The 80s, for the most part, were pretty good--lots of barbecues, Dodger games, and family gatherings. Mom always had plenty of soda on hand, beer for the adults. April 9, 1984, was the last Dodger game that I went to with Dad. Just him and me. His knees were bad. He could walk but only with frequent stops and a little unsteady, so I did not leave his side. When Dad found himself in Los Angeles, he always tried to locate a moment from his youth. Dodger Stadium conjured great memories for him. The smell of hotdogs, roasted peanuts, the promise of cold draft beer, and reviving some of his best athletic moments from his youth. Dodger Stadium was more of an arena for his glory days than it was for a competition between two National League baseball teams. Chavez Ravine may be the home of the Dodgers, but that whole neighborhood was the epicenter of Dad's youth. The Police Academy across the street was his playground where he later took his own kids to enjoy. Ditto for Elysian Park. Dan told me once that he used to run around the periphery of Elysian Park for exercise.
Then there is the River Station Rail Yard train bridge that he
used to take me, Tom, and Joe to and run across from Broadway on the north to
Spring Street on the south. For me, that was an epic adventure. And Little
Joe's restaurant was just down the street. Further west on
Broadway, Dad could easily find himself back in Chinatown. His favorite
restaurant in that area was Grand
Star, a Chinese place where Dad's retirement party was
held. And his Cathedral
High School was one block up from the River Station Rail
Yard. I had some pretty good memories with Dad. He treated me
really well. But that whole neighborhood was Dad's. That River
Station Rail Yard is gone; its wheelhouse is long
gone. There's a fenced park there now. No history to the city's past anymore. Least not like we got to enjoy. And the history that does
exist, LA politicians try to put lipstick on it to make it look like it was
part of an earlier era while they bury it so as not to offend the latest monied
group that arrives from God knows where. Dodger Stadium may not have been
the epicenter of Dad's moments under the sun, but it came close. Regardless
of what condition he was in, he would always try to extract some love and fun
from an event. And this, his last, Dodger game was no exception.
Both of us had a Dodger Dog and a beer. The alcohol made his knees
a little worse, but it was worth enduring to relive a delicious moment, in
memory at least, of his vibrant youth as a productive young man and
father. After the hotdog and the beer, we shared a bag of stadium
peanuts. There's something great about tossing peanut shells on the
floor. I caught a foul ball at that game. That ball is
pictured here halfway down
the post. And as was his wont, Dad asked to leave early, so at the end of
the 4th inning, we climbed up the interminable steps from Row 1 of the Loge up
to the concourse where it was level and he didn't have to strain his
knees. This is the thing that I loved most about Dad was his
courage. In the face of pain, he hated that his knees called attention to
himself and he tried to play it down always with grace and good humor. I
was so proud of that catch that I brought the ball home and placed it out on
Mom's china cabinet for display, for Tom and Joe to see. The following day
I saw that Dad had scrolled the date on it, and I was furious. But I kept
it. And glad that I did, for I love it now that he did mark the
event by dating the ball. Something, eh? After Dad retired, he
continued to visit Marilyn and Frank Drabickus who invited him, and me by
necessity, out to dinner a lot. But after sitting for hours, when Dad got
up he needed an arm to lean on then until his legs warmed up. That arm
was frequently mine. Miss being in service to our great Pops. Have to avoid getting too sentimental.
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