Sorry for your loss, Jim. I have been thinking about my father lately as the 20th anniversary of his death is rapidly approaching. He was the one who instilled the love of baseball in me. In 1963 I started listening to the Cardinal games on the radio with him. The Cards were chasing the Dodgers down the stretch and we were cheering for Stan Musial to get a pennant in his last year. It was not to be. In 1964 I caught the Topps fever. Dad worked in a body shop right behind our house. I would constantly go begging for nickels to buy a pack. We were hardly well off, but he seemed to always scrape up a nickle or a dime. What I wouldn't give to relive one of those hot summer nights sitting in the back yard, Dad with his shirt off and a beer, listening to the ballgame and hearing stories about the old timers.
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