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Memories- of 1969 and 2009
Sep. 29th, 2019 01:14 pmFriday's workday, frankly,.... well, let's let Donnie say it:
Eleanor's was worse than mine, but I basically blew a tank of gas driving to, from and all around Rochester for little good purpose at all. I did not meet the one client I went there mainly to meet (who was at a funeral, so what're you gonna say?). We did not have a farewell lunch for a departing coworker, and I almost got into words with another coworker over the reasons for that. All in all, I was ready for an early departure, except that I had a chance to get my mind off it halfway home at, of all places,
- a harness racetrack?!?
Yup. Clippety-clippety-clippety clop, Batavia Downs is quite the spot. Been by it a million times, but never set hoof in it, or in the quasi-casino the state's been running out of it for the past decade or so. It would take a miracle for me to make that stop, but in this case it wound up being three of them- a trio of Miracle Mets from the 1969 World Series team, on a 50th anniversary tour that actually made it to this faraway outpost.
That photo's off one of the bigscreen tv's they had in the meeting room; VIP tickets were required to sit closer and get personal pictures with the heroes, and I wasn't investing that kinda money on these guys. I did get a closer shot of Ed Kranepool before they convened-
Eddie was the veteran of the group, going all the way back to the Mets first season in 1962 right out of high school. I'd met him before, at the 2012 conference I spoke at down at Hofstra. Here, he's sporting his brand new kidney, which he'd been Cleon Jonesing for over the past several years. ("A young lady donated it, so I got her kidney, but also her hot flashes," he said.) Also at that prior event was the youngest of the three, traded to the Mets the year before the Miracle,....
....Art Shamsky. Back then, he'd just come out with his book about the three New York teams- Jets, Mets and Knicks- who in or including 1969 overcame odds and beat teams from Baltimore on the way to acquiring their sports' world championships. He autographed that one for me at the time-
- and while they did have his new book available-
- they were pre-signed and he was not at the merch table to add to it, so I've Amazoned it.
The Third Amigo was the one I'd never met before, unless he was at his (and Eddie's) restaurant on Long Island on the one weekend I vaguely remember going to it, but he was probably my biggest hero of the three, Ron Swoboda:
"I didn't have a career, I had a catch." He also has a newly repaired heart; in the weeks in between the team's official celebration of their championship's 50th anniversary back in late June and their appearance here, Ron had life-saving bypass surgery. He told some of the best stories- about losing their tough but beloved manager Gil Hodges only a few years after that season and finding out, only much later, that his own father had served in the same WWII Pacific theater that Gil had; about another gone-too-soon teammate, Tug McGraw, not being able to judge the Astroturf compared to the former grass at Candlestick Park because he "never smoked Astroturf;" and about Yogi Berra, their future manager but in 1969 coaching first base while also allegedly serving as the team's hitting coach. The only hitting advice Yogi ever gave him in all those years was this one tip: See it, and hit it. How are you gonna argue with that? (Or with Yogi about anything?) He also compared the two aces of the staff from those years, Tom Seaver and Jerry Koosman, the latter finally to be honored next year by having his number retired. Back then, teams didn't typically match their best pitchers against each other, so while Seaver usually won more games, Kooz was more often pitted against the other team's ace. "Seaver was Van Gogh; Koosman was Patton," Swoboda said.
The turnout was pretty good, considering how few and far between Mets fans seem to be in these parts. I passed on the chance to get most of my admission charge back in "free play" at the video slots; just watching the rooms full of fogies staring absently at those blinky-blinky screens was a reminder of what I never want to turn into.
----
Because Eleanor worked each weeknight on and after our anniversary, we planned our dinner for last night, at one of Buffalo's oldest yet newest landmarks:
That magnificent structure began life in the late 19th century as Buffalo's State Asylum for the Insane. The building is the product of famed architect Henry Hobson Richardson, and equally famed park designer Frederick Law Olmsted designed the 100 acres of peaceful grounds around it. Times and treatments changed, much of the campus was turned over to the adjacent Buffalo State College, and by the 1970s, the building was abandoned and facing the wrecking ball. Spirited efforts to preserve it resulted in its eventual rebirth as the Hotel Henry, and in the more recent opening within it of the 100 Acres Restaurant. That was our choice for the evening- once we found it in the dark and I got a place to park.
Speaking of "spirited," the place does have quite the reputation for being haunted by its former patients. We saw/heard/felt none of them, although while in the elevator, when nobody got off on one floor, we did pretend to have brought Gertrude, deceased owner of our last Rochester home who we swear followed us here.
The food was yummy, the ambience nice once we got away from a four-top of loudmouths adjacent to us, and we continued our long tradition of leaving our server with an extra gratuity for the evening. I explained to the waitress what we were doing, and how it all traced back to 10 anniversaries ago, when our plans were interrupted by rescuing this guy, found wandering around our yard:
Our then-neighbor, who'd seen him eating spilled Cheerios from her toddler, had named him Charlie, and that's who he'll always be to us. He was in our life for barely a day, but he's paid forward our thanks for almost every anniversary since- and this year's recipient was especially touched by the tale and by this particular tail-wagger. She appreciated the generosity because she'd recently had her tonsils out and was worried about the bill (waitstaff-types generally getting minimal health insurance if any at all); and she appreciated her benefactor even more, because, she said, she has a cat herself who looks a lot like him:)
Ya done good, Charlie.
Eleanor's was worse than mine, but I basically blew a tank of gas driving to, from and all around Rochester for little good purpose at all. I did not meet the one client I went there mainly to meet (who was at a funeral, so what're you gonna say?). We did not have a farewell lunch for a departing coworker, and I almost got into words with another coworker over the reasons for that. All in all, I was ready for an early departure, except that I had a chance to get my mind off it halfway home at, of all places,
- a harness racetrack?!?
Yup. Clippety-clippety-clippety clop, Batavia Downs is quite the spot. Been by it a million times, but never set hoof in it, or in the quasi-casino the state's been running out of it for the past decade or so. It would take a miracle for me to make that stop, but in this case it wound up being three of them- a trio of Miracle Mets from the 1969 World Series team, on a 50th anniversary tour that actually made it to this faraway outpost.
That photo's off one of the bigscreen tv's they had in the meeting room; VIP tickets were required to sit closer and get personal pictures with the heroes, and I wasn't investing that kinda money on these guys. I did get a closer shot of Ed Kranepool before they convened-
Eddie was the veteran of the group, going all the way back to the Mets first season in 1962 right out of high school. I'd met him before, at the 2012 conference I spoke at down at Hofstra. Here, he's sporting his brand new kidney, which he'd been Cleon Jonesing for over the past several years. ("A young lady donated it, so I got her kidney, but also her hot flashes," he said.) Also at that prior event was the youngest of the three, traded to the Mets the year before the Miracle,....
....Art Shamsky. Back then, he'd just come out with his book about the three New York teams- Jets, Mets and Knicks- who in or including 1969 overcame odds and beat teams from Baltimore on the way to acquiring their sports' world championships. He autographed that one for me at the time-
- and while they did have his new book available-
- they were pre-signed and he was not at the merch table to add to it, so I've Amazoned it.
The Third Amigo was the one I'd never met before, unless he was at his (and Eddie's) restaurant on Long Island on the one weekend I vaguely remember going to it, but he was probably my biggest hero of the three, Ron Swoboda:
"I didn't have a career, I had a catch." He also has a newly repaired heart; in the weeks in between the team's official celebration of their championship's 50th anniversary back in late June and their appearance here, Ron had life-saving bypass surgery. He told some of the best stories- about losing their tough but beloved manager Gil Hodges only a few years after that season and finding out, only much later, that his own father had served in the same WWII Pacific theater that Gil had; about another gone-too-soon teammate, Tug McGraw, not being able to judge the Astroturf compared to the former grass at Candlestick Park because he "never smoked Astroturf;" and about Yogi Berra, their future manager but in 1969 coaching first base while also allegedly serving as the team's hitting coach. The only hitting advice Yogi ever gave him in all those years was this one tip: See it, and hit it. How are you gonna argue with that? (Or with Yogi about anything?) He also compared the two aces of the staff from those years, Tom Seaver and Jerry Koosman, the latter finally to be honored next year by having his number retired. Back then, teams didn't typically match their best pitchers against each other, so while Seaver usually won more games, Kooz was more often pitted against the other team's ace. "Seaver was Van Gogh; Koosman was Patton," Swoboda said.
The turnout was pretty good, considering how few and far between Mets fans seem to be in these parts. I passed on the chance to get most of my admission charge back in "free play" at the video slots; just watching the rooms full of fogies staring absently at those blinky-blinky screens was a reminder of what I never want to turn into.
----
Because Eleanor worked each weeknight on and after our anniversary, we planned our dinner for last night, at one of Buffalo's oldest yet newest landmarks:
That magnificent structure began life in the late 19th century as Buffalo's State Asylum for the Insane. The building is the product of famed architect Henry Hobson Richardson, and equally famed park designer Frederick Law Olmsted designed the 100 acres of peaceful grounds around it. Times and treatments changed, much of the campus was turned over to the adjacent Buffalo State College, and by the 1970s, the building was abandoned and facing the wrecking ball. Spirited efforts to preserve it resulted in its eventual rebirth as the Hotel Henry, and in the more recent opening within it of the 100 Acres Restaurant. That was our choice for the evening- once we found it in the dark and I got a place to park.
Speaking of "spirited," the place does have quite the reputation for being haunted by its former patients. We saw/heard/felt none of them, although while in the elevator, when nobody got off on one floor, we did pretend to have brought Gertrude, deceased owner of our last Rochester home who we swear followed us here.
The food was yummy, the ambience nice once we got away from a four-top of loudmouths adjacent to us, and we continued our long tradition of leaving our server with an extra gratuity for the evening. I explained to the waitress what we were doing, and how it all traced back to 10 anniversaries ago, when our plans were interrupted by rescuing this guy, found wandering around our yard:
Our then-neighbor, who'd seen him eating spilled Cheerios from her toddler, had named him Charlie, and that's who he'll always be to us. He was in our life for barely a day, but he's paid forward our thanks for almost every anniversary since- and this year's recipient was especially touched by the tale and by this particular tail-wagger. She appreciated the generosity because she'd recently had her tonsils out and was worried about the bill (waitstaff-types generally getting minimal health insurance if any at all); and she appreciated her benefactor even more, because, she said, she has a cat herself who looks a lot like him:)
Ya done good, Charlie.