Previously told, but too lazy to find it, is my sentimental journey.
In 1957, as a nine year old overweight kid who could hit but not run, my passion for baseball was enhanced by going to an elementary school about a half a mile from Jack Russell Stadium in Clearwater, Florida where the Phillies played their spring training games. After school I would ride my bicycle to the games armed with only a cheap ball point pen and this
After the fourth inning, admission to the games was free. This was not a problem though, because it was usually the fifth inning by the time I arrived. I soon learned that the visiting teams dressing room was under the stands on the third base side and that the team bus was parked close to the gate where the players left after the game. Soliciting autographs between the gate and the bus (less than 50 feet) became the post game norm.
When the Yankees came to town, they brought a B team without Mantle that day, but I was able to get this one
However the day the Dodgers came from Vero provides the reason for this post. They brought their A team with all the big guns. My anticipation of the post game autograph hunt reached a fever pitch as the game progressed. Even the Dodger bus was special in 1957.
After the game I assumed my post at the gate where they would exit to the bus. I was sincerely crestfallen when every single Dodger turned me down. Not a single Dodger autograph in my book. I was more despondent than the kid in the old Mean Joe Greene Coca Cola commercial that wouldn't be made for nearly twenty years.
I just stood there by the bus in disbelief. The bus didn't leave. Then a window opened and I heard "Kid, let me see your book". To this day I don't know who it was, but I reluctantly handed my treasured book and pen up to the window and waited. The window closed.
It seemed like an eternity and I soon became convinced that the bus would pull out and leave with my book. The door to the bus was closed as well, but still the bus didn't move. I was about to leave and accept my loss when the same window opened again and my autograph book was returned.
I thumbed through it quickly and learned that about 20 of those smug bastards, who previously turned me down in person moments before, had now signed the book. Even Joe Pignatano had signed
Now fast forward forty plus years, long after I realized that my dear mother had admitted to disposing of all my baseball cards from the fifties, I was visiting my parents in their condo near Clearwater. They had a storage unit next to where their car was parked. One day I asked them what was in it. They didn't know. I asked for the key hoping to find a gem mint Mantle RC.
I opened the door and the stench was sickening. Boxes that had been packed for decades were stacked. I went through them all and alas not a single baseball card was found, but my eyes lit up when I found my old friend
I thumbed through the pages, largely intact, until I came to a section where the Dodgers had signed, Duke Snider, Carl Furillo, Clem Labine, Don Newcombe and Roger Craig, all there present and accounted for.
And then I turned one more page and saw this
As an adult I had never been an autograph guy, but recognizing Walter Alston was not difficult. The other one I didn't recognize immediately, but I soon learned it was very special. Remember, this was the spring of 1957, months before an accident that would render this autograph impossible to obtain. I had been reunited with my buddy, Roy Campanella, nearly fifty years after that bus window opened.