Yankee Stadium

  
 The guy sitting next to me obligingly snapped the photo of the four of us sitting in the upper deck along the third base line. Seen on the field behind us is the white overlapping NY logo immediately behind home plate, unmistakably identifying the ballpark as Yankee Stadium, “The House That Ruth Built!” My youngest son, Bill, his two boys, Stevie, ten, and Ben, seven, and I, are all smiling broadly on this sunshine-splashed day, Saturday,

June 30, 2007.

All around us, in the photo, the grandstand is sparsely populated since we

arrived early, both to soak up all the ambiance of Yankee Stadium, but

especially because the boys hoped to get autographs.  That did not happen,

but it was the only disappointment of the day.

The boys are wearing pin-stripe Yankee shirts and caps; what cannot be

seen on the photo are the names and numbers on their backs, Rodriguez, #13

on Stevie’s shirt, and Jeter, #2 on Ben’s, their favorite players.  And Ben is

holding his fielder’s mitt which he brought in case a foul ball came his way.

Because Yankee stadium was scheduled to be demolished the following

year, the  boys jumped at my suggestion that we see one of the last

games played in this baseball shrine. Friday morning we took an early

Amtrack train from Washington D.C. Union Station to Penn Station in

midtown Manhattan.  Looking out the large windows on the train, the boys

and I talked about the old houses and the dead, or decaying and deserted

factories bordering the tracks.  We spoke of the people who lived and

worked there, and of opportunity, or lack of it, and “how lucky you two boys

are.”   Friday morning was overcast, adding to the gloomy scene, but our

mood brightened and the excitement built as we pulled into Penn Station.

Arriving in New York on Friday, we took an afternoon harbor tour of the

city, and walked around Times Square in the evening.  The highlight for the

boys was our stop in a Times Square sports store where they excitedly tried

on their Jeter and A-Rod shirts.

But, for me, the highlight that Friday was the ferry boat tour around

New York Harbor with panoramic views of lower Manhattan, the Statue of

Liberty, Ellis Island, and  gliding under the Brooklyn Bridge.  The day

was warm and sunny, and there was a pleasant breeze while we sat on the

open upper deck.  The boat carried only a moderate number of tourists that

day, and we were able to sit on benches immediately across from the tour

guide who narrated the landmarks over a bull horn; I later learned the

guide’s name was Frank.  Stevie had a question and, at my urging, he

approached Frank.  When the guide paused after his comments about

Frederick Bartholdi, the French architect who designed the Statue of Liberty,

Stevie asked his question. Frank hesitated a moment, then emphatically

announced over the bullhorn, “This little boy just asked me the best question

I’ve ever had in the two years I’ve been a guide here: Who was the model

for Frederick Bartholdi?” After an expectant pause, Frank continued, 

“Bartholdi  modeled Miss Liberty--- after his own mother!”

Following Frank’s closing comments about the tour, I moved in and

thanked him for his kind remarks about Stevie; then I had a couple questions

of my own: “What were some of your most interesting experiences as a

guide?”  Frank replied it was all about “the many people compelled to tell

me their stories, stories about their parents, or grandparents, how they came

to America, and Ellis Island.”  And how they made a new life in America.

Suddenly, I was startled when Frank asked me if I am a doctor.  He said he

guessed that from my interest and my questions.  Well, that floored me! 

While we disembarked from the ferry I handed Frank a $10 tip and thanked

him again.

                                                                                

As we stepped off the gangplank Bill was teasing me with unspoken

ribald overtones about my new friend, Frank.  Unexpectedly, while the

four of us walked along the wharf, Frank hurried after us; he felt the need to

show me photos of his parents and grandparents and told me they had

immigrated from Scotland.  Then, he added, “It was beshert,” a Yiddish

word meaning it was fate, fate that he happened to give his tour comments

from the top deck today; usually he does so from the enclosed lower deck.

Beshert.  How did Frank know we are Jewish?  As we parted, he was

politely effusive in  expressing how much he enjoyed our encounter.  Bill
then teased me some more: “See what ten bucks will get you?”  But, I knew

better.

Saturday morning we walked around Ground Zero, the site of the World

Trade Center attacks, and the boys had searching questions about this; “Why

did they do it?” Stevie wanted to know.

The subway ride uptown to The Bronx was crowded with keyed-up

anticipating  fans talking---baseball!

I took other photos, of course, of Ben smiling and, at my urging,

holding up his hot dog, another with his pink cotton candy on display, and

still another with his large bright red Coke cup in full view.  Stevie sat, legs

crossed in front of him, and with a handful of baseball cards in his lap.

After the game, I photographed the mass of fans filing out of the ballpark,

climbing the gray steel stairs to the adjacent subway platform.  The subway

going downtown was very crowded, and we had to change at Grand Central.

Stevie commented on some of the very interesting characters we saw, and

heard, on the subway; I think he was shocked at some of the very bad words

which were loudly spoken.

Even now, three years later, we all smile whenever we mention this trip,

for we had a wonderful time, but each of us for different reasons.  Oh, by the

way, the Oakland A’s beat the Yankees, 7-0.