PROLOGUE

 Celebrating my 83rd birthday, my memory and my eye for the ball are not nearly as sharp as it was during my playing days. I rely on photographs and notes to jog my memory as I dictate these memoirs. I do, however, remember quite vividly my rookie year in the majors and those exciting games with the ‘37 Yankees.

            Baseball has changed over the years. Players nowadays seem more interested in the money and less about the love for the game. But, I’m still a dyed-in-the-wool Yankee baseball fanatic. I even occaasionally make it to Tampa for spring training.

 My years just prior to retirement were spent scouting developing catchers for the AA Nashville Sounds and the AAA Columbus Clippers of the Yankee farm system. It was fun and it kept me involved in baseball.

  Residing in Manhattan, rarely do I miss a Hall of Fame induction ceremony. I often stay at the Tunnicliff Inn on Pioner Street, less than a block off Main Street.

Over the years, the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum, as it is now called, has evolved and expanded to a handsome colonial duplex of fame and antiquity. The museum display of artifacts and memorabilia is mesmorizing and the cathedral-like Hall of Fame is lined with row-after row of inductee bronze plaques. After all of these years, each visit is still a learning experience

 I lost my beautiful Annie two years ago in September, sixty-thee years after we first met in college. I miss her so much. It is most difficult on the holidays, especially Christmas. However, I am still able to care for myself in my apartment and my son visits me every Sunday. My daughter lives in Atlanta and she calls me several times a week. I haven’t been back to the Little Rock neighborhood since my brother’s funeral.

I dedicate this narrative to the Gregor Family and Bill Dickey, “The Man Nobody Knows,” who fueled my passion for baseball. But, if you’re anticipating the typical run-of-the- mill - boy meets girl - boy hits crucial homerun baseball tale - this is not it. My story is a it bit more daring. I will attempt to convey the dedication and passion that I, and many others, have for the National Game.

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE VILLAGE

Nestled between the Catskill Mountains and the Central Leatherstocking Region of New York rests an idyllic one stop-light village with a tad over 1,800 residents – a picturesque setting worthy of a Norman Rockwell painting. Tender new leaves decorate the trees providing a fresh emerald glow. The villagers know that an exceptional snowy winter is finally at end. Ski, snowshoe, and toboggan areas are now officially closed. Residents and shopkeepers are busy sprucing-up for a hopefully good summer tourist season. Welcome to Cooperstown.

This pastoral village is not a likely spot for a national museum of any sort. However, recently the Greer Committee voted unanimously to move forward with plans to construct a National Baseball Museum – a mecca that would attract thousands of baseball pilgrims.

Cooperstown, being somewhat isolated, generally did not attract a lot of business, especially after the Great Depression. With the building of the National Baseball Museum, many new small businesses would be established in hopes that the local economy would soon improve. It would now become a destination for thousands of fans.

According to the Times, the building was to be a magnificent fire proof colonial structure of James River red brick with harmonizing slate roof. The National Baseball Museum would house historical arrtifacts to comemorate the first hundred years of our National Game. The expected cost of construction was estimated around $100,000. The prominent resident and entrepreneur Stephen Clark agreed to finance the project with the enthusiastic support of influential Ford Frick, President of the National League. The inaugural year would be 1939, the centennial year for the first game of baseball in Cooperstown. Mr. Clark was not an avid baseball fan, but more into collecting folk art. However, he sensed a sure way to attract visitors and their money to the village. His investment in baseball later began to rival his grandfather’s Clark-Singer Corporation.

The site selected was tree lined Main Street just blocks from Lake Otsego, called the “Glimmerglass,” by novelist James Fenimore Cooper due to its placid mirror-like presentation.  Lake Otsego, an Iroquois name meaning “place of the rock,” is a nine-mile lake that is the birthplace of the Susquehanna River, as it begins its 700 mile journey to the Chesapeake Bay.

Cooperstown has an intriguing history that dates back to its beginning in 1785 when Judge, and former U.S. Congressman, William Cooper purchased 10,000 acres of the Cooper Patent from Colonel George Croghan. The

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Texte: J Klemens - Jan 2014
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 03.07.2014
ISBN: 978-3-7368-2378-5

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Dedicated to my son, Aaron, who shares my love for Cooperstown and the National Game.