by Thomas M. McDade
My Sox were facing Chicago – Pale Hose, as newspapers said, headed for a pennant, and called the Go-Go Sox: sinker, slider specialist Bob Shaw to start. My dad kept a radio on his bedside table, volume low for my mother’s sake when he couldn’t sleep. He hunted the dial for interesting stuff. He’d picked up a guy named Jean Shepherd who sometimes talked about the White Sox. Some nights, reception was very clear. Shepherd gave wild descriptions of his dad heckling players at Comiskey Park. He’d point out how lousy the White Sox were, hadn’t won a World Series since 1907. My dad liked his show closing “Keep your knees loose.” My dad didn’t heckle but he hated Ted Williams’s frequent bad attitude. I tried to get him to take me into Providence when the Splendid Splinter was appearing at a Local 57 softball game. He got home from work late accidentally on purpose I was sure. We did go to an Elks Sports Night where I met Frank Malzone and Sox announcer Bob Murphy. My dad ducked out of taking me to meet Yogi Berra too – Yankee hate. This trip to Fenway was maybe to make up for those letdowns. My dad usually relaxed on weekends. He was a dye house laborer at Highland Textile, on his feet his entire shift, never took long for his work shoes to stiffen and crack. He used Sloan’s Liniment on his aches and pains. Of course he had no kind words for Mickey Mantle – could run like the wind but beat the draft due to bad knees. My dad didn’t mention Boston’s Series drought. October games no big deal to me – a regular season win just as thrilling and impossible my team would finish 0-154 – no dugout of knees that damned tight.
Thomas M. McDade is a resident of Fredericksburg, VA, previously CT & RI. He is a graduate of Fairfield University, Fairfield, CT. McDade is twice a U.S. Navy Veteran serving ashore at the Fleet Anti-Air Warfare Training Center, Virginia Beach, VA and at sea aboard the USS Mullinnix (DD-944) and USS Miller (DE / FF 1091).