long way to hit a baseball. It looked like center field went on forever.
I remembered a photo of Willie Mays making a spectacular on-the-run, over-the-shoulder catch out there during the 1954 World Series. It was so famous that it came to be called âthe Catch.â
I canât imagine how Willie ever caught up with that ball.
I jogged out to center field to re-create Willieâs famous play. A few feet to the left of where he caught the ball, above the center field wall, were two bronze plaques. I went over to see what they said. One was in honor of a guy named Eddie Grant. I had never heard of him, but the plaque said he played for the Giants, and he was the first major league player to be killed fighting in World War I. The other plaque was a monument to the Hall of Fame Giant pitcher Christy Mathewson. I had met him when I went to visit Jim Thorpe in 1913. It read . . .
THE GREATEST PITCHER OF HIS ERA AND ONE OF THE FINEST SPORTSMEN OF ALL TIME. FOR HIS MODE OF LIFE AND CONDUCT AT ALL TIMES, HE STOOD FORTH AS AN EXAMPLE TO HIS FELLOW PLAYERS.
Directly above the plaque was a row of seven windows. There were wire screens covering them, I suppose to prevent a home-run shot from shattering the glass. I couldnât imagine anyone hitting a ball that far, but you never know.
I had to go to the bathroom, and I figured there must be one behind those windows. There was a staircase near the big scoreboard. It looked like the stairs led up behind the windows, so I climbed up two flights of steps.
I was right. There were no fancy hand dryers orautomatic paper towel dispensers in the bathroom, but at least it was clean. I did my business and as I left, I noticed that there was a whole complex of offices up there, three stories above center field. There was a trainerâs room, with whirlpool tubs and massage tables. The door was wide open. There was also a supply room filled with bats and balls and other equipment. There was a laundry room. That must be where they clean the uniforms after every game.
Next to the laundry room was the Giantsâ locker room. For a moment, it crossed my mind that I shouldnât be in here snooping around, but my curiosity got the better of me. How often does a kid get an opportunity to peek in a major league locker room? Not often. And how often does a kid get an opportunity to peek in a major league locker room that was torn down over sixty years ago? Never.
I looked at the names written on tape over the lockersâMays, Maglie, Irvin, Thomson. I was kicking myself for not remembering to bring my new video camera with me.
There was a sign on the wall of the locker room. . . .
WHAT YOU HEAR HERE,
WHAT YOU SEE HERE,
AND WHAT YOU SAY HERE
MUST STAY HERE.
Next to the locker room was a green door thatsaid MANAGER â S OFFICE . I couldnât resist. I had to peek inside. Leo Durocher was one of the most famous managers in baseball history. I flipped on the light.
It was a surprisingly small room, with a wooden coat tree and a bunch of clipboards hanging from hooks on one wall. There was a leather swivel chair in front of a wooden desk with glass top. There were some framed photos on the deskâDurocher and his wife, a team photo, a picture of Franklin Roosevelt smoking a cigarette. The desk faced a big window that looked out on the field. I realized that I was a few feet above that Christy Mathewson plaque I had seen in straightaway center field.
Then I noticed something odd. Right next to the desk was a telescope.
I went over to have a look. It was a nice one, maybe two feet long, extended. It had four collapsing sections, one of them black grain leather. Another section had the word WOLLENSAK engraved in it.
It was right next to the desk, on a tripod.
The telescope was on a tripod, and pointing out the window. There was a small cutaway in the wiremesh that covered the window, obviously so the person looking through the telescope could see better.
I
I remembered a photo of Willie Mays making a spectacular on-the-run, over-the-shoulder catch out there during the 1954 World Series. It was so famous that it came to be called âthe Catch.â
I canât imagine how Willie ever caught up with that ball.
I jogged out to center field to re-create Willieâs famous play. A few feet to the left of where he caught the ball, above the center field wall, were two bronze plaques. I went over to see what they said. One was in honor of a guy named Eddie Grant. I had never heard of him, but the plaque said he played for the Giants, and he was the first major league player to be killed fighting in World War I. The other plaque was a monument to the Hall of Fame Giant pitcher Christy Mathewson. I had met him when I went to visit Jim Thorpe in 1913. It read . . .
THE GREATEST PITCHER OF HIS ERA AND ONE OF THE FINEST SPORTSMEN OF ALL TIME. FOR HIS MODE OF LIFE AND CONDUCT AT ALL TIMES, HE STOOD FORTH AS AN EXAMPLE TO HIS FELLOW PLAYERS.
Directly above the plaque was a row of seven windows. There were wire screens covering them, I suppose to prevent a home-run shot from shattering the glass. I couldnât imagine anyone hitting a ball that far, but you never know.
I had to go to the bathroom, and I figured there must be one behind those windows. There was a staircase near the big scoreboard. It looked like the stairs led up behind the windows, so I climbed up two flights of steps.
I was right. There were no fancy hand dryers orautomatic paper towel dispensers in the bathroom, but at least it was clean. I did my business and as I left, I noticed that there was a whole complex of offices up there, three stories above center field. There was a trainerâs room, with whirlpool tubs and massage tables. The door was wide open. There was also a supply room filled with bats and balls and other equipment. There was a laundry room. That must be where they clean the uniforms after every game.
Next to the laundry room was the Giantsâ locker room. For a moment, it crossed my mind that I shouldnât be in here snooping around, but my curiosity got the better of me. How often does a kid get an opportunity to peek in a major league locker room? Not often. And how often does a kid get an opportunity to peek in a major league locker room that was torn down over sixty years ago? Never.
I looked at the names written on tape over the lockersâMays, Maglie, Irvin, Thomson. I was kicking myself for not remembering to bring my new video camera with me.
There was a sign on the wall of the locker room. . . .
WHAT YOU HEAR HERE,
WHAT YOU SEE HERE,
AND WHAT YOU SAY HERE
MUST STAY HERE.
Next to the locker room was a green door thatsaid MANAGER â S OFFICE . I couldnât resist. I had to peek inside. Leo Durocher was one of the most famous managers in baseball history. I flipped on the light.
It was a surprisingly small room, with a wooden coat tree and a bunch of clipboards hanging from hooks on one wall. There was a leather swivel chair in front of a wooden desk with glass top. There were some framed photos on the deskâDurocher and his wife, a team photo, a picture of Franklin Roosevelt smoking a cigarette. The desk faced a big window that looked out on the field. I realized that I was a few feet above that Christy Mathewson plaque I had seen in straightaway center field.
Then I noticed something odd. Right next to the desk was a telescope.
I went over to have a look. It was a nice one, maybe two feet long, extended. It had four collapsing sections, one of them black grain leather. Another section had the word WOLLENSAK engraved in it.
It was right next to the desk, on a tripod.
The telescope was on a tripod, and pointing out the window. There was a small cutaway in the wiremesh that covered the window, obviously so the person looking through the telescope could see better.
I
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