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captainsblogFor the daytime segments of the Mets conference today, I rocked the Retired Number t-shirt that I've had since shortly after Dana's memorial last year. Here's me with the only official representative of the team to show up at this event:
If you can't make the numbers out, they are, in uniquely Met order:
You'd be amazed how many people stop me when I wear that in Buffalo and ask if they're lottery numbers. Yeah, I'm a Met fan. We only play four out of six numbers just to be sure of losing. No, guys; what they DO represent are the four uniform numbers retired by the team in its now half century of history. Yesterday's report touched on the first of them, Casey Stengel's; and the third, which was Tom Seaver's. They figured many times in today's talks as well, but it's late and I have a gagillion stories, quotes, pictures and bling to write about, so I'll just tell two tales from the first and last of the panels from before the evening's entertainment.
Gil Hodges wore #14; he wasn't the Mets' first manager, but he was among their first players, and he managed them to their first World Series win in only their eighth season. He died tragically three years later, days before the start of the 1972 season, and his son was one of the featured speakers. He also had support from a math professor, who painstakingly explained in numerical terms why he should be in the baseball Hall of Fame. While the numbers were impressive, his subjective qualities were even more so, and the four of his former players who spoke, read or signed today and tonight all brought that point home poignantly and effectively.
The oldest of that quartet (turning 79 on Sunday- we sang Happy Birthday to him) was a gentlemen among gentlemen, the 1969 third baseman named Ed Charles. Nicknamed "The Glider" but known then and since as a poet, he read from some of his work- about growing up black in the segregated South while being asked to fight for his country in the Second World War, and about his experiences on and off the field. Then he talked more about the game- 20 years in the minor leagues before finally making it to the Athletics while they were in Kansas City before finishing his career with the Mets between 1967 and that championship season of '69.
Then he told this story, which I can only repeat with awe and reverence.
Ed Charles grew up in Florida, in the town where the Brooklyn Dodgers' top farm team trained. In 1946, a year before Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in the majors, he was assigned to that Montreal farm team, and their training was across the street from the park where he and his friends played. Ed was then 13- always too shy to ask for an autograph, even though they all knew how important his effort was. Their careers on the field never intersected, and they never met until two years after Ed's retirement from the Mets, in 1971.
Both were trying to start post-career businesses, and both were seeking out government loans for them. Their appointments were back to back one day, and Jackie was coming out as Ed was going in. Before he did, though, he introduced himself, told him about their connection in the early days, and thanked him for his efforts in blazing the trail for the African-American players who came after.
Jackie said, I appreciate you telling me that. You're the first black player to ever say those words.
I let that sink in. This was almost a quarter century after Jackie Robinson began his quest, and over a decade after he ended it. Everybody knew how important it was, but nobody bothered to thank him for it until this gentlest and wisest of Mets did.
Suddenly, that Rotunda in Queens seems more appropriate than ever.
----
Much more to follow, likely after I've presented and gotten home.
If you can't make the numbers out, they are, in uniquely Met order:
You'd be amazed how many people stop me when I wear that in Buffalo and ask if they're lottery numbers. Yeah, I'm a Met fan. We only play four out of six numbers just to be sure of losing. No, guys; what they DO represent are the four uniform numbers retired by the team in its now half century of history. Yesterday's report touched on the first of them, Casey Stengel's; and the third, which was Tom Seaver's. They figured many times in today's talks as well, but it's late and I have a gagillion stories, quotes, pictures and bling to write about, so I'll just tell two tales from the first and last of the panels from before the evening's entertainment.
Gil Hodges wore #14; he wasn't the Mets' first manager, but he was among their first players, and he managed them to their first World Series win in only their eighth season. He died tragically three years later, days before the start of the 1972 season, and his son was one of the featured speakers. He also had support from a math professor, who painstakingly explained in numerical terms why he should be in the baseball Hall of Fame. While the numbers were impressive, his subjective qualities were even more so, and the four of his former players who spoke, read or signed today and tonight all brought that point home poignantly and effectively.
The oldest of that quartet (turning 79 on Sunday- we sang Happy Birthday to him) was a gentlemen among gentlemen, the 1969 third baseman named Ed Charles. Nicknamed "The Glider" but known then and since as a poet, he read from some of his work- about growing up black in the segregated South while being asked to fight for his country in the Second World War, and about his experiences on and off the field. Then he talked more about the game- 20 years in the minor leagues before finally making it to the Athletics while they were in Kansas City before finishing his career with the Mets between 1967 and that championship season of '69.
Then he told this story, which I can only repeat with awe and reverence.
Ed Charles grew up in Florida, in the town where the Brooklyn Dodgers' top farm team trained. In 1946, a year before Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in the majors, he was assigned to that Montreal farm team, and their training was across the street from the park where he and his friends played. Ed was then 13- always too shy to ask for an autograph, even though they all knew how important his effort was. Their careers on the field never intersected, and they never met until two years after Ed's retirement from the Mets, in 1971.
Both were trying to start post-career businesses, and both were seeking out government loans for them. Their appointments were back to back one day, and Jackie was coming out as Ed was going in. Before he did, though, he introduced himself, told him about their connection in the early days, and thanked him for his efforts in blazing the trail for the African-American players who came after.
Jackie said, I appreciate you telling me that. You're the first black player to ever say those words.
I let that sink in. This was almost a quarter century after Jackie Robinson began his quest, and over a decade after he ended it. Everybody knew how important it was, but nobody bothered to thank him for it until this gentlest and wisest of Mets did.
Suddenly, that Rotunda in Queens seems more appropriate than ever.
----
Much more to follow, likely after I've presented and gotten home.
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no subject
Date: 2012-04-28 02:40 pm (UTC)This sounds like a blast.
no subject
Date: 2012-04-29 06:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-05-03 09:42 pm (UTC)