Me, Johnny, and The Babe

by Mark Wirtshafter

the games on the radio, all I could do was pray that no harm came to the Babe. I prayed that he would not get hurt and that nothing would keep him from playing next day at Boger Field.

  It seemed as though all the preparations had fallen into place and everyone was ready. Boger Field had been finely groomed, and it looked as beautiful as any baseball field I could ever imagine. It was only Monday, but the grass had been cut, and the lines chalked. The barriers were set up to keep the expected crowds off the field. I stood on the field, all alone on that Monday afternoon, looking around trying to imagine what it would look like the next day.

  I could not help but think about how quiet and peaceful the field now was and how different it would be the next afternoon. On a normal day, a game with the Ascension of our Lord team playing the Lit Brothers Department store team would be lucky to draw a few hundred people. By adding just one extra player, Babe Ruth, everything changed.

  Nobody knew what to expect. For weeks, they had advertised the game on telephone pole billboards and in the city’s newspapers. Reverend Casey spoke about it at every service, as did most of the other church leaders in the surrounding neighborhoods. This was shaping up to be the biggest event in the history of Kensington and I was right in the middle of it.

  Before I left Boger Field on that day, I had to take one long last look around. I stood at home plate and started looking at third base. I moved my head slowly around soaking in the complete panoramic view of the field. It took me thirty seconds or so before I got to first base, as I tried to remember every detail. Thinking about how special the field was to me and how great tomorrow was going to be, it sent a shiver up my spine. I could feel the hair on the back of my neck standing up straight as I lowered my eyes and left the field.

  For me Boger Field was every bit as holy a place as the Ascension of Our Lord Church was. When I stood alone on the field that day I could feel as strong a spiritual connection as I ever remember feeling. I guess it was like a mountain climber reaching the peak and feeling both a sense of accomplishment and feeling closer to God. I certainly felt like I was part of something greater.

  I stopped at Johnny’s house on the way home from the field. I knocked on his door and Annie answered. For me seeing Annie was always a good omen.

  “Hey Annie, is Johnny home?” I asked.

  “Johnny come on down, you got company,” she yelled up the stairs.

  She turned back towards me and smiled. She waited until Johnny appeared at the top of the steps and then walked away. My eyes followed Annie, as she left, not as interested in watching Johnny run down the steps. He opened the screen door and stepped outside. We talked for about five minutes, making our final arrangements for the game on Tuesday.

  “We’ll meet here and walk to the church together,” I said.

  “That’ll be fine,” Johnny answered.

  “Reverend Casey said we should be there by noon on Tuesday so that we will have plenty of time to get to Shibe Park before the Yankee game starts at 3:15. He wants to make sure he will be able to meet with Ruth before the game and go over all the arrangements so that there will not be any delay getting him out of the stadium after the Yankee game ends,” I explained. “I’m pretty sure that we’ll get to watch the Yankee game.”

  “There is no room in the schedule for any screw-ups, so we better make sure that we’re on time,” I said.

  Reverend Casey had borrowed two automobiles that were going to be waiting at the church at noon on Tuesday. Johnny and I were going to be part of the group that would drive to Shibe Park and accompany the Babe back to Boger field. We did not know if we were going to get to ride in the same car, but even if we were in the other one we would still surely get to meet him.

  We were lucky that school had not yet started; the first day scheduled Thursday of that week.

  “Let’s meet out here at 11:30 to make sure we have plenty of time to get to the church by noon,” I said as we stood on the front stoop outside Johnny’s house.

  “Sure, I’ll be ready.”

  Parting company that night I noticed something about Johnny. As I looked into his eyes expecting to see the same sense of excitement I felt, I could only see a sense of melancholy. I never remember Johnny really being happy; he always seemed to restrain himself never allowing himself to reach that point.

  As he turned away to go into his house I yelled, “Eleven thirty, don’t be late!”

  He nodded without turning around and slipped into his house. As night descended on Kensington, I could not help but feel that we were on the verge of something great. The next day was going to be a day that we would remember for the rest of our lives. As long as we lived we would always talk about the day that Babe Ruth came to Kensington to help pay for our baseball field. I was sure that something was going to happen that day would change everything for the better.

  22

  Sleep was completely elusive on that Monday night in September of 1923. Every time I fell asleep, I woke up and lifted the window curtain to see if the sun was up yet. I do not know how many times I jumped out of bed, but it seemed like once every ten minutes. How could a meaningless exhibition game between Ascension of Our Lord and the Lit Brothers Department store team be causing such upheaval in my life? I knew it was completely irrational, but I knew the answer, Babe Ruth.

  When the morning sunlight finally pushed its way into my bedroom, I rolled over and looked outside. The weather looked ideal for baseball, the skies were clear and the temperature was moderate. There was no rain in the forecast. At least we were over the first hurdle, since a rainout would be a disaster, as rescheduling the Babe was not an option.

  I walked down to our kitchen, looked at the clock, and saw it was only seven thirty. With the start of school still 2 days away, I did not have much going on, and filling the next four hours was not going to be easy.

  My dad had already left the house for work and mom was always up early to make sure that breakfast was waiting for him when he came downstairs.

  “I don’t want you going to work on an empty stomach,” my mom would say.

  “As long as you have breakfast waiting, I’m glad to eat it, but I don’t have much time in the mornings.”

  It was early but mom had already started her daily chores. She was gathering the dirty laundry, getting ready to start her daily washing.

  Before starting the laundry, she walked out the back door and took down the clothes drying on the clothesline from the day before. She used wooden clothespins to hold the clothes on a rope line that strung between two metal poles. The gentle breezes that blew through the neighborhood acted as the perfect dryer.

  As she filled the wood basket with the clean clothes, she would carry them inside and bring out a new batch of washed clothes that were ready for hanging. The whole process took her two hours every day, but mom always smiled through it.

  Since I had time to kill, I walked outside and held the basket as my mother took the dry shirts and pants off the clothesline. At least I could save her the extra labor of bending down each time.

  “This would be a lot easier if you had one of those new electric washing machines,” I said.

  “Well, that may be true, but they’re pretty expensive and your dad doesn’t think we can afford one,” she said with a smile.

  “When I grow up I’m going to get a good job and make lots of money and I’ll buy you one.”

  “I hope you do make a lot of money, but I don’t want you spending it on me. Besides you’ll have your own wife to worry about and you’ll need to get her a new washing machine first.”

  “Well, I’ll buy two washing machines; one for you and one for her.”

  By the time we got inside the milkman had just made his delivery, so I had fresh orange juice and milk with my breakfast.

  After breakfast, I tried shooting bottle caps across my bedroom floor to kill some time, but quickly grew bored. I reached under my bed when one of the bottle caps went astray and felt a book. I pulled it out to see what it
was, as I had no recollection of hiding any books under there. I looked at the cover and saw that it was Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson. I had started reading it a year before, but had never finished. In fact, I read only about five pages one night, fell asleep, and had forgotten that the book was even there.

  I had plenty of time before we needed to leave to meet Reverend Casey, and reading seemed like a good way to pass the time. Starting from the beginning again, since I could not remember what I had read before. I got about twenty pages in and somehow I must have fallen asleep. I guess I was still very tired since I had slept so little the night before.

  Suddenly I opened my eyes, to see my mom standing over my bed.

  “It’s almost eleven-thirty,” she said, “You don’t want to be late for your baseball game.”

  Eleven thirty, how could I have slept so long? In a way, this was a blessing, since I did not have any more time I had to kill. Besides, I was much more rested than when I had first gotten up.

  I was already dressed and pretty much ready to go.

  “Here, take this with you,” my mom said. “I packed you a sack lunch with a sandwich and an apple in case you get hungry. You can take it with you to the game. After all you can’t go the whole day without eating.”

  I grabbed the bag and gave her a goodbye kiss, and was out the door.

  “You better listen to Reverend Casey and do whatever he tells you