth settled in to the batter's box. Babe watched the first two pitches go by and they were both called balls, far out of the strike zone. As Lefty leaned back to throw the next pitch, I could see the Babe start leaning into the pitch. He swung with a mighty force, far greater than I had ever witnessed on the baseball field. The ball jumped off his bat and soared up into the heavens. I saw the right fielder on the Lit Brothers team, turn towards the crowd behind him, and he watched the ball soar way over his head. Unbelievably, the ball seemed to be still rising as it left the field.

The people in the stands were stunned.

"That ball must have gone over five hundred feet," one of the Ascension players speculated from the bench.

"Are you kidding me, that was at least six hundred feet," another player chimed in. "If it was at Shibe Park that would have been a hundred feet out of the park."

"I think the umpire is calling it a ground rule double," Bill Ferguson said. "We had to make that a ground rule since so many people were standing so close to the outfielders. We didn't expect anyone to hit a ball three hundred feet over them."

"If they play baseball for the next thousand years that will be the longest double that will ever be hit," said the third baseman Costello.

Ruth did not complain, and went to second base as the umpire instructed. He was stranded there, as Gransbach got the next three hitters out in order.

The game remained scoreless until the top of the fourth inning when Lit Brothers team scored two runs. Gransbach dominated the Ascension hitters. The next two times that Ruth came to bat he hit the ball hard, once a mile straight up in the air and the other time down into the ground. Both times a Lit Brothers player was there to get him out.

When Ruth went out onto the field at the beginning of the eight inning, he took a baseball with him and ran over to left field, throwing it out to one of the kids standing over the fence. When he took the field for the ninth inning, he took two more balls out with him and threw them to other youngsters that were watching the game. In the ninth, he also carried a bat out into left field with him. He grabbed the bat off the ground and began hitting balls over the wall to people who were scrambling to grab the souvenirs. The fans were enjoying every minute of it. The crowd loved Ruth and he certainly seemed to love them back. To watch his spirited interaction with the crowd was quite moving.

He could have showed up and did the very minimum, and he would have been hailed as a hero. There he was playing the game with the same intensity he did in the major league games, and smiling through each inning.

During the fifth inning, Reverend Casey asked the Babe if he would mind signing a few baseballs.

"Would you be kind enough to sign these baseballs Mr. Ruth?" the Reverend asked. "We would like to sell them to the fans and help raise a bit more money to pay for the field."

"Sure father, I'll sign as many as you got," Ruth replied.

He handed him a big box of new baseballs and Ruth spent the whole bottom of the fifth inning sitting on the bench signing each one. Reverend Casey then took the balls out to a stand where they sold for five dollars each.

Finally, it was the bottom of the ninth inning. The score was still two to zero with Lit Brothers still ahead. Ruth came to bat with one out and nobody on base. Gransbach had gotten Ruth out the last two times and it seemed that he was un-hittable at this point in the game. Gransbach concentrated as he looked down towards his catcher Barger. Ruth dug his back foot into the dirt and waited for the pitch.

Ruth swung at the first pitch and the ball again went a mile high in the direction of the left fielder Marshall. I tried to find the ball in the sky, but it was out of sight. Apparently, Marshall was having the same problem, as he franticly searched the sky for the ball. At the very last moment, he must have spotted it, but he had to lunge for the ball and it popped out of his glove. Ruth had run full speed and was able to get all the way to second base on the play. It was ruled an error on Marshall.

The next hitter was the catcher Charlie White. Gransbach proceeded to walk him, putting runners on first and second with only one out. Then the fireworks began. On the very first pitch to the right fielder Oakes, Ruth and White started to attempt a double steal. It caught everyone in the crowd by complete surprise. The Lit Brothers catcher Barger saw that he could not get Ruth at third, so he fired the ball down towards second base.

The ball arrived in plenty of time to get White out, but White quickly turned and tried to return to first base. Ruth instantly recognized that White was caught in a run down between bases, and would almost certainly be tug out. Ruth rounded third and looked back towards second base. Just as the second baseman tagged White out, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Ruth was barreling towards home plate. He instinctively turned after and fired the ball towards the catcher.

It became immediately clear to all ten thousand people watching that Ruth and the ball were going to arrive at home plate at the very same instant. A sick feeling of complete dread overcame me as I watched the ball going straight towards the spot where Ruth was heading. Miraculously Ruth started to slide just as the ball was going to strike him squarely in his head. The catcher Barger jumped out in front of home plate and caught the throw just as Ruth slid over home plate in a cloud of dust.

For a second it seemed as though time was standing still, no one in the crowd cheered or made a sound. They all held their breath. The thought of the greatest baseball player in the world being hurt playing in a meaningless baseball game had to be going through everyone's mind. For some reason to Ruth, I guess this game wasn't meaningless. It took a few seconds but finally he stood up and brushed the dirt off his uniform as he jogged back to the Ascension bench. The umpire signaled that Ruth was safe at home. The crowd went wild. Nobody was even paying attention as the next hitter, Plews grounded to second base for the final out.

Lit Brothers won the game two to one. It all seemed more like a dream than something that could have been real. I watched everything happen from the far end of the Ascension team bench, and tried to soak in every minute of what was going on.

"I hope that I remember every detail of this game," I said to Michael O'Brien. "When I tell my grandchildren about what happened here today, I want to make sure I get everything right. If I live to be a hundred years old, I pray that my memory doesn't fail me, if only to remember that this day really happened and that it wasn't a dream."
30

As the game ended, the crowd surged onto the field. The Philadelphia police were out in great force, but were not able to keep the crowds from overrunning the field. I saw Reverend Casey and about a dozen police officers quickly whisk The Babe off the field and they rushed him into one of the waiting cars. There were reporters and photographers from the newspapers following them, but he didn't stop to speak to anyone. It was clear that it was a prudent idea to get Ruth out of there as quickly as possible, and get him back to the safety of his hotel.

Within a minute or two of the game ending, Ruth was in the automobile, driving down Tioga Street, quickly disappearing out of sight. As the crowd realized that Ruth was gone, they slowly began to disperse.

I stood right behind home plate and looked out onto the majesty that was Boger Field, still surrounded by thousands of baseball fans. I stood there lost in my own daydream, feeling completely alone, when I was startled by a hand landing squarely on my shoulder. I jumped back to reality to find my parents on the field standing right behind me. They both smiled at me, and didn't say anything for a moment.

"You must've had some day," my mom said.

"You'll have to tell us all about it on the way home," my father laughed.

My first thought was of Johnny.

"Did you see Johnny at all during the game?" I asked.

"No, we thought he left the house with you this morning," my mom replied.

"I searched everywhere around the neighborhood, but I couldn't find him," I said. "If he didn't make it to the game I know something terrible must have happened to him. There's no way he would've missed this unless something was really wrong."

"I'm sure he is fine," my mother said as she tried to reassure me. "With a crowd this big it's not surprising that we didn't see him."

"He probably watched the game with his family," my dad agreed.

I knew they were probably right, but I still did not understand why he missed meeting up with me in the morning.

The streets were crowded as we walked home from the field. There were waves of people moving down all the streets that led away from Boger Field. I am sure that there was never another event in the history of Kensington that had ever brought so many people together at one time and at one place. I could not imagine that there would ever be another time that this would happen again. This was truly a once in a lifetime, one for the ages, happening.

The crowds were very loud as they walked home. Everyone seemed to want to relive what they had just witnessed. As we got within a block of our house, I started looking behind us, hoping to see the Garrity family returning from the game. The crowd had thinned out substantially by the time we reached our street. Amazingly, darkness was just falling on Kensington, as it seemed that the heavens had allowed the light to shine through for a few extra minutes on this special day.

I did not know exactly what time it was as we reached our house. I figured it was somewhere between eight and eight-thirty, still early enough to knock on Johnny's door.

"I'll be right in, I just want to make sure that Johnny is alright," I said.

"You have five minutes and then I want you in the house," my mom replied.

As I walked up the front steps of Johnny's house, I felt a sense of dread starting to overcome me.

"Something terrible must have happened to Johnny," I said to myself. "There's no way he would have missed the game if he wasn't in big trouble. Maybe he was kidnapped and his parents did not even know it yet."

I hesitantly forced myself to raise my fist and knock on the front door. I could feel the sting on my knuckles as they hit the wood. A few seconds passed with no response, I knocked a second time. This time Mrs. Garrity appeared at the door.

Her smile told me that, at least as far as she knew there was nothing wrong.

"Did Johnny get home from the game yet?" I asked.

I prayed that she wasn't going to say that she thought that he was with me.

"You know, it's funny," she started, "he never got to the game."

"I know you two had been looking forward to it for months, but when he came home this afternoon he said that he didn't want to go to the game," she said as the smile disappeared from her face.

What was she talking about? How could he be home and not want to go to the game? Something had to have happened.

"Can I talk to him?" I asked.

"Well he's been up in his room all day, and he wouldn't come out, not even for supper," she said. "But I'll go knock on his door and tell him that you're here."

I could not decide whether I was going to be sympathetic towards Johnny or just plain mad at him. I was sure he would have a good story to tell, but I could not imagine how it would be good enough to explain missing the game. At least if I saw him I would know that he was all right.

Three or four minutes passed as I waited anxiously outside Johnny's house. Finally, Mrs. Garrity came back downstairs, her smile now completely gone.

"I am sorry, but he does not feel well, and he said he can't get out of bed now," she said.

"I am sure he will be better tomorrow, and you can tell him all about the game then," she said, as she closed the door.

Well at least I knew he was all right, at least I guess he was all right, I never knew Johnny to get sick. In thirteen years, I do not think he got sick once, how could he get sick today. As I stood there alone on the doorstep, I could not help but think back to all the excitement of the day. I also could not help but think about how it had felt a little empty because Johnny had not been there to share it with me.

Tomorrow would be the last day of summer break before school would start again. Maybe if I spent the next day sharing all the highlights of the game with Johnny, he would feel as though he had been there, and it would be as if we had shared this day with each other after all.

31

This would be another night where sleep would be elusive. Deciding between eating or going right to bed was tough. Even though I was hungry, my bed was beckoning. Walking up the steps, I could hear my parent's voices echoing from the kitchen. Their voices swirled faintly in the distance. I could not hear what they were talking about, and honestly, I was far too tired to care.

It would feel great to change into my pajamas and jump into bed. Tonight there would be no washing up and no brushing of the teeth. As soon as I got to my room, I pulled my shirt off over my head. I went into the top drawer where I kept my clothes, and pulled out a long sleeve pajama shirt. Sitting down on my bed, I plopped down on my back. With a single motion, I rolled on my back and lifted my rear end in the air, pulling off my pants. It was quite a skillful move, one that I had perfected through years of practice.

Hurling the pants into the chair across the room, I saw a small object come flying out of the pocket. There was only a slight sound as it hit the floor. What the hell was that? I knew I did not have anything in my pockets. When I got up off the bed, I saw the small wooden pocket comb that had fallen out of Babe Ruth's pocket lying on my bedroom floor. I had completely forgotten about it. I could not believe that I had not given it back to him. How could I be so stupid? I could just give it back to him the next time I saw him, as if there would ever be a next time.

I certainly had not intended to keep it. Why had I forgotten to give it back to him? I slowly reached down on the floor and picked it up with my right hand. I sat back down on my bed and starred at the comb as if it was the Holy Grail itself. Thinking about it, I realized that the Babe was not going miss the comb, not even for a second. As a souvenir, it would become my most cherished possession that I would hold on to and treasure for the rest of my life.

I ran my fingers across the comb, over and over again. Maybe I thought that if I rubbed it enough a magic genie would come out of it in a puff of smoke.

Just as my mind began to wander into all kinds of crazy daydreams, I heard a knock on my bedroom door. My mom was standing there with a round metal tray with a glass of warm milk and three big six-inch chocolate cookies. I was very hungry and they would certainly be the perfect ending to a great day.

As she entered the room, I could feel my hands instinctively moving to shove the comb underneath my leg as I was lying on the bed. I was not sure why I was hiding the comb from her; I just knew that it was something that I had to do. She knew every single possession that I owned and I really did not want to explain to her where this wooden pocket comb had come from. Truthfully, I knew she would somehow want me to find a way to get it back to the Babe. And, I really, really did not want to give it back.

I took the glass of milk and grabbed one of the cookies, all the while skillfully keeping the comb hidden under my rear end. My mom stayed in the room and we talked about the day as I finished the milk and all three cookies. As I drank the last drop of milk, my mom put the glass back on the tray and kissed me goodnight.

She turned off the light as she walked out of the room. I finished putting my pajama bottoms on and jumped under the warm wool blankets on my bed. I kept the comb tightly gripped in my right hand. I used my thumb to flick the teeth of the comb as I moved it up and down making a zipping noise. As I lay in bed thinking about all that had happened that day, I kept moving my thumb over the teeth of the comb. The rhythmic sound seemed to relax me, and surprisingly I was asleep before I knew what happened. There was perfect quiet in the house, and on the streets below my window, and it would have taken an army to pry that comb out of my hands as I slept soundly through the night.
32

I usually awoke with the first ray of sunlight that broke through my bedroom window. On Wednesday September 5th 1923, I set the record for sleeping late. By the time I got up the sun was already hanging midway in the sky. It must have been almost eleven o'clock in the morning.

My father had left for work hours ago, and my mom was pulling the dry clothes off the clothesline out back.

"Hey, I'm up," I yelled out the back window. "What's for breakfast?"

"I baked fresh biscuits and they are sitting on the kitchen table," she yelled back. "I think the milkman was just here so if you check in the box out front. I think you'll find some fresh milk."

I ate breakfast quickly and ran back up to my room and changed into my play clothes. When I sat down on my bed to tie my shoes I saw the pocket comb laying next to my pillow. As I picked it up, I thought for a moment, should I carry it with me or hide it in a safe spot in my room. I put it in my back pocket; after all, maybe it would bring me good luck and somehow protect me like a lucky rabbit's foot. It certainly had brought some damn good luck to the Babe.

"I'm going to the store to buy the newspaper," I said. "I'm sure that the Ascension game is going to be front-page news. After all, it's not every day that ten thousand people watch a baseball game in Kensington."

I grabbed two pennies out of the cookie jar where my mom kept the spare coins and raced out the front door.

Running all the way down to the grocery store on Aramingo Avenue; not stopping for anything along the way. By the time I got there, only one copy of The Philadelphia Inquirer left on the stand. I grabbed it as fast as I could, not wanting to run all over the place trying to find another copy. When I reached the counter to pay for it, I noticed that the early edition of The Philadelphia Evening Bulletin had just been delivered to the front door of the store.

As soon as the deliveryman brought them inside and cut the band off them, I grabbed one. The only problem was I wanted to buy both papers, but I only had two pennies. I stood there looking at the papers trying to decide which one to buy. I started to open them up and to see which paper had a better article about the game.

"This isn't the public library," a voice rang out from behind me.

It was Mr. McGowen, who owned the grocery store. My mom had been bringing me in here with her since I was a baby, and Mr. McGowan knew my family very well. He was a very kind older man; I think he was nearly eighty years old. He still worked in the store every day, as did his wife who was nearly as old as he was. He walked with a cane, but otherwise seemed remarkably healthy and spry for his age.

Mr. McGowen sensed there was something wrong by the way I was standing starring at the two newspapers.

"What's the trouble?" he asked in his normal calming voice.

"I only have two cents and I don't know which newspaper to buy," I answered.

"You know your dad always buys The Bulletin, so I am sure that is the one you want."

Of course, I knew he was right, but I really wanted to buy both papers today.

"Yea, but I really wanted to read everything about the baseball game yesterday, and I think The Inquirer might have better articles," I replied. "You know about the Babe Ruth thing, don't you Mr. McGowan."

He nodded his head and smiled.

"Well there's no problem, just take both papers today and you can bring me back the other two cents tomorrow," he said as he patted the back of my shoulder.

"You would really let me do that Mr. McGowan. I promise that I won't forget even though tomorrow is the first day of school. I will come back as soon as school is over and give you the money."

"Son, that'll be fine. There's no rush, you can bring it back anytime."

I raced out of the store and ran as fast as I could all the way home with the two newspapers tucked securely under my armpit. Safely home I rushed into the dining room and plopped both papers on the long wood table, which was only used for special occasions. I opened up the Bulletin first, and was surprised to see that there was nothing on the front page about either the Yankee game or the Ascension game from Tuesday.

Slowly I turned one page after another, finally finding something on page eighteen. The headline was about the no-hit game that Sam Jones had pitched against the Athletics. I looked all over the page and then spotted another small article near the bottom. The headline read, "Ruth's Bat Fails Ascension Club."

How could they write such a stupid headline? How could they say anything about what had happened was a failure? Underneath the headline in smaller print, it did read, "Babe Hits Long Double." There were three nice pictures of Ruth at the game. One of them showed Reverend Casey standing next to Ruth at the presentation ceremony at home plate. I did not bother to read the rest of the article because I was anxious to see what the headline in The Inquirer would be.

The articles in The Inquirer were also stuck in the middle of the paper.

"Jones Hurls No-Hit Game Against Macks" the main headline read. In smaller print to the right of that story was the article about the Ascension game. "Ruth Scores Only Run for Ascension" was at the top of the piece.

I leaned over with the dining room table jamming into my gut and read the article slowly.

"Babe Ruth the portly gentleman, who hits home runs for the New York Yankees, played a lot of baseball yesterday. In the afternoon he played for the Yanks, and at twilight he played for Sweet Charity as first baseman for the Ascension Catholic Club against Lit Brothers' crack ball club."

"The Lit outfit snatched the game which was played at Ascension grounds, I and Tioga streets, despite the presence of the prince of leather smitters, the score being 2 to 1. Ruth played first base for the losers and a crowd of 10,000 saw him make a job of it."

"The Bambino failed to spank a home run off Gransbach, but he did score Ascension's only run hurling his huge bulk over the glad gum in the ninth inning."

"It was a great game from beginning to end, and Ruth, one of the nabobs of baseball, must have felt perfectly at home."

The article gave a detailed account of the game, but did not really catch the spirit of what had really happened at Boger Field on that day.

I folded the two newspapers up and placed them neatly on the kitchen table, so that they would be waiting for my father when he got home from work. As I started to walk out of the kitchen I realized it might not be a good idea to let my father know I bought both newspapers, wasting the two cents was never a good idea in our household.

I picked up The Inquirer and left The Bulletin in the exact spot right in front of my dad's chair. Up to my room, I hid the Inquirer under my mattress.

Lunchtime came and I was anxious to go over to Johnny's and see what we wanted to do. Maybe he would come over and read the two newspaper articles about the game. Perhaps he would want to go to our clubhouse and play since this was the last day of our summer break from school.

There was no answer as I knocked on his door. I waited for a few seconds and then knocked again. I waited for another minute or two, but it was obvious that no one was at home. I started to walk away from his house, saddened by the thought of not being able to spend the last day of our vacation playing with Johnny.

As I started walking towards the corner, to see who else was outside to play with, I happened to glance back towards Johnny's house. As my eyes moved upstairs to the window outside Johnny's bedroom, I saw the curtain quickly fall down. It was as though someone had been looking out, but quickly had pulled the curtain down just as I looked back. Maybe I was just being paranoid, but I was sure that someone had been in that bedroom watching me as I walked away from the house.
33

Here it was, the last day of our summer break. We had to enjoy it to the fullest. Slowly I walked, all alone to the cemetery field, hoping to find some of the kids playing baseball. Luckily, we never officially retired the field at the cemetery, even after they had opened Boger Field. We still needed a small field, closer to home, where we could play. As long as the caretaker did not chase us away, it was still a magical place.

I strolled through the headstones and reached the clearing where the field lay. There were already eight or ten kids mulling around the field. Most of them were sitting on the ground, and two of the bigger kids were standing facing each other. When I reached them, I saw that the two kids were Woody Wilson and Buzzard McGeer. They were picking teams to play a game of stickball.

The traditional way that we divided kids for any game was to have two captains choose the players. The order of picking players was decided by having the captains shoot out. One of the captains would choose odds and the other would be evens. On a count of three, they would stick out either one or two fingers and the winner was determined by whether the total finger count was odd or even.

I got there just as they were shooting out. Buzzard, obviously a nickname, won the shoot out and got to choose first. Almost everyone in our neighborhood had a nickname. To the point where there were many kids that played ball with us, whose real names I had never actually heard.

Buzz picked Lefty Jimmy Ryan as his first pick. Woody then picked Snitzer Wagner as his first teammate. Then alternated picks, back and forth until the only players left to choose from were Snuffy Drob and me. This was not a good thing; I usually was picked much earlier than this. Typically I was picked somewhere in the middle, and that was at least respectable. Being the last picked for anything was a black mark on your reputation, and hurt your standing in the neighborhood.

Come to think about it, most times we played Johnny was usually a captain, and he always picked me first. Maybe it was a mercy pick, I thought he was picking me because I was one of the better players, but maybe he was just trying to make sure my feelings didn't get hurt.

Snuffy and I stood side-by-side, waiting for the last name to be called. If he did not call my name, I would be the leftover, ending up on the team that had the last pick. That was the embarrassment of it; the last person wasn't really picked by anyone at all. I waited for a moment and finally Buzz called my name. Well, kids usually only remember the kid who wasn't picked, so maybe my stock in the neighborhood stickball market wouldn't sink too low.

We played five stickball games that day. Different kids would come and some would leave, but the games continued. We changed the sides after each game, but there were no more choose outs. The captains just traded a player or two and the games would continue. Even though I was getting very hungry, I stayed at the field until the games ended. The only reason we stopped playing at all was that the sun was going down and it was getting too dark to see.

I walked home from the cemetery with a few of the other kids. We talked about Tuesday's baseball game.

"What was it like meeting Babe Ruth?" Buzz asked.

"I heard you got to drive in the car with him," Woody said.

"It was pretty exciting but it all happened so fast," I answered.

I tried to downplay how great it was, not wanting to make anyone jealous. Just then, Michael O'Brien walked into the cemetery. This caught me by complete surprise, since Michael never played baseball with us. I could not remember ever seeing him at the cemetery field before.

"Hey Mike, we heard you got to ride in the car yesterday with the Babe," Buzz said.

I was glad to see Michael show up since it took the focus away from me.

"Yep, it was unbelievable," he answered. "It was the greatest single moment of my entire life. I'll have stories to tell for the rest of my life."

I smiled as Michael answered questions for the next ten minutes; at least it took the pressure off me. We talked about a bunch of different things as we started our walk home; we talked about everything except no one once mentioned school. It was not until we reached our street that we all looked at each other, and sadly acknowledged that this was the end of our summer.

"Well, I guess I'll see you in school tomorrow," Woody Wilson said to me.

"Yea, unfortunately you will."

We all shook our heads, with a bit of resignation and lot of sadness. When you are thirteen years old there isn't much sadder than the end of summer break and the beginning of a new school year. At least we were only ten months away from the next summer vacation.
34

Thursday dawn, the first light of the 1923-1924 school year, was a dreary morn. My mom woke me before sunrise and I got dressed and ate breakfast, all with my head still in a fog. She had bought me a new composition book to keep my notes in, and new pencils. She had everything organized so that I could not possibly forget any of the supplies that I needed.

"You better hurry with your breakfast, you're gonna be late," she said.

"I'm fine, I got plenty of time."

"Seventh grade is a big deal, you don't want to start it off on a sour note, let's go."

Mom and dad were both waiting at the door to see me off as I left the house. The first day of a new school year always seemed to create more than its share of drama. For me it was just a miserable start to another long and arduous annual trek. For my parents, it seemed to be some kind of milestone, a benchmark that they had reached. I guess for them, just surviving another year here in Kensington was something of an accomplishment.

My parents set up a gauntlet that I had to pass through before I could get out the front door. I got through with the mandatory number of hugs and kisses, and was out the door right on time. It was a cool September morning, the sun just starting to rise, its orange din barely visible through the clouds. It was the kind of morning it would be nice to just stay in bed.

Tradition always had Johnny and me always walking to school together on the first day. We would meet on the front steps of his house and leave together. If I got there first, I waited until he came out of the house. If it was more than five minutes, I usually knocked on his door to hurry him along.

I stood at the bottom of his stoop and tried to see if I could detect any movement going on inside. There didn't seem to be any activity that I could see. As I waited, I glanced down the street and could not believe what I saw. About halfway down the block I could see that Johnny was walking down the street, already on his way to school. At least it looked like him.

How could he leave without waiting for me? I raced down the street, making up ground very quickly. When I got to within fifty feet, I could tell for sure that it was definitely Johnny. He was walking at a brisk pace, but at the rate that I was running, I caught up to him within just a few seconds.

"Why didn't you wait for me?" I yelled as I got a step or two in front of him.

I rarely yelled at Johnny, but I was really mad. He left without me, and I really did not want to walk to school by myself on the first day. I felt vulnerable enough going into the unknown of another school year, let alone walking into it all by myself.

Johnny answered, "I thought you already left."

"Are you crazy? I never leave without you. We been walking together for seven years, I never left without you! If you thought I left you should have knocked on my door to make sure. You have to know that, we've been doing this since kindergarten."

He kept walking as I spoke and never even turned around to look towards me. There was no point to arguing about it anymore, so I just kept my mouth shut the rest of the way.

At the pace Johnny was walking, the trip to school only took five minutes.

"Why did you miss the game yesterday?" I asked. "Your mom said you were sick."

He did not say a word and just kept on walking.

"Are you mad at me?" I asked. "Did _I_ do something wrong?"

"No you didn't do anything."

"So what happened with the game?"

"I was sick and didn't feel like going."

"What do you mean you were sick? How sick could you be to miss the biggest day in the history of Kensington?"

"Well, I was sick and there was no way I could make it."

"When I was trying to find you, you weren't even in your house. Your mom said she didn't know where you were."

He looked at me with a scowl and said nothing.

"So if you were so sick why weren't you home in bed?"

Johnny stopped walking and turned towards me. He reached out with both fists and grabbed me by the collar of my shirt.

"Look, I don't have to answer to you. You're not my boss and I don't have to tell you shit. I don't want you asking me any other questions and I never want to hear you talkin' about that stupid game again."

Johnny let go of my collar and shoved me away with a stiff push. He continued his fast pace down the street. I walked behind him, careful to keep a safe distance. As I walked, I could not help but wonder what it was that had Johnny so upset.

At school, Johnny and I were never in the same classes. I was in advanced classes and Johnny was stuck in classes that moved at a much slower pace. I made friends with the smarter kids that went to our school, and Johnny was in classes with all the troublemakers that populated our childhood. I always thought that he would do much better in school if he were in classes with me. Not only would I be able to help him and tutor him, but also the environment was so much better without all the bad kids in the room.

As I went through my first day, I could see that this year was probably not going to be much different. I was in an advanced arithmetic class, as well as advanced English and history. Most of the same kids that were in my classes last year were once again my classmates.

I was somewhat surprised to find out that Michael O'Brien was in my arithmetic and history classes. When I thought about it, I should not have been surprised; he had been in many of my classes in the past. It's just that I had paid almost no attention to him, barely remembering that he had even been there.

As much as I fit in and felt comfortable when I was with Johnny, I also fit in very well with the smart kids that were in these advanced classes. It sometimes felt like two different worlds, and I was happy that I could walk comfortably in both. On this first day of school, I was happy to sit next to Michael and relive some of the great moments from "The Game".
35

The only nice thing about the first week of school was that it was only two days long. Thursday and Friday went by very quickly and the weekend arrived just in time. I settled into the routine of my new classes and rekindling past friendships with people that I only encountered while at school.

"How's the school year looking?" my dad asked as we sat together in the living room on Saturday morning.

"I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Do your subjects seem harder than last year?"

"No, it all seems pretty much the same."

"Is Johnny in any of your classes?"

"No, he's never in any of my classes. It's kinda of strange, we go to the same school but once we get there, it's like we live two different worlds. We have different friends, study different subjects and I hardly even see him. We almost never cross paths in school."

"Well you can still eat lunch together, can't you?"

"Yea, I guess we can still do that."

"Do you boys have plans for today?"

"No, but we should do something. I don't want to waste a fine day like this. But, Johnny has been acting real strange lately. Maybe we can spend the day together and he will tell me what's wrong with him."

I thought that Saturday would be the perfect day to get our friendship back on track. We could spend the day at our clubhouse and just talk. Surely if we got together by ourselves in the clubhouse, Johnny would open up about whatever had been bothering him. We would certainly be able to put it in the past and be best friends again.

A little after noon, I walked over to Johnny's house and knocked on his front door. Annie answered, wearing a very nice pink dress. It was one that I had not remembered her ever wearing to church. She looked as pretty as any time that I remember her, and I stammered for a moment as I began to speak.

"Hey Annie," I began, "Is Johnny home?"

"Yep, he's upstairs, I'll go get him for you."

I watched her as she went inside the house, and I could still see her as she walked up the stairs. She was as pretty from the back as she was from the front. A few minutes went by before she came back down the stairs, with Johnny trailing a few steps behind her.

As Johnny approached the door, I could tell that his mood had not improved much. There was no smile to greet me, and he clearly looked annoyed just seeing me. He opened the door and stepped out onto the front steps, and leaned back against the metal railing.

"Whatcha want?" he asked in a clearly agitated tone.

"Well, I thought we could go to the clubhouse and spend the afternoon together."

"I'm not going to the stupid clubhouse today, or ever."

"What's wrong with the clubhouse?" I asked.

"The whole clubhouse thing is for little babies and I'm not going there anymore," Johnny said as he looked away from me.

"Babies? What the hell are you talking about? I thought we had fun there. We can do whatever we want when we're there. We can play bottle caps or checkers or cards. If it's for babies, maybe you should go there and get your damn stuff out and bring it all home," I said.

I figured that once we got there Johnny would change his mind.

"You're not gonna leave all your stuff there, are you?"

"I don't give a crap about my stuff, and I'm not going back there ever again!"

Clearly, Johnny did not want to go the clubhouse, but trying to figure out the real reason was proving to be very difficult. I was not about to stand there and argue with him anymore.

"I don't care if you never go to the clubhouse again. As a matter of fact it would be fine with me if I never talk to you again," I said in a loud voice.

I turned away from Johnny and started down the steps.

"You know what," I said, "I'll go to the clubhouse myself, and bring all your shit back here and dump it right outside your door."

"What do you mean; you're going to the clubhouse by yourself?"

"Are you telling me that I can't go either," I said. "You can do whatever the hell you want, but you can't tell me what I can do, or where I can go."

"I don't want you going to that building ever again," Johnny said, his face turning redder by the second.

"I'm going to the clubhouse and you can't stop me."

"I can stop you if you make me stop you," Johnny said in a very threatening tone.

I turned and started to walk away from him, wondering if he would follow me or just let me go. I was halfway down the block and certain that he was not following me. As I glanced back towards his house I saw that he was still standing on his steps glaring at me. I looked away and continued down the street towards the corner.

Just as I reached the corner and started to cross the street, I saw Johnny jump down his front steps, running franticly straight towards me. My initial reaction was to run, but I knew he would catch up to me quickly as he was the faster runner. Anyway, he knew where I was headed, so he would end up catching me at the clubhouse even if I did run.

So I kept walking, my back turned away from the direction that he was coming. My heart was racing, as I did not know what to expect once he caught up to me. I half expected him to tackle me from behind, and beat me with his fists until I was a bloody mess.

I heard the footsteps getting closer, but I kept walking at the same deliberate pace. As he got to within ten feet of me I tried to brace myself for the impact that I thought would surely come. I tried to make my body completely rigid, but kept walking at the same time.

As he caught up to me, I could feel his hand grab the back of my shirt around the neck. He closed his fist and grabbed my shirt collar, twisting it to get a firm hold.

"Alright, if you want to go to the clubhouse, I'll take you to the clubhouse," he said as he dragged me down the street by the neck.

I tried to pull away, but he was too strong for me, it was easier just to go along.

I did not know what to say to him, nothing I was going to say was going to calm him down. It was all I could do to stay on my feet, as I almost stumbled to the ground a few times during the forced march. All I wanted to do was get to the clubhouse, get our stuff and go home. At this point, I really wanted to be done with Johnny; he seemed to be losing his mind.

As we crossed the last street and arrived at the window entrance to the clubhouse, Johnny finally released his grip on my neck. He let go with a very strong shove and pushed me into the brick wall next to the window. He starred at me and I starred back at him, neither of us saying a word.

Well, here we were. Maybe now I would be able to figure out what was going on. Maybe once we got inside the clubhouse Johnny would say or do something that would give me some clue as to what his problem was. Maybe, just maybe...
36

As we stood at the entrance to the clubhouse, I felt as though I was Johnny's prisoner. He guarded me as though I was about to flee at any moment. To be honest, if I thought I could outrun him I probably would have run away. I waited for a minute to see if he would go into the clubhouse first, but he motioned for me to go in ahead of him.

"I want you to go in first," he said. "I don't want you running away when my back is turned."

"I'm not gonna run away, I'm not afraid of you."

I crouched down and pushed my legs through the window easing myself gently down to the floor. Johnny followed a few seconds later.

As he hit the ground I turned away from him and noticed that the chairs that were in the far corner of the room had been overturned. Some of our personal items that had previously been neatly placed on the table had now been knocked onto the ground. A noticeable odor seemed to permeate the room.

Johnny was running the show, so I waited for him to say something. I did not know whether I was waiting for an apology or an explanation, or if he was going to kill me. I just stood there silently, looking directly into his eyes.

"OK, we're here now," Johnny said, "Are you happy?"

I wasn't answering that. I needed him to tell me what was going on. I looked at him and waited for him to say something, so that I could understand what the hell was going on.

"You wanna know why I didn't want to come here, why I never wanted to come here again," he said. "I'll show you why."

Johnny slowly walked over to the far corner of the room, where a few of the chairs were laying. I watched as he removed them, one at a time, and neatly stacked them along the wall. Underneath the chairs, I saw our brown army blanket, spread out to its full length and width.

Just then, a shudder went through my body. I could see that under the blanket was something that was six foot long and appeared to be in the shape of a body. Johnny removed the last chair that had been obscuring the blanket, and knelt down next to it.

Johnny stayed there for a few moments, starring at the blanket. He looked up at me, and then reached over and began to slowly pull the blanket back. My stomach felt like it was going to come out of my mouth, and my heart felt like it was beating so fast it would explode.

As soon as he pulled the blanket back a few inches, I could see the top of a person's head, black hair mixed together with a sickly mixture of dark red dried up blood. He slowly lowered the blanket revealing the face and chest of what I was now sure was a dead body. Johnny neatly creased the blanket over the chest of the body. He stood up, never looking back towards me.

There was dried up blood on the floor all around the body, and splattered on the wall behind it. I should have noticed the blood on the wall right away since the blanket and chairs did not hide it very well. The face on the body had been smashed in, and I could not recognize it. There was a bloody red brick on the floor next to the body and I assumed that was the weapon used to do the damage.

I had never seen a dead person before, and I felt as though I would throw up. Not only was this a dead body, but the obvious brutality with which this person had died made me even more nauseous.

The right side of the face was turned towards me, and I saw that it was caved in. It was hard to make out any of the facial features because of all the blood. I knelt over the body, careful not to touch anything. I saw that the left side of the face was still mostly intact. Slowly I reached down and gently turned the head a tiny bit to the right revealing the full face. Then a second shudder shot through my body. I knew this person. I recognized the left side of this face; it was Billy Brannigan.

Johnny must have sensed the moment that I realized that it was Billy's dead body. Just at that instant, he looked at me and started to speak.

"This is why I didn't come to the game," he began. "I came down here that morning to get my baseball glove for Ruth to sign and I found Billy dead in the corner. I tried to help him, but after a minute or two, I knew he was dead. I didn't know what to do, so I ran home and stayed there all day in my room."

"Why didn't you call the police?"

"I figured that since we are the only ones that come down here that they would think that we had something to do with it."

"Why would they think that we had anything to do with this?"

"Well, for one thing all our junk is down here, and not many adults are thin enough to fit through the window to get into here, so I am sure they would figure that we must have done it," Johnny replied.

Even though I was talking, I felt as though I was stunned. I usually had very good instincts when it came to deciding what to do when faced a difficult situation, but this one had left me blank and immobile.

Johnny looked me dead in the eyes and said, "You gotta believe me, I didn't have anything to do with this."

I do not know if I believed him or not, but I knew I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. Every second we stood there we were at risk of being seen standing in the room with Billy's dead body. I prayed that Johnny was telling the truth, and that he did not have anything to do with any of this.

Johnny leaned back down and raised the blanket back up, so that it once again covered Billy's face. He then took the chairs from the stack on the wall and placed them over the body, once again obscuring it from view. When he finished he turned back to look at me, but did not say a word. It seemed as though he was trying to gauge whether or not I believed him.

I tried to conceal whatever my natural reaction to this disaster was. I tried to force a neutral blank expression onto my face, to hide the rush of emotions that I was feeling. Johnny silently watched me for what seemed like an eternity.

Finally I spoke.

"We need to get our stuff and get out of here. We need to get rid of every trace of our ever being here and never come back to this place. We need to do it right now!"

Johnny shook his head. We started grabbing everything that we had brought and piled it up near the window. We filled our pockets with all the small things. It only took a minute of two for us to get all our stuff together and we put it on the table that we used to climb out of the clubhouse. I took one last slow look around the room, just to assure myself that we had not left anything behind. I also knew it would be the last time that I would ever see this place and I wanted to try to burn a picture of it into my mind; a picture that would include everything, everything except Billy's dead body.
37

I hoisted myself out of the basement window first. I stood on the street and took a good look around to make sure that nobody was standing nearby. I did not want anyone seeing us taking our stuff out through the window.

"The coast is clear," I yelled down to Johnny. "Start handing me the stuff."

"Are you sure?"

"Yea, there's nobody here. Let's hurry we do not have much time. Someone will walk by any minute."

It only took a minute or so for him to pass all our stuff through the window and he pulled himself up through the open window. We both filled our arms with the junk, and walked briskly away from the building. Fast enough to be moving quickly, but not so fast as to raise suspicion from anyone who might see us.

When we turned the first corner and the building was no longer in sight, I felt a bit of relief from the intense stress that was starting to overcome me. I guess I hoped that if it was out of sight, it might also be out of mind, but that surely was not going to be the case.

My mind was racing all the way home.

"I still think we should call the police and tell them we found the body while we were playing," I said.

"No. I don't want to get involved with this anymore. I just want to leave it behind us and forget about it."

"There's no way that they're gonna think we had anything to do with it."

"Look, I ain't ever gonna say anything to the cops about this and either are you. Do you understand?"

"Alright. Are you sure, we didn't leave anything behind. Maybe we should go back and double check."

"You're just being paranoid. We didn't leave anything behind and we're not going back."

"Paranoid? I'm gonna worry every day that we left a clue behind and that the police are going to knock at my door and drag me away and I had nothing to do with any of this!"

When we reached home, we parted company with a simple nod. There was no talk of a cover story, or what we might say or do when the police found the body. I did not know how many people had ever seen us enter and leave the clubhouse over the past few months, if they would even remember that it was us they had seen.

The one thing that I did know, as I laid on my bed with the covers up to my chin, was that the sight of Billy's dead body would haunt me for the rest of my life.
38

Over the next few days, I waited for something to happen. I was sure that every knock on our door was the police coming to question me about the body. I kept trying to remember if anyone had ever seen us climbing into the clubhouse. I could not sleep through the night, and would wake up often. The rhythm of my life had been completely upset.

My relationship with Johnny turned even sourer. We never walked to school together, even if we left our houses at the exact same time. In fact, Johnny never walked with anyone. He seemed to turn inward and he spent all his time alone. He never showed up at the cemetery or Boger Field when we played baseball. He did not even come out of his house when we were playing right outside his window.

To me it seemed that somehow he no longer viewed himself as a kid. It was as though playing was now too juvenile for him. I do not know if he thought he was too mature to play with us anymore, or if it was something else.

Each time I passed the building where our clubhouse was, I had to cross the street and walk on the other side, so I would not get too close to it. I would walk two blocks out of my way at times just to avoid seeing it. The sight of the building was enough to make my mouth dry and my knees weak.

The surprising thing was that it had now been two weeks and I did not hear anything about the body. I read the newspaper every day, from the front to back, expecting to see something. Each day there was no word, nothing in the paper and nothing said out on the streets. I do not know if I felt a sense of relief or if I was hoping that it would finally come to a head and not hang over me for the rest of my life.

Om December 14th, a week and a half before Christmas 1923, I noticed some activity around the building where our old clubhouse had been. There were men with some large pieces of equipment outside on the street right in front of the building. It appeared that they were finally getting around to tearing the old building down. Surely, they would find the body before the building was demolished. I wondered how fast a body decomposes, and if they would even still be able to tell, it was Billy Brannigan.

In the prior weeks, I had just started to relax a bit, thinking that maybe nobody would ever find the body. Now it seemed inevitable that they would find it and show up at my door. I would calm myself down by remembering that I had nothing to do with killing Billy, and that Johnny said he was not involved.

On the Saturday morning of Christmas Eve, a large snowstorm hit Philadelphia. It was the first snow that stuck on the ground that winter. Every kid in the neighborhood knew that we would meet at the junkyard on Aramingo Avenue whenever there was a sizeable snowfall. We would have giant snowball fights, using the junkyard as our battlefield. We hid and climbed among the junk using the old discarded pieces of metal and wood as our bunkers and shields.

By the time I got to the junkyard, half the kids in the neighborhood were already there. Of course, Johnny was not among them. However, Michael O'Brien was there and throwing snowballs with the best of them. I stayed for almost an hour at the battle, before we started to walk home. Michael and I paired off and left the junkyard together.

My feet and face were numb from the cold, even though I was sweating from running around. We took the quickest, most direct route home, since it was so cold. That route took us right past the old clubhouse building.

"Maybe we should cut over and walk down the back alleys," I said.

"What are you crazy," Michael said. "That's the long way and it's too cold to be walking out of our way."

"I think it's actually quicker than walking down the main street."

It was hard to come up with any logical reason for changing our course without telling Michael that I just did not have the stomach to walk past our old clubhouse building.

As we turned the corner, I expected to see the building being worked on. I was surprised to see that the entire building was gone. There was a ton of debris on the ground, but the structure was completely demolished. There were no construction people working when we passed by. There were no police on the site, absolutely no activity of any kind.

"I can't believe that the old building is gone," I said. "It seems like they tore it down overnight."

"I didn't even notice that they were tearing that old building down and I walk past it almost every day," Michael said.

Surely if they had found the body there would be some sign of police activity. They certainly would have stopped the demolition if they came across a dead body. It was unbelievable that they could have torn down the building without finding the corpse, but somehow I was sure that was what had happened. Maybe this would put and end to this entire episode, and we could put this all behind us. Just maybe this would help bring Johnny back from the dark place where he seemed to be.
39

Christmas morning was always a special time. As much as I looked forward to opening gifts and spending time with our extended family, I always felt so rushed that I never got to savor the moments that made up the day. Instead of taking time to appreciate each part of the day, we always seemed like we were headed off to the next scheduled event. If it had been up to me, I would have stayed home all day and skipped all the mandatory visits with our family and friends.

I always got up at the crack of dawn on Christmas morning, and this year was no exception. After we exchanged gifts, I excused myself, went over to Johnny's house, and knocked on his door. Mrs. Garrity answered and greeted me with a very friendly hug.

"Merry Christmas," she said.

I smelled a bit of alcohol on her breath, in spite of the prohibition and the earliness of the hour.

"Merry Christmas to you, Mrs. Garrity."

"Would you like to come in and have some eggnog with us?" she asked.

"That would be very nice Mrs. Garrity."

As I walked in to the front parlor of their house, I was struck by the serenity of the scene. All the kids looked happy, and both Mr. and Mrs. Garrity were smiling. Nobody was yelling at each other, and I could not remember a time when I ever saw all the kids happy together in one place. Annie looked especially pretty.

Johnny came out into the entrance hallway as soon as he saw me. I whispered to him so that the rest of the family could not hear us as we spoke.

"We had a snowball fight at the junkyard yesterday," I said. "On the way home Michael O'Brien and I walked past the building where our clubhouse was."

"So," Johnny said shrugging his shoulders.

"It's gone, there's nothing left of it," I said.

"The whole building's gone?" Johnny asked.

"The whole damn thing is torn down; all that's left is a big pile of debris."

"Were the police there?" Johnny asked.

"I didn't see anybody there," I answered. "I am sure that they didn't find the body or there would have been some sign of a police investigation."

I could see a visible sense of relief come to Johnny. He didn't say anything more, but he looked off into the distance and a relieved smile came to his face.

"Well, I gotta go; we have a very busy schedule today."

"Well, Merry Christmas everyone," I said as I poked my head back in to the parlor.

"See you later, Johnny," I said as I left.

"Yea, see you later."

I had hoped that putting the episode behind us would help bring us back together, but that never happened. Over the next few months, Johnny and I had very little interaction. He was still very withdrawn, and it wasn't just with me. He did not seem to have any friends at school, and every time that I saw him, he was alone. It was as if he made no effort to make friends or spend time with anybody.

One morning I saw Johnny sitting by himself on the stoop outside his house and I sat down next to him.

"How are things going at school?" I asked.

"Not so great, but I really don't care."

"You know, we never talk anymore," I said. "We used to know everything about each other and now we seem like strangers. It's like you put up a wall between us and I can't do anything to break it down.

You were the best friend I ever had and now you're just like one of the empty souls lying in the alley that we walk past every day. We used to be able to tell each other everything and now it's hard to say anything. Why can't it just go back to the way it was before?"

"I'm sorry, but it seems like you can never go back. I wish I could go back, but I can't. I'm sorry."

By the end of the school year, I had all but given up trying to break down whatever wall there was between us. When we would see each other at school or on the street, there would be a ritualistic head nod, but usually not a word would be spoken. Johnny had become part of the mass of humanity that you would pass by on the streets of Kensington, someone who presence you would acknowledge but would walk right past just the same.

Then came the terrible morning of June 8th, 1924, a morning I will never forget. The school year was about to end for the summer recess and things seemed to be looking up in the neighborhood. I had been in my room reading, when I thought I heard a woman crying from just outside my bedroom window. I raised the blinds a little and saw my parents standing on the front steps of the Garrity house with Mr. and Mrs. Garrity.

I could see that they all had concerned looks on their faces, but could not hear what they were saying. Just then, I saw Mrs. Garrity put her head into her hands and fall to her knees. I watched as my mom knelt down beside her and reached her arm around her back, obviously trying to comfort her. The two men stood by helplessly, as the two women hugged perched up on their knees together.

I raced down the steps and hid quietly next to an open window that looked out onto our front porch. I could now hear them as they spoke and began to understand what they were saying.

"He's gone, he's gone and he's not coming back," Mrs. Garrity said. "He left a note that said that he was leaving home, and that he is never coming back."

"Did he say why he was leaving or where he was going?" my mom asked.

"No, it just said that he was leaving and that he loved us very much," Mrs. Garrity answered. "The note was sitting on the kitchen table when we came down for breakfast."

"I am sure he will change his mind and be back home very soon," my mom said as she tried to comfort Mrs. Garrity. "You know how these young boys are."

"She's right," my dad agreed, putting his arm on Mr. Garrity's shoulder.

"There is no way that Johnny will be able to stay out in the world alone at the age of fourteen, and he will surely be back home in day or two at the most," my dad said.

I am sure my parents both believed what they were saying, but I knew better. I had watched as Johnny had detached himself from all the parts of his life and slowly drifted away. He had really been all alone the past year, and where he was going now would probably be no different. As I sat next to the windowsill listening to them, I felt a sick feeling rising in my stomach. I knew that wherever Johnny was and wherever he was going, I would probably never see him again. A cold shiver cut right through my body and I wrapped my arms around myself as I would to keep warm on a cold December day. A single tear rolled down my cheek and reached the corner of my mouth. I could taste the salt as I put my head in my hands and began to cry silently.

Over the next few days, I watched as people came to the Garrity house in hopes of giving comfort to Mrs. Garrity. The police came and stayed for almost an hour before they left. Johnny's Uncle Eddie came, as did many of his other relatives. They brought food, since Mrs. Garrity seemed unable to function normally. She seemed to stop worrying about household chores, and was barely able to get dressed in the morning.

I did not see her leave the house at all in the first few days, and each time I looked inside her house and caught a glimpse of her, she would be wearing the same old nightgown.

From what I could tell, it was as if her life had come to a sudden halt, and was now frozen in time. She did not seem to have the energy or desire to do anything. As days turned to weeks, the visitors to the Garritys slowed down to a trickle. It was hard to keep telling Mrs. Garrity that he would be home soon, when no one seemed to believe that was going to be the case.

I sometimes thought about Johnny being out there all alone. I wondered why he would do this to his family, and if I somehow had anything to do with his running away. I knew about the anger that raged inside of him, but I was never able to do anything to help him deal with it. Maybe I was the only one who saw it and I should have done something. Every time I saw Mrs. Garrity, I felt guilty that I had not done anything to help him. I knew him better than anyone else did, and I should have been the one to help him slay his inner demons.

As the summer of 1924 ended, everyone seemed to accept the fact that Johnny was gone for good. The school year started, and even though his name was still in the roll book, there would only be an empty seat where he should have been. I sometimes looked behind me as I walked to school in the morning, halfway expecting to see him running up behind me, but he was never there. My lifelong best friend was gone, maybe gone forever.
40

Even though Mrs. Garrity was never the same after Johnny left home, she eventually did start to function again. It took six months, but I started to see her outside the house occasionally. She would go to the grocery store and hang her laundry out on the clothesline in the back alley. However, she clearly was not the same. She never smiled and seldom spoke. She seemed as though she was still alive, but all of the zest for life had been sucked from her body. The same seemed true of Annie and all her brothers and sisters. The whole Garrity family had changed and the change had been dramatic.

By the end of 1925, Mr. Garrity seemed to disappear completely. I did not see him very often anyway, and he was around the house less and less after Johnny left. I always thought that Mrs. Garrity had somehow blamed him for Johnny running away, so his disappearance did not really surprise me very much. I got the feeling that Mrs. Garrity was happier when he wasn't there anyway.

Each year another one of the Garrity children would graduate from high school and moved out of the house. This had started even before Johnny had run away. Mrs. Garrity worked very hard to be able to keep the house and support her family after Mr. Garrity left. I know her brother, Uncle Eddie, was over their house often and I assumed he was helping her with the money she needed to pay the bills.

Annie graduated high school in June of 1928, the year after Babe Ruth had smashed sixty home runs, breaking all the records. She was the last of the Garrity children to finish school, Johnny would have been next.

I saw Annie on the steps of her house the morning of her graduation. She was wearing a beautiful blue dress, and her hair was long and straight. It curled up at the edges just at the point where it met her dress. She looked as beautiful as at any time I ever remembered.

"Congratulations, Annie," I said. "I guess now you're gonna move out of the house too."

"Well, I don't know about that," she said, "I'm really in no hurry to be on my own."

"If I leave, then my mom will be all alone in the house and I don't think that she would be able to handle that."

"I'll be glad to have you stay right here in the neighborhood with us," I said. "I sure would miss you if you weren't here"

"That's very nice of you to say," she said with a smile. "I would miss you too."

There was nothing that helped make my day more, than seeing a smile from Annie, and the thought of her actually missing me sent my spirits soaring.

I guess she was right, if she did leave, her mother would be all alone in the house. Annie did stay at home, right up until the day she got married in June of 1931.

My family was invited to the wedding and I watched it with mixed emotions. I loved Annie and certainly was glad to see her so happy, but a part of me always had hoped that I would be the one standing next to her when it happened.

At the celebration after the ceremony, I watched as my parents went over to congratulate Mrs. Garrity.

"You must be very proud," my mother said.

"This was the day I have been looking forward to," she replied. "I worked so hard to keep the house just so my kids would have a roof over their heads. I did everything I could to hold it together for them and get them to the point that they could make it on their own."

"Well you did a great job," my dad said.

"Thanks, and thanks for all the help you two gave us," Mrs. Garrity said. "Someday I will pay you back for all the money you lent us and for all your kindness."

"You don't need to pay us back," my dad said. "That's what friends do, they help each other out."

I did not know what Mrs. Garrity was talking about. I never once heard my parents say anything about helping her financially; after all, we were not really in great fiscal shape ourselves.

"I'm going to put the house up for sale in the next few weeks," Mrs. Garrity said. "As soon as it sells I will pay you back every cent. I must insist, and would never feel right again if you give me a hard time about paying you back."

Mrs. Garrity sold the house and moved out of Kensington few months later. She moved into a small one-bedroom apartment on the 4400 hundred block of Frankford Ave. It was on top of a small toy store and had the Frankford train loudly rumbling past her window all day and all night. My mom took me there to visit her once; it was not a great place to live.

"Well it's small, but it's seems comfortable," my mother said.

"It's fine now that's it just me," Mrs. Garrity said. "Without the kids I really didn't need a house. It would be more trouble to keep it up and I'm not looking to do more housework."

The wallpaper was peeling of the walls, and the wood was rotting all around the apartment. It looked as though the place had not seen any cleaning or repairs done in quite a few years. I could not help but feel sorry for Mrs. Garrity, having to live in a place like this.

Just then the Frankford train roared by. The whole apartment shook, and I could hear the plates in Mrs. Garrity's cabinet rattle from the vibration caused by the train.

"Does that happen often?" my mother asked.

"Just a few times an hour, you get used to it," Mrs. Garrity replied.

As we left, I could tell that my mother felt sorry for Mrs. Garrity too, but there wasn't anything she could do to help her.

I graduated high school in 1929. Just as I was about to start looking for a job, the great stock market crash of 1929 happened. The economy went down the drain and it was very hard for people to get any type of work. Luckily, both my parents were able to keep working, and money did not seem to be a problem for us.

I remember a conversation I had with my mom the day after graduation.

"I know I can get some job, even if I don't make a lot of money," I said.

"We don't want you to get a job," she said. "We want you to go to college. We always wanted you to go to college and be the first person in our family to get a college degree."

"College would cost a lot of money, and I'm sure that we would not have enough to afford that."

"Your father and I have been saving money since you were born so that you could go to college if you were smart enough," she said. "And you are smart enough."

In the fall of 1930, I applied and was accepted into the University of Pennsylvania. It was a very prestigious school and very expensive. I never knew how they did it, but my parents were somehow able to work out a deal where we did not have to pay very much for me to go there. I was sure that we could not afford it, but there I was, a freshman at the University of Pennsylvania.

By the time my third year came around, I had to decide on a major, and for me nothing stood out. The economy and business still had not recovered and the depression was hitting people very hard. I did not see any future in business, so I decided to study medicine. Even though this would mean extra years in medical school, my parents never complained. I was guessing that they made more money than I thought since it did not seem to be causing them any financial hardship.

It was in my third year of medical school that I had to decide what area of medicine I wanted to focus on.

"Have you thought about what field of medicine you want to concentrate on?" my mother asked.

"The more I think about it the more I realize that I would love to become a pediatrician. I can't think of anything that could be more rewarding than helping sick children get better. I am sure that is what I was destined to do."

While I was lying in bed the night before my graduation from medical school, I thought back to some of the times Johnny and I had growing up together. I was going over different things we did together in my mind, and some of the things we had said to each other. I remembered one conversation in particular. We were sitting in the clubhouse on a lazy Saturday afternoon and talking about what we wanted to do when we grew up.

"I would like to be a policeman or own a big store when I graduate from high school," I said.

"What do you want to do when you grow up?" I asked Johnny.

Johnny had thought for a moment before answering.

"I want to be a children's doctor and help kids that are sick," he had replied.

A cold shiver went through my body, and I recalled the conversation. I wondered if I had subconsciously chosen this path to try to fulfill the dream that Johnny had and would never realize. I reached down on the floor next to my bed, picked up the warm army blanket, and wrapped myself in it to try to fight off the chill.
41

After I graduated from medical school, I opened up a small practice in Kensington, just two blocks from the house where I grew up. I came back to my old neighborhood because that was the world where I felt most comfortable. I opened an office in a small empty storefront on the corner of Allegheny Avenue. It was next door to a butcher shop.

Kensington was the kind of place where people desperately needed medical help, but could rarely afford it. The economy was just starting to improve, but it had not trickled down to help the working class people of Kensington yet.

Sometimes they would be able to pay for my services, and other times they would promise to pay me later. Either way I never turned anyone away. Most times people would come back and pay me at least partially, if they could not afford to pay my whole bill. There were times that the children's parents would pay me back with a free service that they were able to perform, or with an apple pie that they would bake and that was fine with me.

I moved in to a small apartment on Tulip Street, within walking distance of my office. It wasn't fancy, but I enjoyed living there. Mrs. McManus was my landlord; she treated me as if I was her son.

"How about I make you dinner tonight when you get back from your office?" she would say every morning as I left for work.

"I don't want you to go through all that trouble just for me Mrs. McManus."

"It's no trouble, I have to make something for myself anyway," she would say.

"I can stop at a restaurant on the way home."

"Absolutely not, you come home at six and I'll have a hot meal waiting for you."

I visited my parents often, and loved going in my old room and lying down on the bed. I would close my eyes and go back to the times when Johnny and I played there together. All the memories of my youth were fond, except for the hole that was ripped into them the day Johnny left.

In the fall of 1942, my father was diagnosed with cancer; he was dead within eight weeks.

I began visiting my mother almost every day after that. She seemed to lose her zest for life after he died.

"Mom you gotta get out more, you stay in the house all the time."

"Everything seems hard without your father," she replied. "I just don't have the energy that I used to have."

"The more you get out and exercise the more energy you'll have."

"I'll try, we'll see what happens," she would say.

Though she had never been ill a day in her life, my mother died in the winter of 1943, perhaps a result of a broken heart.

When she died, I thought about selling their house. I talked about it with Mrs. McManus.

"I want to sell my parents house," I said to her.

"Why would you do that?" she asked. "Wouldn't it be a good place for you to live?"

"I hadn't really thought about it, I'm pretty comfortable right here," I said.

"Don't you want to have a family some day, you're not going to be able to raise a proper family living here," she replied.

"Are you trying to get rid of me Mrs. McManus?"

"Not at all, I just want you to meet a nice girl and have a family of your own. You're going to need a lot more room than you have here for that."

Mrs. McManus was right. I decided to move back to my boyhood home to live out my life. Even though the neighborhood was getting worse, I still loved living there. There was no place in the world I felt as safe and secure as I did when I was in that house. I would continue to stop by Mrs. McManus' house every Friday night for her famous fried fish dinner.

I still followed baseball and went to Philadelphia Athletics games whenever I could. The team was never very good in those days. We were in last place constantly, but I still enjoyed the games. Connie Mack was in his late eighties, and remarkably still managed the club. He had been their manager for nearly fifty years.

I had watched as the career of Babe Ruth soared and he had set records that may never be equaled in the history of baseball. By the spring of 1947 there were stories starting to pop up in the newspaper that made it clear that something was wrong with Babe. They said he was sick, but they never seemed to report the details of his ailment. There seemed to be a purposeful vagueness to the reporting.

I found out later that most of the newspaper writers knew he had cancer, but they never put the word in print. They would describe how he looked and report what his doctors would say to the press, but never used the word cancer. I also heard later that even the Babe's doctors never told Ruth all they knew about his disease. It was a conspiracy of kindness, to somehow shield the big man from the truth.

There is no way of knowing if Ruth knew how sick he was, and at the time, I did not know that his illness was terminal. As the 1947 baseball season was about to start, they announced that there would be a "Babe Ruth Day", held in Yankee Stadium on April 27th. For a brief moment, I contemplated going, but then decided that getting tickets and traveling to New York for the game would be too hard.

One day in mid April when I arrived home from my office, I found a Western Union telegram waiting for me. I had never gotten a telegram before, and I felt my stomach drop as I took it into my hands. I do not know why, but I could only imagine that this was going to be some sort of bad news. I held it between two hands, and paused a moment before opening it.

There was a slight tremble in my hands as I ripped it open. My eyes immediately jumped to the bottom of the page where I saw the name of the sender. It was signed "Johnny Garrity." I read the name two or three more times to make sure. It had been twenty-three years since I had heard anything from Johnny and I had been sure that he was long dead.

The printing on the page began to blur a bit, as my eyes had a hard time focusing. My heart felt like it would leap from my chest. I read each word very slowly.

"I am sorry I have not gotten in touch with you sooner. I have been living in New York City for the past twenty years. You must have heard about the big tribute game they are having at Yankee Stadium for the Babe. I got two tickets and am mailing one of them to you. I hope you can come up for the game. Maybe it will make up for the other game we didn't get to watch together. Your Friend always, Johnny"

I could not believe it, not only was Johnny alive, but it seemed as though his life was going well. Maybe things had worked out for him after all. I felt a giant sense of relief, all these years I had feared the worst about Johnny, and now I finally knew he was alive and hopefully very well.
42

There was no return address on the telegram. No clues as to how I could contact Johnny. I read it over and over, trying to glean any information that I could from the words Johnny used. There was nothing.

I rushed to the mailbox each day after that, waiting anxiously for the ticket to arrive. Finally, on Friday the 25th of April, just two days before the game, the ticket arrived. It came in a plain white envelope, with no return address. The postmark was from New York City. The ticket was wrapped in a blank piece of scrap paper neatly folded around the ticket so it could not be seen from the outside of the envelope. No words, no clues.

As I looked at the ticket, my skepticism over Johnny lifted. He had really come through; he had gotten me a ticket for one of the greatest moments that baseball history may ever produce. I tucked the ticket safely away in the back of my wallet.

The anticipation I felt over the next day was overwhelming. I had not looked forward to anything as much as this since September 4th, 1923. I got the Sunday train schedule for trains leaving from the station at 30th Street. I made sure that even if I missed one, that there would be another train that would still get me there on time.

I arrived at 30th Street Station a little after seven in the morning on Sunday. The train I planned to take was already sitting at the station. I jumped on board right away, but the train sat for about thirty minutes before it pulled out of the station. When it finally left, the train let out a loud shriek of the horn that signaled our departure.

Sitting on the train, I watched the miles between Philadelphia and New York roll by, I could not help but think about Johnny. I wondered if I would even recognize him, after all it had been so many years. I wondered what he did for a living, and if he was married and had a family. I wondered if he was finally able to find any peace and happiness.

By the time the train rolled in to the New York City station it was almost 10 AM. I had plenty of time before the game, so I did a little sightseeing, walking the streets of the big city. The streets were not as crowded as I had expected. It was a quiet Sunday morning. I felt dwarfed as I wandered among the massive concrete buildings. Philadelphia did not have anything to compare to this. By noon, I was on a local train headed towards Yankee Stadium, my excitement level rising by the minute. I could feel my pulse quicken and kept rubbing my hands together to try to calm down.

On the train, I sat next to a father and son who were heading for the game. The boy looked to be about twelve years old, sat with a slightly crumpled photograph of Babe Ruth in his lap.

"Are you going to the game today?" the little boy asked me.

"Yep, I came all the way from Philadelphia for this game. An old friend of mine got me a ticket, and here I am."

"I never saw the Babe play, but I know how great he is," the boy said as he pointed to the photograph.

"I only saw him play one game myself, and to be honest with you it was only in an exhibition game back in 1923."

"What's an exhibition game?" the boy asked.

"Well, that is a game that doesn't really count," I answered. "He was just playing in a charity game to help pay for a kids baseball field."

"The Babe was real nice that way," the father chimed in.

"I bet the Babe still hit a homer in that game," the boy said smiling.

"Not exactly, but as I remember it he did hit a ball that may have went six hundred feet, and believe it or not he stole home. It was a pretty incredible exhibition game."

I got off the train and walked a block up to the stadium. I had worried that I would not know which direction to walk, but soon realized that everybody coming off the train was walking the same direction. I allowed myself to be swept up in the crowd and followed them to the end of the next block. As I turned the corner, I could see it, Yankee Stadium. A place that was as mythical as the lost city of Atlantis. A place so legendary, that just the sight of it made me stop dead in my tracks. Its majesty had to be soaked in. It was as special as seeing the Sistine Chapel itself. It was as large and grand as I had envisioned. I walked around the entire perimeter of the stadium, trying to take a mental picture of it from every angle.

Something about the mood of the crowd struck me. It wasn't

a raucous crowd that you might expect headed towards a baseball game. They were quiet and respectful, seeming to me to be more like a crowd headed to church on a Sunday morning. I had not really thought about it, but it made sense. Even though this was going to be a tribute to Ruth, there was something greater going on. Everybody knew that Ruth was sick, but we did not know how sick he was. People did not know what to expect, and there was a sense of apprehension hanging in the air.

I had not seen Ruth in person since that day in 1923, and wondered how the years had changed him. I had seen him before he had gained weight and had become the full-bodied figure that everyone associated with Babe Ruth. The bigger than life figure that is emblazoned in all our memories.

I waited outside the main gate, hoping to see Johnny before he entered the park. As start of the tribute fast approached, I decided that it was time to go in. I wanted to wait for Johnny, but I did not want to miss the Babe. Maybe Johnny was already inside and I had missed him. I waited in line, and entered through the turnstile at the main gate.

It took me a few minutes to get my bearings, and followed the signs to my section. One of the ushers helped me find my seat.

"Sir you're over here on the aisle," he said. "Are you alone?"

"No, I am meeting a friend here. He bought me my ticket and told me to meet him here."

"I guess he gonna be in the empty seat next to you, I'm sure he'll be here soon. After all nobody wants to miss the tribute to Babe."

"Yea, there aren't too many empty seats; it looks like everyone's here already. I just cannot believe I'm here. Yankee Stadium, this is unbelievable."

"I guess it's your first time here."

"Yep, but I read and heard so much about it. It's as beautiful as I had imagined."

"Well, you picked a heck of a day for your fist visit. A couple minutes from now Babe Ruth is gonna be standin' right there."

This was not only Babe Ruth day in Yankee Stadium, but also the new commissioner of baseball, Happy Chandler, had proclaimed it Babe Ruth Day at every stadium where baseball was to be played that day. The speech by Ruth would be rebroadcast through every stadium over their loudspeaker systems. This was to be a national event, something that the entire country would share in together.

The groundskeepers were getting the field ready for the game. Around home plate, they had set up a group of four microphones so that the speeches could be heard around the stadium as well as on radio. I could feel my heart beating out of my chest as the ceremony was about to start. Still, there was no sign of Johnny. Was it possible that he was going to do it to me again?

Just as the first speaker approached the microphone, I felt something pushing against my knees. I looked up and I saw a ragged figure, unshaven and looking total out of place. I had been totally immersed in what was happening on the field, and this man's kick to my knees had completely startled me. It took me a second to realize that I was probably blocking the path to his seat, so I stood up and motioned for him to enter. As he passed in front of me, I could not help but notice the strong odor coming from his body. It was strong enough that I tried to stop breathing for a moment until he had passed far enough away that he would be out of my range of smell. Instead of continuing down the row, he stopped at the seat next to me and sat down. As I looked into to his face, I instantly knew that it was Johnny.

His face looked weathered, and whatever weight advantage he had over me when we were kids was now gone. He looked gaunt and sickly, dirty and beaten down. He stood out like a sore thumb in this crowd of well-dressed men with their fine suits and their custom trimmed hats. He could have benefited from a good bath and a nice shave, but through the dirt, I saw the face of my boyhood friend, Johnny.

Just as I leaned over to say something to him, the voices started speaking over the loudspeakers. It was probably just as well since I was starting to speak to Johnny, but had no idea of what in the world I was going to say to him. Luckily, the blaring sounds of the loudspeaker system completely drowned me out. Johnny reached over and squeezed my hand, not so much a handshake, but more like you would squeeze a rag hard to get the last drop of moisture out.

As the speeches went on Johnny looked over at me a few times. We watched as they introduced Larry Cutler, a thirteen-year-old boy, who welcomed the Babe into the new job they had created just for him, Director of Baseball for the American Legion. We listened as he spoke.

"I guess there are thousands of thirteen year old fellows like myself in this country, who have heard about Babe Ruth ever since the first time they learned there was such a game as baseball. It's a great honor to be here just to be able to tell Babe Ruth how proud we are to have him back in baseball, back where he belongs. And to know that Babe Ruth is going to be with us kids, well that is the biggest and best thing that could happen. From all us kids today it's swell to have you back."

When the young boy had finished speaking the Yankees announcer, Mel Allen introduced the Babe to the crowd. The 58,339 people in the stands cheered as mightily as their voices would allow. The Babe walked up to the microphone. His appearance was dramatically different from the last time he had been seen in public. He had become a shrunken version of the man that had struck so much fear in the hearts of American League pitchers. He wore a camel's hair coat and held a cap by his side. Even with a good tan, he had gotten by spending weeks in Florida, trying to recuperate; his appearance was shocking to those that knew him for so long.

At first, he seemed overcome with emotion, and unable to speak. It appeared as though he was about to cry when a coughing fit seemed to come over him. He took a second and composed himself, and began to speak. He had no notes or any prepared speech in writing as he approached the microphones. At the first spoken word that came from Ruth's lips it was obvious that he was a very ill man. The pain which speaking caused him could be felt by every soul in Yankee stadium. You could sense the severity of the pain in his voice so acutely that I prayed for his speech to be short.

"Thank you very much ladies and gentlemen. You know how bad my voice sounds; well it hurts just as bad. You know this game of ours comes up from the youth, that means the boys. And after you've been a boy and grow up to know how to play ball, then you come to the boys you see representing themselves today in our national pastime. The only real game in the world, I think is baseball. As a rule, some people think if you give them a football or a baseball or something like that, naturally they're athletes right away. But you can't do that in baseball. You gotta start from way down in the bottom, when you're six or seven years of age. You can't wait until you're fifteen or sixteen. You've gotta let it grow up with you. And if you're successful and you try hard enough, you're bound to come out on top, just like these boys that have come to the top now. There's been so many lovely things said about me, I'm glad I've had the opportunity to thank everybody. Thank you."

And with that, I watched him walk back to the dugout where he went into an uncontrollable fit of coughing. I could not help but think back to the speech that Lou Gehrig had given eight years earlier. A speech that I had heard replayed dozens of times. I thought back to how Ruth had put his arm around the dying Gehrig and made his teammate laugh. I could not help but think how much better Gehrig looked on that day than Ruth looked now. A deep sadness overcame me, the realization that Babe Ruth was not going to recover. He was not going to get better from whatever illness had overtaken him. I was watching a doomed man taking what may be his last walk in the sunshine. It might be the last time that this "priest" might lead his loving congregation.
43

Babe's speech that day will not be long remembered for its content. It was not nearly as compelling as the speech that Gehrig had given in the same ballpark. Nevertheless, clearly it gave every person who heard it an insight into the struggle that Ruth was facing, and left us all with the understanding that this was a battle he would not win.

As soon as Ruth left the field, I turned to Johnny to see his reaction. I watched his eyes follow Ruth as he left the field, and walk back to the dugout. I watched him stand with the crowd as they cheered for the Babe as he moved across the field. When he sat back down in his seat a reserved smile came to his face, it was a sad smile just the same.

"Why didn't you get in contact with me before now? What have you been doing all these years? I thought you were dead."

"I was pretty embarrassed by the life I was leading and really wasn't anxious for anybody to see me like this," he replied.

"Have you been in touch with anybody in your family?" I asked. "Do they even know that you are still alive?"

At that minute it struck me, I probably should have contacted Johnny's family when I had gotten the telegram, but had not thought about that until now.

"I haven't talked to anyone in my family since I ran away from home. I guess they do not know if I'm dead or alive and I don't know if I want you tellin' 'em."

After that, Johnny would only respond with the vaguest of answers to my many questions, and would use as few words as possible. It was like pulling teeth to get him to say even one full sentence. I could not believe that this was the same person, who I used to have hour-long conversations. All those hours spent in the clubhouse talking about our dreams for the future, and now it was as though we had nothing to say to each other.

"Where do you live? I asked. "And what do you do to make money?"

"Not far from here, and I do what I can to make a buck."

There was so much that I wanted to know, and so much that I wanted to say, but I had to make do with small talk about baseball and about the game, we were watching. The Yankees were playing the Washington Senators that day. The Senators actually won the game 1-0, and Ruth stayed in the stadium and watched the first eight innings of the game.

There were a few times during the game that Johnny seemed to loosen up. Whenever I would bring up one of the stories of the gang we grew up with in Kensington he would seem to reach back in his memory to a happier time and smile.

"Remember all the times we used to play down by the railroad tracks, and how about the time we went fishing in Pennypack Park," I said. "We were pretty dumb, trying to catch fish with all that crazy stuff as bait."

I tried to remind him of some of the great adventures we had together growing up. He would seem to reach back in his mind to what now seemed like the wonderful time of our youth.

Even though I was doing almost all the talking, it finally seemed like Johnny was letting himself think about better things and better times. I tried hard to remind him of every great time we had as kids, and was extremely careful not to bring up any of the bad times.

"We really did have a lot of fun together growing up, didn't we?" I asked.

"Thinking back on it, I guess it wasn't so bad."

I wanted to remind him that he once had a pretty good life, and just maybe he would believe that he could again.

I never actually saw Ruth as he left the stadium that day, but I know he was gone by the time the ninth inning ended. The victorious Senators marched off the field, and the dejected Yankees slowly left their dugout after their last out. The game ended with not a bang, but a whimper, as Ruth's exodus went unnoticed by the crowd.

By now, I had retold every great story from our youth, and was exhausted from holding up the entire conversation for nine innings. The game was over the crowd was thinning out. A few stragglers were walking towards the exits. Johnny and I sat in our seats, starring at the empty field in front of us, as if we had no place in the world to go. Everyone else appeared to have somewhere to go, but Johnny and I were nowhere, with nowhere left to go.

Ten minutes oozed by, the stands had completely emptied. The groundskeepers were out, putting the field back in order. As I looked around Yankee Stadium, we were the only two people still sitting in our seats. I knew it was time to leave, but I did not know what to say to Johnny. He showed no sign of wanting to leave, but he wasn't saying anything either. It was becoming very uncomfortable, as if there was something he wanted from me, but I had no idea what it might be.

Finally, Johnny broke the long period of silence. He starred out at the field as he spoke, his head resting on his clasped hands. His voice was low and had a slight quiver in it as he spoke.

"Remember that day at Boger Field, the day Ruth came to play," Johnny started.

"And remember how I never came to the game." He continued trying to steady his voice.

"Well that game was important to me too. I wanted to see that game more than I ever wanted to do anything in my whole life. I know how hard we worked to be able to get there and be part of it. It was going to be the highlight of my life too."

I listened intently as I could tell Johnny was looking to tell me his story and I was not about to interrupt him.

"That morning I was all ready to meet you, but I was outside your house way earlier than we had planned so I sat on your porch and waited for you to come out. When I realized how early I was, I decided to run over to the clubhouse and grab my baseball glove; I wanted to have it when we met Ruth so that I could get him to sign it. I jumped through the window and went into the clubhouse and picked up the glove and started to climb up on the table to boost myself out."

"Just as I jumped on the table to get out, Billy Brannigan barreled through the window and his feet kicked me right in the face. I don't know if that was what he wanted to do or if it was an accident, but he picked me right up off the ground and threw me in the corner of the clubhouse. I was woozy from the kick in the head as I felt him grab my head and smash it hard into the brick wall."

Johnny starred out onto an empty Yankee Stadium field, never giving any eye contact as he spoke.

"I was waiting for him to start beating me from behind, but instead he pulled down my pants. He started to try to have sex with me from behind. He was screaming at me at the top of his lungs and I couldn't tell what was happening. I couldn't talk and I was jammed up against the wall so tight that I couldn't get my arms free to fight back."

Johnny paused for a moment and took a deep breath as he tried to muster up the courage to continue telling his story.

"I wanted to break free but my face was pressed so hard against the wall that I could barely breathe. I don't know if a minute went by or if ten minutes, but finally I got a hand free and I reached out for whatever I could grab. I pulled a loose brick out of the wall, and tried to swing it in his direction, but I couldn't get my arm into a position where I could hit him."

Johnny placed his head down on the open palms of his hands as he continued to speak.

"A few seconds later I could feel his weight shift just enough for me to get my arm free. I reached back as far as I could and slammed the brick right into his head. I swung it with all the anger I ever felt in my whole life. I swung it so hard that the thud it made when I hit him would have made your stomach sick. As soon as I hit him he fell to the floor like a rock."

"He wasn't moving and I should have probably just walked away. Maybe he was dead and maybe he wasn't, but I didn't hesitate even for a second. I jumped on top of him and started pounding the brick into his face and head as hard as I could. I must have hit him a dozen times, even though I was sure he was dead after the first two or three. I was so scared that my whole body was trembling. I left him there and went straight back to my house."

"I was covered in blood and knew I had to clean up and get rid of my clothes. I ran home and got new clothes without anyone seeing me. I threw my bloody clothes in a paper bag and ran out to the old rail yard and buried them in the ground under the waste dump. I waited at the yard until after noon when I knew you would have had to leave for the game, and then I went home."

"I couldn't think straight and didn't know what to do," Johnny said taking another deep breath.

As Johnny told his story, I sat there stunned. I completely forgot that we were sitting in Yankee Stadium, and all I could feel was my heart racing as he spoke. I do not know if he was looking for me to say something as he finished talking, but I could not get even a single word out. I tried to talk but could not get anything to come into my head, let alone through my mouth. I really did not know what to say. I stared out onto the deserted field and sat stoically.

I wanted to comfort Johnny, but I was so unprepared for this that I could not find any of the right words. I wanted to tell him that it wasn't his fault and that he was only defending himself, but I couldn't. I wanted to tell him that I was his best friend and that if he told me what had happened, that I could have helped him through it, but I didn't. There were so many things that I could have said, but I didn't say any of them.

Johnny finally took his eyes off the field and turned to me. I could see tears welling up in his eyes, in a way I had never seen before. Even as a kid, I never remember seeing Johnny cry. He did not try to hide his tears. They were flowing freely down his cheeks and he did not raise a hand to try to wipe them.

I put my arm around his shoulder and tried to comfort him, knowing full well that the time for comforting him had long ago passed. Any bits of wisdom that I could give to him now would probably not help ease his pain. I rubbed his shoulder and waited for him to finish speaking. I was only shaken back to reality by the voice of the usher as he appeared next to me in the aisle.

"You two are gonna have to get out of here now."

"We gotta clean this section and we can't work around ya," he finished.

He walked away as if to give us a minute or two before he would have to come back and physically throw us out. He went to the front of the section and began picking up some of the trash that the fans had left behind.

I sensed that our time together was drawing to a close. I searched for the right thing to say, or do, that might make a difference in Johnny's life. Something that might put him back on the right track, and help him put his life in order.

"You should come back home to Kensington and you can stay with me," I blurted out.

He looked at me as if he thought I was crazy.

"I ain't ever goin' back to Kensington," he said. "I was glad when I left it behind and I'll never set foot in that place again. There's nothing there for me. I don't give a damn about anybody or anything that's left there."

"What about me, and what about your family? There's no way that I'm not telling them that you're still alive."

"I don't care what you tell 'em, there's no way I'm ever coming back."

I looked in his eyes and knew he was never coming back. Even though it was hard, I would have to leave him behind to lead his life, such that it was. I swallowed hard as the usher started cleaning the row directly in front of us, and knew it was time for us to go. Just as I started to stand up to begin leaving, Johnny grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me back down to my seat.

"There's something I want to give you before you leave," Johnny said.

He reached under his seat and pulled out a small, old, cardboard box. I watched him carefully open the brown flaps and pull out a small object. The object was wrapped in stained yellow paper. Johnny slowly unwrapped it, careful not to drop it out of his hands as he did. When he was finished taking the paper off I instantly recognized what it was. It was the baby deer antler that I had found that day, long ago, in the park when we went fishing with Uncle Eddie. The deer antler that Johnny had wrestled away from me; and apparently had kept with him all these years.

"Here, I want you to have this, it should have been yours all along," he said. "I thought it would bring me good luck, and somehow protect me, but it didn't do either."

He handed me the antler and I held it in my hands. It was even smaller than I remembered it to be, but it was as perfect a specimen as I had recalled it being that day we found it. I moved my fingers over it to feel how smooth it really was.

Johnny then reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of copper metal. He held it between his fingers and pushed it into the palm of my hand. It was a blank, semi-round piece of copper that I could not identify. I looked at Johnny for an explanation, but before he spoke, it came to me. It was the penny we had flattened on the railroad tracks that day we almost were killed. Johnny assumed that I recognized it, and looked away as he finished handing it to me. No further explanation was necessary.

Johnny was giving back to me two things that he had ripped out of my hands when we were kids, and maybe in his mind trying to make right two perceived wrongs. I took the flat penny and placed it in the crevice of my wallet. I picked up the small box and put the baby deer antler back in it.

"It's time for us to go," Johnny said.

"Johnny, you were the best friend I ever had. I've thought about you every day since you left. From that day, I never had another best friend. It was as if I kept the slot open just in case you ever came back. I don't want to lose you again."

Johnny looked away from me and shook his head.

"There's just no going back, not now, not ever."

I waited for him to get up and stand before I moved. He motioned with his head towards the exit of the stadium and I got up and started to move in that direction. When we reached the street, Johnny held his hand out for me to shake. I reached out and grabbed it, squeezing it tightly. I was fighting back the tears that were just beginning to form in my eyes. I tried to keep them from coming, but before I knew it I could feel them rolling down my check and into the crevice of my mouth. I used the edge of my sleeve to wipe them off my face.

As I felt Johnny starting to let go of my hand, I pulled him close and wrapped both my arms around him. I never remember hugging Johnny when we were kids, but I held his body next to mine and clasped my fingers around his neck. I hoped that the tears would stop flowing, but they didn't. I knew when I would let go that he would leave, and that I would probably never see him again. I held on for as long as I could, but finally I felt him stiffen his body and he pull away from me. He held my wrists at arm's length and said, "It's time to go."

He held his arm out towards me as he stepped away. I reached out towards him, he grabbed my forearm and we did our secret handshake. It was something from our childhood that I had completely forgotten about. Something that had been lost in the years, but came back to us one last time.

He turned and started walking away from me without saying another word. He was about twenty steps away when I yelled out his name. He turned back towards me and waited for me to speak.

I walked up to him and said, "There's something of mine that I want you to have."

I reached into my back pocket and pulled out the small wooden pocket comb that had fallen out of Babe Ruth's back pants pocket.

"You may not believe this, but this comb actually belonged to Babe Ruth," I explained to Johnny.

"Don't ask me how I got it, but just know that this really did belong to the Babe. I carried it with me every day since the game he played at Boger Field. I always thought that this was somehow magical, and that it really did bring me good luck and protect me. It has been better to me than any lucky rabbit's foot. If you carry it, I know it'll protect you and bring you good luck too."

Johnny took the pocket comb from me and held it in the palm of his hand for a moment. I was wondering what was going through his mind as he looked at it. He ran his fingers over it, flipping the teeth of the comb, just as I had done on the day I found it. Just as any kid would do to hear the clicking sound that it would make.

"This really did belong to the Babe?"

I nodded yes.

"I can't believe you're giving to me but if you're stupid enough to give it away I sure will be happy to keep it."

As Johnny turned and walked away, I could see the hint of a genuine smile light up his face. It may have been the first genuine smile he had in a very long time. Thirty seconds later, he turned the corner and he was gone, my friend was gone. Gone.
44

It was a quiet, reflective train ride back to Philadelphia. I sat alone and thought about Johnny the whole trip back. The hum of the engine brought me to various stages of consciousness. I wondered what kind of life he was really living. Was it as bad as it seemed. I held the deer's antler in my hands the entire way. I rubbed it as if it would really bring me good luck.

I had never asked Johnny how he had gotten the tickets for the game. Could he possibly have had enough money to buy them? Maybe he had a friend who gave them to him. Or, could he have waited at the ticket office and followed someone out who just bought tickets and hit them on the head and stole them. I tried not to think about it.

When I got home, I put the flat penny in my jewelry box with my other few precious jewels. I placed the deer antler up on the mantle in my living room. It was so small that you could hardly see it, but I knew it was there.

A year went by and we did not hear much about Babe Ruth and his sickness. It was understood that he was very ill and would not recover. I also did not hear anything more about Johnny. I was busy living my life and tending to my practice, treating the children of Kensington.

On June 13th, 1948, the Babe wore his baseball uniform for the last time. Yankee Stadium was now 25 years old and his number 3 was officially retired. It was part of the silver-anniversary ceremonies, which were held at the stadium. This time I did not get to go to the game, but I listened to the ceremony on radio.

His speech was short, just four sentences. He said he was proud that he had hit the first home run in Yankee Stadium back in 1923. It was appropriate that he will forever hold that honor. And the year, 1923, that was the year he had come to our neighborhood to play a little, meaningless, exhibition baseball game. I wondered if the Babe still remembered anything about that day in 1923.

When I saw the pictures in the newspaper the next day I was saddened by Ruth's physical appearance. There was the picture of him standing at the microphones, speaking to the crowd. His legs looked like thin sticks, and his face seemed pale and sunken in. There was also the great picture taken by Nat Fein that won a Pulitzer Prize. It was taken from behind Ruth, showing his old teammates standing to honor him, and looking out onto the crowd at Yankee Stadium. That picture will be forever in my memory and it will be what I remember as the world said goodbye to Babe Ruth.

On August 16th, at 8:01 P.M., the Babe died in his sleep. He was 53 years old and it was said that he died a beautiful death. At least that was what Father Kaufman told the reporters outside Memorial Hospital.

"The Babe died a beautiful death," he said. "He said his prayers and lapsed into a sleep. He then died in his sleep."

A part of me was gone. Since that day in 1923, I felt a bond with Babe Ruth, even though I was sure he did not remember me. I felt a deep sadness as if a member of my own family had passed away, and a deep sense of loneliness.

It made me think about Johnny, and how much I missed him. I thought about all the ways I could reach out and find him, and try to help him. In the end, I sat in my living room, all alone starring at a deer antler resting on my mantle.
45

The nation seemed to mourn as a whole after the death of Babe Ruth. It did not matter what baseball team you rooted for, everyone loved the Babe. For me life went on as usual, kids still got sick, and I never seemed to have a free minute. If I got a knock on my door in the middle of the night, I knew to go get my medical bag and be ready to make a house call.

It was Monday night at eight o'clock on August 30th, 1948 when I heard a knock at my door. I was lying in bed reading an old copy of Life magazine and instinctively jumped out of bed grabbing my medical bag as I walked down the stairs. When I got to the door, I was caught by complete surprise. Annie Garrity, or whatever her married name was, was standing outside my front door. She was standing next to two little identical twin girls who were shyly hiding behind her dress.

She smiled at me, and before she could say a word, I jumped out onto the front steps and wrapped my arms around her. She had changed some, but was still easily recognizable. It had been more than fifteen years since I had seen her last, and really had not heard anything about what she had been doing for all that time.

"I can't believe it's you, and I can't believe you're here," I said. "These two beautiful ladies must be your daughters."

The twins appeared to be about twelve or thirteen years old, and were dressed in matching yellow dresses. They each wore a bow in their hair, one had a purple flower, and one had a pink flower. The resemblance to Annie was unmistakable. I pulled them into my living room and gave Annie a second hug before I got her seated on the chair next to the couch. The two girls jumped on the couch, rolling on top of each other as they did.

"Would you like a cup of tea or something to drink?" I asked.

"No I'm fine thanks." She replied.

"How about the girls, can I get something for them?"

"No, I'm sure they're alright too."

As my excitement wore off a bit, I could see that something wasn't right. Annie was not able to look me in the eye, she was hesitant as she spoke, as if she had something to say but was afraid to say it.

"Is everything alright?" I asked.

She looked up at me sheepishly, and slowly shook her head no. The smile that she had forced onto her face slowly disappeared as she looked down at her lap.

"Everything's not alright," she said. "Last night I got a call from the police in New York, they said that Johnny is dead. They found his body two weeks ago. They said they had been trying to find his next of kin, but that he didn't have any identification on his body. They only found me after one of the vagrants that they found near where he was living, remembered his name and where he came from. Unfortunately by then they had already buried him in a Potters Field out on Staten Island."

I sat there stunned, feeling as though I had been punched in the stomach, unable to breathe. I knew Johnny's life seemed to be on the wrong track, but I did not expect this.

"Did they tell you what happened?" I asked.

"They did, but it may be better if you didn't know," she whispered to make sure the girls didn't hear what she was saying.

"Please, tell me what happened," I whispered in an equally hushed tone. "Johnny was the best friend I ever had; I need to know what happened."

Annie motioned for the girls to go play with the radio that was sitting on the windowsill in my kitchen. The girls walked into the kitchen and I could immediately hear them turn on the radio and start turning the tuning dial finding something to listen to. With them out of the room, Annie spoke in a quiet conversational tone.

"Two weeks ago, on a Monday night the police found his body underneath a bridge that led to Brooklyn. The said it was a popular place for the vagrants to stay, and that Johnny apparently had been sleeping there for months. The other vagrants said he was a regular at the local soup kitchen, and that he often slept at the local train yard. I guess he didn't have much of a life."

Annie's eyes watered as she spoke.

"Did they tell you how he died? I asked.

"Yea," she started, "they said he was having an argument with one of the other vagrants and it got very heated. The man apparently picked up a rock and smashed it into Johnny's head. The police said that the single blow killed him instantly. The other man ran away and the police say he has not been seen since."

I could feel a dizziness overcome me as Annie spoke. It was a combination of nausea, confusion, and I could feel myself becoming disoriented. I tried to shake myself out of it, so that I could respond to Annie when she finished speaking.

"Like I said before, the police said he had no identification or paperwork of any kind on him, so their standard procedure is to unceremoniously bury him with the other nameless bodies. I get sick when I think of him being buried in the ground, all alone, nobody there to say good-bye to him."

Annie started to make eye contact again, as she was able to hold back her tears.

I do not know why, but just at that moment, I thought about the pocket comb. I wondered if they had found it and had returned it to Annie. I hated myself for thinking about it, why would I even care what happened to the stupid comb when I had just lost my first and only best friend.

"Did they find any personal belongings when they found his body?" I asked, feeling bad as soon as the words left my mouth.

"Well he didn't have much in the way of possessions," she said. "The police said that he didn't have anything of value is his pockets when they found him. If he had anything valuable the other vagrants would have probably stolen it before the police even got there."

"There was one thing though," she said. "They found this wrapper with your name printed in pencil on the outside. But when they opened it all they found was this little pocket comb."

"Is it yours?"

"Not really, but I do know who it belonged to."

"It must have been really important to Johnny if it was the only thing in his pockets, and for some reason he must have wanted you to have it."

I am sure that the other vagrants would not have worried about stealing a worthless wooden pocket comb off a dead body. I was surprised that the police had not thrown it in the trash. After all, who would think about keeping a used pocket comb that came from the dead corpse of a filthy dirty vagrant? I guess the comb had only brought Johnny more bad luck.

My thoughts went back to Johnny. I could feel a palpable sadness overcome me. Johnny was still the only best friend I ever had. I was thirty-eight years old and was all alone. I wasn't married, and did not really have a best friend. Up until now if someone had asked me who my best friend was, even though I had only seen him once in the past twenty some years, I would have still answered Johnny Garrity. Now I do not know what I would say.

Annie and I talked for almost an hour. She slyly changed the subject and we caught up with what we had missed in each other's lives over the past two decades. She seemed extremely happy with her marriage and her life. Her face would light up each time she would talk about the twins. Their names were Mary and Clara and they were thirteen years old.

"They are both excellent students and maybe they will be doctors like you when they grow up," she said.

"I do love being a doctor and there's nothing better than helping a kid get well when they're sick."

For a moment, I almost had forgotten about Johnny. The twins came back into the room, finally getting bored with the radio. It was after nine o'clock and I could see that it was time for Annie and the girls to go.

"Believe it or not, besides my family, you're the only one that I am telling about Johnny," she said. "It's sad but you're the only one who probably remembers him."

It was sad; there wasn't anybody else that Johnny was close to when we were growing up.

Annie walked away in silence, stopping at the door to give me a good-bye hug. I bent over and hugged Mary and Clara good-bye as well. As I shut the door, I felt a cold chill run through my body. I felt extraordinarily alone, with a sadness that threatened to overpower me. I sunk onto the chair where Annie had been sitting, and rested my head down on the upward facing palms of my hands. I felt total despair.

Johnny had been dead for two weeks and nobody even knew who he was. I thought for a moment, two weeks. I grabbed the calendar and checked the date. Monday night two weeks ago would have been August 16th. Johnny had been murdered on August 16th. I started rustling through the stack of newspapers that had been piling up on my kitchen table. Finally, I pulled out the Inquirer from the morning of Tuesday August 17; I found what I was looking for. Monday August 16th was the same night that the Babe had died. I could not believe it; Johnny had died on the very same night as Ruth did. The irony of Johnny being killed by getting hit in the head with a rock did not escape me either. The cold chill returned to my body, but this time it did not pass in seconds. It lingered for minutes, and left me reaching for my worn out army blanket that I kept under the sofa.

The ties that had bound Johnny and me together had somehow become intertwined with those of Babe Ruth. It was as if God was drawing circles and that Johnny and the Babe had completed their circles at exactly the same time.
46

I was glad that I had gotten to see Johnny one last time before he died. It was not that I got any sense of closure, but at least I had a mental picture of what Johnny was like as an adult. As disturbing as that picture was, at least I would not forever think of him as a thirteen-year-old boy.

Annie's visit did provide a sense of closure in another area. I guess in the back of my mind I always hoped Annie and I might end up together somehow. Even though there had never been one romantic moment between us, I had always thought we would find each other someday. Seeing her as a loving mother to her twins, and hearing of her happy marriage squashed any fantasy I might have had that Annie and I would end up getting married to each other.

I was almost forty years old, and although I had some girlfriends, I never had met anyone that I felt would make my perfect bride. Knowing that Annie would never be mine opened my eyes to seeing the possibilities that existed in the world around me. Even though the demands of my job were great, I made sure that I started squeezing in as many local social functions as I could.

I began attending local get-togethers at the local VFW hall in Kensington. It was in the summer of 1950 and the city was abuzz over the Philadelphia Phillies. The Whiz Kids were giving the National League a run for their money. It was in that hot August that I met a special woman at a VFW dance. Her name was Margaret, but everyone at the dance called her Margie. We danced the rest of the evening together. When we slow danced, I could feel each beat of her heart and could sense my body fall into rhythm with hers.

"Well, I really enjoyed tonight, maybe we can go out some time? If that is OK with you, I mean," I said stumbling through the words.

"I would like that."

"How about tomorrow," I blurted out.

"Well I don't know about going out on a Sunday night, how about next Saturday?"

"Yea, that would be great. I will look forward to it."

She took a piece of paper out of her pocketbook and scribbled down an address.

"How about if I come by and pick you up at eight?"

"That would be very nice," she said as she handed me the scrap and walked away.

I made sure I was there exactly at eight on Saturday night. I actually got there at seven to make sure I could find her house and then sat at the park two blocks away, as to not appear overeager.

I could feel my palms sweat as I walked up the steps to her door. She was wearing a lovely pink and yellow dress and had put her hair up in a bun. I immediately remembered why I had been so anxious to see her again.

Our conversation was casual as we walked side by side down Kensington Avenue.

"I can't believe you lived here your whole life and we never met before," I said.

"It is surprising that we both born in Kensington and we have never come across each other before. You know, I think I may be a lot younger than you," she said.

"Well how old are you?"

"That depends how old are you?"

"How can it depend on how old I am?"

"Well I'm going to be twenty-nine next month," she said.

"I'm a bit over thirty-nine, that not too much difference is it?"

"If it's not too much difference for you, it's not too much difference for me."

I courted her for the next year, neither of us seeing anybody else during that time. It was the best time of my life and I would count the hours until I would see her again. I knew that she was the one.

One day in mid April, I made my decision. She was the woman I wanted to marry and raise a family. The only problem was that we had never discussed marriage and I really was not sure what she would say if I asked her.

Should I go out and buy her a ring? What if she says she not ready for marriage? I decided that sometimes in life you just have to take a chance. I went downtown to Samson Street where there was a whole row of jewelry shops. I walked from one to another finally finding one with a very patient and kind sales person. She was a young, blue eyed, blonde hair beauty who appeared to be at the most twenty years old.

"My father owns this shop and I'll promise you that we'll take very good care of you," she said. "I'll take as much time as we need and show you all the different diamonds and how you can tell the quality. After all, if this is the right woman then you want to make sure

that you get her the right ring."

"She's definitely the right woman; I just hope she thinks I'm the right guy."

"You should take your time," she said, "This is a very important decision."

"Hopefully this will be the only time in your life you'll have to do this and I'm here to make sure you do it right."

It took a while but I found the perfect diamond, at least the most perfect one that I could afford. Sara, the sales woman, helped me pick out a very beautiful setting for the diamond and my course was set.

I made reservations for the next Saturday night at the restaurant in the Bellevue Stratford Hotel. That was the same hotel where Uncle Eddie had stayed when he visited many years before. I remembered the marble lobby, and how impressive the hotel had been. I somehow knew that this would be the perfect place to ask Margie to marry me.

As I did not own an automobile, I made special arrangements for a taxicab to pick us up and drive us to the hotel. I paid the driver an extra two dollars to wait for us while we dined and drive us home when we were finished.

At dinner, everything seemed right. Margie and I were both dressed up much fancier than we had ever been before. I wore the only decent suit I owned, and she wore a flowing silver dress that looked beautiful on her. The restaurant was very elegant, the kind of place we had seen in the movies. The waiters all wore tuxedos and they called me sir a lot.

I waited for the perfect moment to ask her the big question. Not having any experience at this I really did not know what the perfect moment would feel like. We were finished our desserts and I still couldn't get up the courage to ask her.

We sat and talked for almost ten minutes after we had paid the bill. It was getting to the point where I was expecting the waiter to come back to our table and ask us to leave. Finally, I took the deepest breath of my life and I asked.

"Margie, you are the only woman I ever met who I am I sure I want to spend the rest of my life with. I know I probably should have discussed this with you before now, but I would like you to have this," I said as I reached out my quivering hand and opened the jewelry box.

"I want to marry you and spend every day together. I want you to be there to greet me every day when I come home. I want to have children and raise a family together. I want to live the rest of our lives together in Kensington."

I closed my eyes, held my breath and waited.

We married in June of 1952.

Marriage was the greatest. I never felt alone anymore and Margaret became my best friend. I never realized how lonely I was coming home to an empty home every night until I contrasted it with coming home to Margaret and her warm conversation and a hot meal. I was clearly in the sweet spot of life and enjoyed every day to the fullest.

"You know, when you retire we can travel all over the world," Margaret would say.

"I never thought about retiring before, but maybe I would like to see the rest of the world with you. After all there's has to be more to the world than Kensington."

One day, when Margaret was cleaning the bedroom where I slept while I was growing up, she called me in to help flip the mattress over. I dutifully came to her aid and pushed the mattress onto its side.

"Here you hold that side while I flip it over," she said.

As I lifted the mattress, I noticed Margie reach underneath and pull out an old newspaper.

"What's this old Philadelphia Inquirer doing under here? Were you hiding it from someone?" she asked.

"No, I wasn't hiding it," I said, "in fact I completely forgot that it was there."

"It is from September 5th 1923," she said. "Did something important happen?"

"Not really."

"Something must have happened. Why would you have kept it otherwise?'

"Well, something happened that was pretty important to me."

"It was the day after Babe Ruth came to Kensington and played in a game at Boger Field and believe it or not I got to meet him."

"I was only about three years old so I don't know anything about it."

"You do know who Babe Ruth was. Don't you?"

"Of course I know who Babe Ruth was, everybody knows The Babe. I know he hit a lot of home runs but I never heard anything about him coming to Kensington to play."

"Well he did come to Kensington and it was quite a game."

"Did you get to go to the game?"

I thought for a moment before answering. Did I really want to tell her the story of Me, Johnny, and the Babe; it would be so much simpler to just answer no. I placed the flipped mattress back down on the bed, and sat Margie down next to me and told her this story. It was the first time I spoke to anyone about any of this, and now she would know things that only Johnny and I knew. I told her every wonderful and painful detail. Even though the story went on for hours, she listened intently. She hugged me as I got to the end and she could see the tears streaming down my face as I spoke about Johnny. It is a very emotional story for me to tell.

One day in July of 1953, I found an interesting article in newspaper. Apparently, they had found some skeletal remains at a construction site in Kensington. They were digging the foundation for a new factory they were building and came across a skeleton that police estimated had been there for thirty years or more. The police spokesman was quoted in the newspaper as saying that there were no clues to its identity and that even though they were sure that there had been a murder involved, that they would probably never solve it since any clues had long ago disappeared.

A few months later, in October of 1953, Margie told me that she was expecting and the baby was due in April. Life just could not get any better.

On April 3rd, we were blessed with a child. We had a little boy, who was born at 5 pounds and 2 ounces. His birth was the greatest moment of my life, and I cried as I held him in my arms for the first time. A few moments later I cried for a second time when Margie suggested that we should name him John, but we could call him Johnny.
