14. At the Ball Park
AN: The same Tigers pitcher, Al Benton, was credited with the win for both of these games. He was the only player who was on both the 1938 and 1948 team roster. In 1938, "Hammerin Hank" Greenberg made three team records: the highest slugging average by a righthander (.683), most home runs by a righthander (58), and most home runs at home (39).
Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.
"Well, here we are, Pop." John Smith pasted an encouraging smile on his face as he took his aging father's arm to help him off the streetcar. "Briggs Stadium."
His mother would never have taken the streetcar but his father didn't mind. The way the other riders jostled them to get either a seat or a standing position seemed to envigorate the elder Smith for the venue they were about to enjoy together.
"You're sure you have good seats? I don't want to be stuck behind some concrete column or in the nosebleed section in left field. And you've been away at West Point. You sure you know what you're doing and where we're going?" The elderly man's wheezy lungs did not prevent him from asking his twenty-year-old son the same questions he had asked before they left the family home in Dearborn to come here.
"Yes, Pop. I know what I'm doing and where we're going." John resisted an urge to roll his eyes. His father descended the final step onto the pavement in front of what was affectionately nicknamed "The Corner," home to the Detroit Tigers Major League Baseball team.
The year was 1948 and the Tigers were hosting the Philadelphia Athletics. It was early in the season, May 22, and the Tigers' thirteenth game at home and their thirtieth of the season.
The younger Smith wished he could have had made his visit to Detroit later in the year but his father's health was not the best and later may never happen. His father's advanced lung cancer made the future uncertain and bleak. While John, Jr., was in town he wanted to make his visit memorable.
The Tigers were also unsure of what lay in their team's future. Three years before, in 1945, the Detroit ball club brought the World Series title home when they defeated the Chicago Cubs. That was the past and they could not hang their hopes on past achievements.
So far, their 1948 season was fourteen to fifteen. The first six home games had been losses, not a very good omen for the following weeks. The first three, all handed to the Cleveland Indians, were especially difficult to take, with final scores that ranged from two to eight to four to seven. But the season was young
John, Jr., paused and took a look at the outside of the stadium. Some things never changed, he thought to himself with a private smile. The green and white structure was immense from the outside but inside he knew the stadium was so intimate that . To get to their seats in the upper deck in right field under the overhang known as "The Porch," they would have to ascend steps. He hoped his father would not mind the exertion to get to the wooden green seats in the bottom row. They were guaranteed to give a great view of the first base line.
Briggs Stadium had not yet given in to the night game trend that all other teams except the Chicago Cubs had. No night games meant no stadium lights. The game they were about to watch would be started and finished in daylight.
He sighed. The stadium would get those lights in June. Eventually all things changed, he realized as he listened to his father's labored raspy breaths.
He was relieved when they managed to find their seats. His father was winded but not so much that he thought he needed to find medical attention.
"Not bad, Johnny. Not bad." The older man squinted aside at his son and nodded his appreciation. "We're close enough to maybe grab a foul ball or home run if it comes our way."
"Remember 1938, Pop?" John raised his eyebrows and grinned. "You still have that ball?"
His father leaned back in his seat. His brows furrowed as if he were trying to remember, then the corners of his mouth twitched in the closest thing to a smile John ever saw on him. He gave the younger man a sly look.
"'Hammerin' Hank' Greenberg, wasn't it? September 17. The Tigers beat those damn Yankees seven to three. Fifth inning with two on base and he smacks one our way."
"And all I had to do was reach out with my glove and get it."
"We should have done this more often when you were growing up." Regret laced the older man's voice. "Listen. When . . . it . . . happens and I'm gone, make sure you get into the house and take that ball. It's yours. Your mother . . . she wouldn't know what to do with it." He gripped his son's arm and waited for him to make eye contact. "Promise?"
John, Jr., paused and swallowed before nodding his agreement. The younger Smith watched as the flag was raised on the pole that stood slightly to the left of center field against the wall. "Did I ever tell you how much I appreciated you taking me down after the game to get autographs from the players?"
"You did now and you're welcome . . . son." John Smith, Sr., swayed to his feet and placed his hand across his heart as the strains of "The Star-Spangled Banner" came over the loudspeaker.
John Smith, Jr., straightened and saluted the flag before placing his hand on his heart in an identical gesture. Some things didn't change. That included his father's loyalty and love for his country and for his son.