When I woke up on Sunday morning, April 22nd, I still wasn’t sure if I had been dreaming or not. Ryan and I just returned after a long flight back from Boston and Fenway Park’s 100th Anniversary celebration.
There are a few days in your life that stick out far and above all others. Being asked to come back as a former Red Sox player for the 100th Anniversary of Fenway Park was one of those days.
When I got the invitation letter from Red Sox president Larry Lucchino nearly a month ago to attend as a former player, there was no doubt I would be there. The letter said all expenses would be paid and they provided a contact name if I had any questions. I would have gladly paid my way.
When I got a call a few days later asking about uniform size, I was almost in disbelief that we would be displayed in our old uniforms with name and number and the 100th Anniversary patch on the sleeve. However, I could only imagine what we would be doing during the ceremony. I thought the 212 of us might be sitting all together in a section and would all stand up as a group to be recognized with only the Red Sox stars being announced separately as they had deserved. Or maybe we would line up on the field from foul line to foul line and just wave to the crowd all at once. I was wrong on both counts.
The Trip of a Lifetime
Ryan and I took off from Phoenix at 9 o’clock sharp on Thursday morning and arrived in Boston at 5:06pm – right on time. As we approached baggage claim Ryan said “Dad, look at that.” A young girl and young man in navy blue outfits with a Red Sox lapel pins stood with a sign that said – Dick Mills Red Sox. My first order of business would be to autograph the sign, which would be part of the archives of the ceremony.
I stood there next to another former player Ed Bressoud, who played short-stop before Rico Petrocelli from 1962-1965. He stood tall and trim at 80 years old. He came all the way from CA and said there was no way he would miss this.
That was the beginning of some very big emotions that would continue nonstop over the next couple of days.
Once our little group got our bags we were whisked off to the the Royal Sonesta hotel in Cambridge which sits on the Charles River facing Boston. We got there at 6pm and were told we had a half hour before the bus would leave for Fenway for the reception at Fenway’s EMC club, a private club which sits up high above the field.
When we arrived at Fenway and started off the bus I heard two words that I would hear many more times over the next day as doormen and security guards greeted us: “Welcome Back”. For me it had been 42 years. Those words were so much appreciated and would seem even more so as the ceremony got closer.
Up four flights of stairs to the EMC Club and the room was already buzzing, It was very noisy as we shook hands with all of our old teammates that some, like me, had not seen in four decades or more.
Bill Lee, known as “The Spaceman”, had a small gathering around him. I walked up and put my hand out and introduced him to my son Ryan. Bill always has something to say. He said to Ryan, “They came out to AA to get your Dad, who was a hard thrower, to bring him back to Boston but they got me instead.” He was referring to the Red Sox GM Dick O’Connor and Farm Director Neal Mahoney coming to watch me pitch in Pittsfield as they needed a replacement for Jim Lonborg he had hurt his knee. At that time I was 5-0 leading the league in wins, ERA and strikeouts and doing the best of anyone in either AA or AAA. But it wasn’t meant to be. On that cold 37 degree night I strained my shoulder and was out for the rest of the year. It just wasn’t in the cards for me. Bill went on to have a great career and I was a short-timer.
I talked to Carmen Fanzone, our 3rd baseman in AAA who got called up to Boston with me on Sept 1st. I turned to move away and ran right into Eddie Phillips who, like me, got drafted in ’66, played at Colby College and ended up as my off-season roommate in 1970.
After two hours of socializing with old teammates, Ryan and I grabbed some food. Lobster rolls were on the menu along with roast beef, hot dogs and whatever else you wanted. I chose two lobster rolls, which they have never heard of in Scottsdale.
We wandered outside and sat with our food and drink looking out onto the field. The field was fully lit and seemed surreal. Then, the music from Field of Dreams began to play as we watched people one at a time coming out of the open over sized garage door that sits in center field, over 400 feet away. Each person would emerge from the big door and wave to an imaginary crowd as their faces were shown on a huge screen that sits above center field. They would each go to a separate positions on the field whether it was left field, short-stop, the mound or any other position.
I now realized exactly what we would be doing during the ceremony – these people were rehearsing for us. At that moment, with such inspirational music playing loud in the background, my emotions got the better of me and my eyes filled up. I realized I would be coming out of that big door tomorrow waving at the capacity crowd – the best and most passionate sports fans in all the world.
Once we were done eating, it was time to head down the field for pictures. We were asked to go inside the Green Monster and autograph it. There was a huge line and, not liking lines very much, I declined.
Rick Kreuger is not only a client but is also a fellow instructor, school teacher and a left-hander brought an extra plastic bag for me so we could get some mound dirt. After lots of video and pictures, it was time for the bus to take us back to the hotel. I didn’t sleep well from all the excitement and the anticipation for what would occur on Friday.
The Big Day
I was up by 7:30 (4:30 my time) and got a courtesy call at about 9 to tell us that the bus would be leaving at 10:45 for Fenway Park. We had all been instructed to wear black pants and black shoes for the ceremony. Ginny and I had to go out the Sunday before to find those black pants as the only thing you will catch me wearing is jeans and shorts.
The lobby was buzzing and crowded with players. We filed out the door and onto our waiting bus. I sat four rows from the front along with Rick Wise, a former 18 year major league veteran. Rick won 19 games and pitched the final game in 1975 to get Boston into the World Series. He pitched 138 complete games in his career and a no-hitter. Want some stories? Want to know what it takes to pitch? Listen to Rick. Long toss? How about just learning how to pitch.
Something jarred my memory at that point and I tapped Rick on the shoulder and said “Did your brother own a burgundy 1969 912 Porsche?” He quickly turned around with a look of amazement and said “Yes, he did. How did you know that?” I told him I bought his brother’s Porsche in 1969. Every time I saw Rick after that he would say “I got to write that down about the Porsche.”
The bus filled up and I noticed about 8-10 members of the Boston Police on their motorcycles in front of the bus. Then it dawned on me. We would be escorted all the way from Cambridge, over the bridge into Boston, right down Beacon Hill past the State House and Cheers Bar without having to stop at a single light.
The closer we got to Fenway, the more people stopped in their tracks and started to wave at the bus. Everyone who waved clearly knew what this was all about.
Once we got to Fenway, the streets were lined shoulder to shoulder with fans as security and Boston’s finest kept them back. We got off the bus and once again I would hear from several security people that greeted us with a warm chorus of “Welcome Back!”
The holding room we would stay for the next 2 hours was right across the street from the park. It was a huge cafeteria with a buffet of sandwiches. In the back of the room were our racks of uniforms, all labeled with our names on the hangers. I grabbed mine and walked over to a table where they had boxes of red long sleeve shirts to wear underneath.
Nearly 200 of us were milling around. There was a table of large coffee table books opened up which each of us would have to autograph.
There was a microphone in the center of the room. I stood about 10 feet behind taking it all in.
Then I saw principle Red Sox owner and billionaire John Henry and President Larry Lucchino standing near the microphone. I went over and introduced myself to Mr. Henry and thanked him for inviting me. To my amazement he answered “Thank you. It would not be possible without you guys.” I was humbled.
They both spoke and thanked us all and received a standing ovation from us. We were all clearly on the same page, just grateful we were a part of this amazing experience together.
Organizing this had to be a monumental task. Bringing everyone in from all over the country to what would ultimately be a well orchestrated and perfectly timed event.
Christina, who was in charge, came to the microphone to tell us we would now be getting our numbers which would tell us the order we would each be going onto the field. I was number 94 and my old teammate and roommate Ed Phillips would be 95. We would now have to stay in line from that point on until it was time to emerge from the large tunnel.
As we lined up to wait to get on the bus, I noticed Pedro Martinez standing near the front of the room. I walked up and introduced myself and asked for a photo. He was so gracious. What a high energy kind of guy. He was loving every minute of this.
Pedro was in front of me in line as we filed out of the cafeteria and onto the bus. Chants of “Pedro! Pedro! Pedro!” echoed everywhere as fans clearly showed what a crowd favorite he was. He started to sign autographs but was quickly reprimanded for holding up the line to the bus. We had to be on time.
They told us that they would check the numbered order we were in at least 6 times before we would all go on. In the end, they did it many more times than just six.
At 1:15 or so the bus took us around the other side of the ball park to the large tunnel where we would spend the next 40 minutes waiting to go on. We were all stacked in there very close like cattle. I was happy that my buddy Ed was right behind me. We got to talk and trade old stories. He reminded me of the Christmas party in 1969 where we invited about 30 girls with about 10 guys. We figured maybe only 10 or so would show up. All 30 finally came so guys were outnumbered 3-1. We liked those odds. He asked me if I remembered us inviting ESPN’s Peter Gammons when he was just a sports writer for the Quincy Patriot Ledger. I had completely forgotten inviting him and that he had shown up in the end.
We traded stories as more guys filed into the tunnel. Dennis Eckersley was roaming around as was Jose Conseco.
At 2 pm we could hear the announcer. I was too far back to see or hear what was going on. Then finally it got quiet. The music from the Field of Dreams began to play. It was finally show time.
I remembered what my son Ryan kept telling me. “Dad, when you get on the field, take it all in.”
A Moment of All Moments
I was nervous and so I tried taking some deep breaths as the first line exited the tunnel. I was in the second line, which started moving down the tunnel toward the warning track and the deepest part of center field.
I was #94, right behind Terry Hughes who was #93. As I got close, they checked each of us one last time and finally my feet hit the gravel of the warning track and then onto center field.
I had never felt anything quite like that in my entire life. I felt a deep sense of gratitude to the Red Sox for letting me be a part of this. This I knew I could never repay. I felt acknowledgement and appreciation as my eyes scanned the packed stands as I waved up toward Ryan, who was videotaping from the roof top boxes opposite right field where they had put the players and family.
The walk was long and slow. I did my best to take it all in, as Ryan advised. It was nearly overwhelming. Deep, deep emotions I had never quite felt before. This was my hometown crowd. Eddie, my friend and teammate, would tell me later he had not felt emotions like that for over 30 years.
I flashed back to when I was 9 years old, sitting in the right field bleachers with my mother at my first Red Sox game. I had watched them play the Milwaukee Braves in the annual charity Jimmy Fund game.
I flashed back to my parents standing next to the first base side of the dugout as I stood there in my uniform in 1970 at my first game as a big league pitcher. I felt them there – as proud as ever.
Once I made it to the mound, I turned and stood facing center field as more than 100 were still left coming out. What got me most was a very old player who was walking toward me very slowly but proudly and somewhat hunched over. He had to be in his early to mid 80s. He hadn’t played since the early 50s – over 6 decades ago.
I talked to some of the other pitchers. Jim Longborg was close by. We chatted and I reminded him that the last time I saw him was at the beach in Scituate, MA in the early 70s with his wife and kids. He was now a dentist in Scituate.
During the national anthem more deep emotions of gratitude flowed out. A moment of all moments. Then the F-16 flew by with the old WWII era P-51 Mustang right off its wing. Very, very cool indeed. Those flybys never seem to fail at raising the hair on the back of my neck.
Once the flyby was over, we started the long walk back toward the tunnel. We waved to the crowd one final time as we entered the tunnel and ended what had to be, for many of us, one of the very top highlights of our lives.
I am not sure anything could ever top this.
We were taken to a holding room where we could take off our uniform tops and put on our street clothes. I went outside immediately, ready to head up the rooftop and meet Ryan. Security was there every step of the way, leading us to the stairway to the rooftop.
The day, originally forecast with low 60s and rain, was a perfect sunny 76 with a light breeze. The baseball gods intervened. A perfect baseball day.
I met Ryan with my uniform top rolled up under my arm. He said it was indescribable to watch the entire ceremony.
Each of our tickets, player and family, was loaded with $30 of food and beverage. For the next two hours we would not watch one pitch as players and family just chatted about all the emotions of one of the most wonderful days in our lives and one in Fenway Park history.
The fans were unbelievable. As I said, I am not sure you will find more passionate and knowledgeable fans anywhere in sports.
At the end of the 7th inning, about 5 pm, Ryan and I decided to leave and try to get a cab back before the crowd would hit the streets. We didn’t want to wait for the bus which was 5:30 pm.
As we left out through one of the back exits, I autographed balls and programs. One woman wanted me to hold up my jersey for a picture with her, which I happily did.
Nobody asked how long I played. I was just a player to them I put on the Red Sox uniform.
Ryan was proud.
We got out onto Boyleston Street, which was very busy. We ran in my buddy Eddie Phillips, #95 in line, who was also trying to flag down a cab for his daughter Brook who had flown in from Washington DC to see her Dad make the grand walk from the tunnel. Once he got her a cab, we decided to head over to Jerry Remy’s sports bar which is one block from Fenway. Just more stories for Ryan to hear about our careers.
We only stayed a half hour before it was time to leave. We said good-bye to Eddie, waved down a cab and jumped in. The driver, who was from the Dominican Republic, asked if we went to the game. Ryan chimed right in to tell him I was a player who was on the field and held up my #36 jersey for the driver to see. He was a bit taken aback to say the least.
After we got to the hotel, we got ready to go right back out. I had one more thing to do before leaving Boston. Get the fried clams, which we did at the Summershack back in the city. I relished every bite. It was a sports bar with barmaids in Red Sox tops. Again, we got asked if we went to the game and, once again, Ryan had to tell them that I was a player.
The Red Sox front office invited all 500 living players and 212 of us showed up. Some of the other players had commitments like weddings or travel. Those who missed it just because they did not realize what it would be, may have kicked themselves if they knew what we had all just experienced. What they had really missed.
If you wore the Red Sox uniform, you are just a player to the Red Sox personnel. Any time I want to go to a Red Sox game, I get to park in the player’s lot with existing players and get free seats.
There is no way I can ever thank the Red Sox enough for what they did. All I can say is thank you for being so generous in every way possible.
I was so happy my son Ryan came with me. I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to come with me.
Thanks for the wonderful feelings and the memory that will never die or fade away.
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