September 7, 2005
The Dodgers
I think it's a pretty neat thing to remember something which happened 50 years ago–just like it was yesterday. Some things are like that. If you're the right age you remember where you were on the Sunday morning Pearl Harbor was attacked. Or when John F. Kennedy was assassinated or when Neil Armstrong stepped on the moon or when you first heard the news of Sept. 11. The same goes for your first love, your first real "date" and, yes pholks, you're first sexual experience.
I'm of that age–except Pearl Harbor–and I can detail all those days. And I remember where I was when the Brooklyn Dodgers finally won the World Series–the one and only World Championship for the Brooklyn Bums as they were affectionately known. I was 11 years old. A fifth grader.
I was at the teacher/principal's home in Knight's Ferry. Mrs. Perrin lived only a couple hundred yards down the hill from the two-room hill-top school. The Perrins had a television, one of a handful of television sets in the historic Gold Rush community. Mrs. Perrin invited the entire "big room," fifth through eighth grades, to watch the final game. Since the four classes totaled a dozen or less, it was not a packed house.
Watching TV was a big deal. Seeing the World Series was almost too good to be true, even with a tiny round screen. Not a thought about color–that could come several years later.
But what I remember the most about that day–other than the Dodgers finally beating the damned Yankees, was a play I didn't see. When left fielder Sandy Amaro made a great game-saving catch, I was in Mrs. Perrin's bathroom, answering nature's call. I wasn't in there very long, just long enough to miss one of the most famed World Series catches in history. Later I would see "the catch" on a movie news reel and then perhaps 120 times on vintage film over the 50 years since.
The great win for the Dodgers is part of Major League baseball lore. It was an unforgettable highlight for me. My Dodgers were finally winners and my hero, center fielder Duke Snider, bested my best friend's hero, Yankee center fielder Mickey Mantle. Willie Mays, a second classmate's hero who played for the Giants didn't make the series. It was the Dodgers and Yankees. The greatest year ever for the Dodgers.
Well, pholks last week when the Dodgers–Los Angeles Dodgers since 1958, celebrated the 50th anniversary of the first Dodger World Championship, I was glued to my television. A small set by today's standards, ( 21-inches, I think) but color and recordable and all the good tools built in–was worth it's weight in gasoline.
The Boys of Summer–as they became immortalized in Roger Kuhn's famous book by that title. Los Angeles. The Fox Sports West network began its telecast in black and white using only two cameras just like in 1955. As the game progressed, so did the telecast. By the sixth inning color came into view and techniques and technologies were added each inning. The Dodgers won the game but their chances of winning this year's championships remain slim.
It was a great game but it took a back seat to the pre-game ceremonies when the Boys of Summer -living and deceased were honored. The Duke was there, still handsome as ever even though he was using a cane. Sandy Kofax, Don Newcome. Johnny Podres, the hero of the 1955 seventh game, Carl Furrillo and another dozen or so. Family members of decreased greats, like Jackie Robinson, Roy Campanella, Gil Hodges were there. It was a great day. The worse part about it though, was the realization that I'm 50 years older than that great day in 1955.
And even though I may answer nature's call a few more times per day than I did in 1955, still not excessively –I can see any baseball play–over and over again–and in color, slow motion, and everything else. Life is great.
And don't forget it–even 50 years from now.
Miles can be reached at mshuper@valleyvoicenewspaper.com
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