Stories about hope

It was mid-October 1988. I was working in Rosemead at Southern California Edison & living in West Covina, my mom was in a Convalescent home in Santa Ana. I had just gotten home from work. I was listening to the radio on my way. It was the 8^th inning and a close game.

I dropped everything and turned on the TV. 

I called my mom. She was watching the game as well. I didn’t have enough time to drive from Rosemead to Santa Ana so this was the best I could do to watch our favorite team in the World Series. 

As I made my dinner, I chatted with my mom as she recounted what had transpired in the game thus far. 

Of course, I knew most of it as I had listened on my drive home. But I let her talk. Her excitement was contagious. 

We continued to “watch” the game together. 

When Vin pointed out that he caught a glimpse of the injured Kurt Gibson in the dugout. The stress was palpable.

She had me on speaker phone because her MS had progressed to the point where she could not hold a phone. The volume on her end loud enough so she could hear both Vin on the TV broadcast and me on the other end. 

Bottom of the ninth. And Vin said his famous line, “Look who’s coming up…High fly ball into right field. She is gone!” 

I started screaming… my roommates came down the stairs to see if I was ok. 

On her end the nurses hearing what sounded like someone being murdered in my mom’s room, came running. 

My mom was also hooting and hollering the best she could. I imagine everyone else was confused as to what was going on. 

I will never forget that moment. 

My love for the Dodgers had started many years earlier. And it was all thanks to my mom and a patient she had in Labor & Delivery at Valley Presbyterian hospital. 

I was up, ready and waiting for my mom to get home from her 11PM -7AM night shift. She was to take me to Camp Sport N Fun for the day.  I was 10, & she was a single mom of 5.  I was the youngest and was sent to spend summer days at outdoor camp (I loved that camp). 

That morning she walked in the front door and handed me a Bagel from Western Bagels along with a slip of paper. 

I realized the paper was addressed to me and it had some kind words written, but I couldn’t recognize the signature. 

She explained that the note was from Steve Garvey a professional baseball player for the Los Angeles Dodgers! 

“Who?” 

His wife Cindy was her patient for the last couple nights. When she first came into delivery, My mom asked her where her husband was, when she said, “He’s playing baseball” 

Mom couldn’t understand how any husband would be playing baseball and not with his wife as she was about to deliver. She didn’t know WHO he was, and that he was on a plane from New York at the moment because up until that time we never watched a game.  She thought he was just out with his buddies goofing around.  

That was all cleared up when he arrived at the hospital the next day.  

My mom was quite smitten. She spoke of how handsome and charming he was and how they had to cut the sterile gown so he could fit his arms through, she said this a couple times with much excitement.

On Sunday of that very week my odyssey of being a Dodger fan began. Every Sunday after church my mom and I would turn on Channel 11 eat peanuts and listen to the melodious voice of Vin Scully call the game. We always cheered loudest for number 6.

I started to love baseball and would watch the 5th & 6th grade boys play the game on the playground at Elementary school.  One team was always “The Dodgers” I wanted to play so bad, but they never asked – until one day in 6th grade.  “Should we let her play?”  “Sure, but only if she names the starting infield for the Dodgers.” 

I rattled off the famous Garvey, Cey, Russell & Lopes. They seemed surprised so then said 

“Name the outfield” 

“Smith, Monday &  Baker”  and threw in Yeager, Sutton & Hough for good measure  – that day I played in the outfield with the guys and even caught a couple fly balls for outs. I was in my own Blue Heaven and got to play with the guys from then on. 

I wasn’t old enough to drive yet so I rode my 10 speed bike all over the neighborhood, to church, home from church, down the hill to a friends, to work and back, my transistor radio was always bungee corded to the book rack with my friend Vin talking as I rode. 

As my love for the Dodgers grew so changed the walls of my room – what was once pink became covered in Dodger Blue memorabilia. 

Being a Dodger fan was almost a requirement to attend the church we went to in Canoga Park. As my dad had passed away years earlier, the men of the church were always thoughtful enough to invite me to watch my team with them. If Mr. Tracy, Dr Steele, Reverend Kenny or my brother Bob were going to a game, they always made sure to buy an extra ticket for me.

When I was able to drive, I would load up my mom (and her wheelchair) in the FORD LTD and off we would go to the Stadium, so happy to see and hear the familiar people who became part of our lives. I was always happy at the Stadium.

Vin Scully continued to be a part of my life. He was always the voice I loved listening to the most. My boys grew to love him as well. They knew he was the GOAT. They were as sad as I was when he retired.

There will never ever be another Vin Scully. He could tell a story and give the details of the game so smoothly. Weaving the count in and out without skipping a beat. The way he painted word pictures of the scene unfolding. Saying things like “Cotton Candy clouds” or “It looks like the master painter has wiped his brushes across the sky”.  

He also knew when to stop talking. Words were not always necessary. He let the roar of the crowd explain things. 

I have been wanting a Dodgers jersey. I was never able to settle on the name on the back. That decision was made for me as I received the news of his passing. I was in my room when I got an alarming text from a friend at work, and then I heard my youngest say “Oh no!” I came out of my room in shock. 

I knew one day he would leave us. I have been thinking about it since his wife had passed away. It’s just that none of us could imagine a world without his melodious voice. But here we are. 

Thank you, Vin.

Thank you for being the voice of my childhood, the voice of my children’s childhoods. The calm in my storm, The favorite Uncle. Your voice through my radio kept me company on many nights when things were tough at home. You helped me be brave after 9/11. You taught me to love baseball. You taught me to love the Dodgers.

I certainly hope when I get to heaven, your voice will announce my arrival at home.

Thank you Vin. You were truly a legend. Good bye for now.