Glenn Hameroff:
CLASS OF 1997
Ward Melville High SchoolClass of 1997
East setauket, NY
SUNY at Stony BrookClass of 1969
Stony brook, NY
Midwood High School 405Class of 1965
Brooklyn, NY
Glenn's Story
Two Tickets-Field level
by Glenn Hameroff
My father gave his love and attention sparingly. As a child I always sought them. His most common response to my lunges for his attention was, ÿDo not bother me now, can't you see I am trying to rest.ÿ
My Dad was a solemn, angry man who regretted that he did not make more out of his life. Despite the Great Depression, as a young man he had the intelligence and opportunity to develop a professional career, but he chose the easy way out and quit school after the tenth grade. He had his fun, but he spent a lifetime paying for those ÿgood times.ÿ
My dad was a day laborer and we did not spend much time together. He was either working or resting from work. His anger regarding the work he had to perform made him distant and restless. Money was always tight and we rarely took part in activities that had any kind of price tag. I yearned to spend a day with my dad and do something special, but frankly I was afraid to ask. His life circumstances created an explosive temper with a short fuse.
We never took vacations and most of my free time was spent hanging around on the block I lived on in Brooklyn. I was jealous of my friends who went to the Catskills in the summer or a ball game at Ebbets Field. Despite growing up in Brooklyn, I had never been to the amusements in Coney Island. If wasn't for my uncle who lived in the distant suburbs -- Massapequa Park, which we called the country -- my whole summer would have been spent on that Brooklyn block. A week at my uncleÿs house was my only escape.
That is why I could barely contain my joy the day my father came home with two tickets to a Yankees game. I was a Yankee fanatic and these two seats were field level, right opposite third base. Two Tickets, Field Level Opposite Third Base! My dad's boss had given him the tickets for free. This was to be my first baseball game with my favorite team, me and my dad. As I told all my friends the story of my good fortune, my excitement and anticipation began to ignite even my dad, who was not enthusiastic about events that would cost him either rest time or money.
We arrived at Yankee stadium early so we could watch warm-ups and batting practice. My dad and I were standing by our seats watching the players go through their pre-game routines. With my Yankee cap firmly in place and pounding the pocket of my Mickey Mantle glove, I felt like a million bucks. "Dad please don't forget to identify the players on the field for me." I did not mention my dream of catching a foul ball and having it autographed by all my heroes. My dad started calling out the names of players: "Mantle, Skowron, Berra, Bauer, and MacDougal." Each name called made my body shiver with excitement.
As the stands began to fill up, my anticipation of the game was exploding within me. My joy was contagious and my father, usually a tired stern man, caught my enthusiasm. I was still standing partly because of an explosion of energy racing through my body; I wanted people to see me in the expensive seats....Expand for more
I wanted to be a snob.
My father finally got me to sit down. He warned me that we were sitting in a place where hard line-drive foul balls had injured some fans. "A ball hit by a right-handed batter could tear your head off." He insisted that we work out a plan for my safety. If he yelled ÿDuck,ÿ I was to dive down below the protective wall. "But dad, that's why I brought my glove. If I caught a foul ball, my face could be on television." My father's insistence won the argument. However, he took my glove and promised his best effort to snag a foul ball. I wished he had more faith in my ability.
"Play ball" bellowed the umpire and my moment was here. I did not know whether the game would fly by in an instant or would be in slow motion. My perspective was overwhelmed with happiness. It was this feeling I remember the most, but surprisingly many details have remained in my memory. Whitey Ford was on the mound and Elston Howard was catching. The Yankees won the game and Mickey Mantle hit a massive home run. It seemed that it took only a few seconds for the ball to leave the playing field.
Six foul balls made it to the general vicinity of our seats. Yankee third baseman Jerry Lumpe caught one. Two were ground balls that ricocheted off the protective wall. My father leaned over as far as he could trying to field one of the balls. This was risky because landing on the playing field led to immediate ejection from the stadium. Two of the fouls were pop up flies that came down several rows behind us. Hank Bauer ripped a line drive right at our seats. I ducked and the ball careened off my Mickey Mantle glove, the one my father was using.
Two other memories of that day still have a special place in my mind. Food was expensive at the ballpark and I assumed we would eat when we got home. Since we sat in the expensive seats, much beer, soda, and hot dogs were being gobbled down by the fans around us. While I was getting a bit hungry, nothing was going to spoil my special time. Unlike the kids seated around me, I did not ask my father to buy anything. Around the third inning my father bought us each a soda and a hotdog. The hot dog was not that tasty, but it made me feel like I belonged in those seats. It prolonged my fantasy that I was a regular in that section. My father received more than his money's worth from that food outlay. He looked at me and smiled as if eating the hot dog made him feel that he belonged there too.
The other highlight of that distant memory occurred when the game reached the seventh inning. My father explained to me the purpose of the "seventh inning stretch" and we stood and sang "Take Me out to the Ball Game." Now we were two fans sharing in a baseball tradition.
On the long subway ride home, I fell asleep. I had spent an excellent day with my dad. I wish that I could say that this game was a turning point in my relationship with my father, but, it was not. It was a break in the routine. However, it was soon forgotten as we settled back into our usual everyday pattern.
Register for Free to view all details!
Yearbooks
Register for Free to view all yearbooks!
Reunions
Glenn is invited to the
478 invitees
Register for Free to view all events!
Photos
