EXCERPTS

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

PART 1

The red sign. You know the one I'm talking about. I know it has a fancy name, but you know immediately where you are once you see this red sign. It tells you that this is "Home of the Chicago Cubs." It's also been home to the football Bears, and for a short while the soccer Sting, but the chief resident at Clark and Addison has been a baseball team. Back in 1964, the red sign also told you what visiting team was in town, and for how long. In my first grade mindset, different teams meant different things. "San Francisco" meant sluggers: Mays, McCovey, Cepeda, Hart, etc., so let's hope the wind is blowing in. "New York" meant that the Cubs might win. And "Cincinnati", the opponent on June 30, presented such a fascinating conglomeration of "C's", "i's," and "n's" that I didn't even think too much about the ball club. How many common words are there that look anything like Cincinnati?" (Maybe cinnamon, but that's a stretch)...

Walking to the northeast corner of Clark and Addison is an experience in sensory overload. Your eyes are focused on the aforementioned red sign, but your ears pick up something else. The cops' whistles as they direct traffic has been embedded in my memory. If you've been there, you'll remember the cadence: one longer note followed by two very short ones. I took note as to how the officers directed the flow of cars and pedestrians in a commanding yet not overbearing way. The pace was quite brisk, but not too brisk for me. After all, this was my first game...

Bombardment of the senses continued on the other side of the turnstiles. The dominating aroma belonged to the smoky links. Smells incredible, but I'm too excited to eat. The predominant sound was that of vendors hawking scorecards through rich, husky voices: "Lineups, lineups." Not much else was said by these gentlemen whose median age appeared to be ninety-seven. The scorecards that vendors pushed and we bought were a treasure back then, and deserve a closer look later. Creative work, to say the least. But what really caught my eye in the concourse were pictures of the ballplayers. This might have been my first game, but who wouldn't stop to stare at photos of Ron Santo, Billy Williams, or Ernie Banks? I remember seeing these photos extend for quite a distance right above the concession stand, and I also recall these images being in place for a number of years. It seems to suggest, looking back, a more stable time when the turnover of players was not as common. If it was, would management go through the hassle of putting up new pictures all the time?

Then it happens. All the preliminaries are over and it’s time to get serious. You climb the stairs and see the inside of Wrigley Field for the first time. A genuine “wow” experience…